********************************************************** ********************************************************** ********************************************************** American Wrestling Alliance Proudly Presents SUPERCLASH II Live From TWO Cities Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri November 25th, 2010 ********************************************************** ********************************************************** ********************************************************** [As the end credits to "Good Times" slowly fade out, they are replaced by a blackened screen and the soft piano opening to Guns N' Roses' "November Rain." The voice of Gordon Myers is heard over the start.] "For decades, the biggest day of the calendar year for the professional wrestling business was Thanksgiving night. It was the night when all the biggest stars came out. The night when all the biggest matches were held. The night where careers were built and legends were made. And the night where the memories that last a lifetime were formed. On this night, the AWA returns to those days for the biggest event of 2010. It is SuperClash II." [Slowly, a series of black and white shots pass by - first, Ron Houston throwing a right hand at Brian Von Braun, then Anton Layton stomping Vernon Riley, then the War Pigs and the Moonshiners doing battle.] "It is SuperClash where long-held rivalries come to a head." [The shot is replaced by a slowly fading still montage of the ten men in the Steal The Spotlight Showdown.] "It is SuperClash where ten men will attempt to seize the day to earn a shot at the greatest prize in our sport." [A photo of Violence Unlimited and the Samoan Hit Squad fades up.] "It is SuperClash where two teams take the first step towards the greatest tag team event in professional wrestling - the Stampede Cup." [A shot of Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov standing side by side in happier days for the Russians.] "It is SuperClash where two family members collide with one man's future in the balance." [The Russians are replaced by Brent Maverick and Nenshou.] "It is SuperClash where tribute is paid to one of the greatest promotions of all time and a new title is carved out of its legacy... where these two men do battle to live up to that legacy... or to destroy it." [Rough N Ready appear on the screen, a still photo of them stomping Crusher Glenn.] "It is SuperClash where champions set out to prove that their best days are yet to come..." [The Blonde Bombers' photo fades in over it.] "...and their challengers try to show the world who rules the tag team world." [The Bombers fade away to be replaced by Mark Langseth and Shane Destiny but not in your typical photos - in the form of posters showing them in Main Events in promotions around the world.] "It is SuperClash where two sure-fire Hall of Famers meet with the honor of having the greatest hold in wrestling on the line..." [They're replaced by Bobby Taylor and Kevin Slater.] "...and two former best friends meet to end their war." [The grizzled, bloody face of Tin Can Rust fills the screen.] "It is SuperClash where this man attempts to get final vengeance for an act that occurred one year ago..." [The arrogant, smirking visage of Calisto Dufresne cuts into Rust's.] "...and this man strives to give us all one more nightmare to relive forever." [And finally, to a shot of the AWA National Champion Stevie Scott and his top challenger, Juan Vasquez.] "It is SuperClash where one year ago, a title match sparked a war that MUST end on this night in Dallas, Texas. It WILL end on this night in Dallas, Texas. But how will it end? Who will walk out of SuperClash with the National Title? And will Juan Vasquez be forced to walk out of the AWA forever? It is SuperClash where careers are made. It is SuperClash where legends are built. It is SuperClash where memories are forged in the fires of competition." [The SuperClash logo slowly fades in.] "It is SuperClash... ...and it has arrived." [The logo fades away to a shot of the screaming crowd jammed inside the Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas. "Run This Town" by Jay-Z feat. Rihanna is kickin' the PA as the camera pans over the fans. We can see the ring smackdab in the middle of it all - red, white, and blue ropes around a white canvas. Red aprons hang off the ring as well, dancing down to the thin padding on the floor at ringside. Steel barricades are surrounding the ring, keeping the rabid AWA faithful at bay for the moment as the patrons lean over the metal railings, screaming and shouting at the cameras as they pan across them. A small entranceway leads from the locker room area - ropes on both sides to keep the fans back along with a row of security guards. There is no elevated entrance ramp on this night. Giant sets of elevated bleachers on all sides of the ring, holding over nine thousand wild AWA fans. We cut to ringside where we see two wooden tables - one for the timekeeper and ring announcer and one for our announce team. Speaking of which...] GM: Happy Thanksgiving everyone and welcome to the Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas! It is the biggest night of the year here in the AWA, fans! It is SuperClash and it has indeed arrived! [The camera shot at ringside shows Gordon Myers, classy as always in a black tuxedo, white dress shirt, and red bowtie. He looks a little stuffy actually and not quite pleased to be dressed up so much. And then there's Bucky. Mr. Buckthorn Wilde is rockin' what appears to be some kind of deep purple suede jacket over an eye-piercing hot pink dress shirt. He spins around, jerking a thumb to the back of his jacket where someone (his mother, perhaps?) has bedazzled it with the words "Big Bucks, No Whammys!"] GM: Bucky Wilde, a Happy Thanksgiving to you as well. BW: Thanks, Gordo, I know the pleasure is all yours. When you sat down with the family this afternoon for your Butterball, I know when you led them in a blessing you said how grateful you are to be employed by the AWA so you could put that Butterball on the table and so you can enjoy my company every two weeks. Ain't that right, Gordo? GM: You know me so well, Bucky. Fans, we know you all had a lot of things to be thankful for this year and we hope, by the end of this night, you can add being a fan of this company to the list. The AWA truly is THE Major League of professional wrestling and this is going to be something amazing. We've got twelve HUGE matches to get through but before we do, let's send things over to our good friends who will be calling the action inside the Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri for us tonight as well - a very special treat for the AWA fans. It is my distinct pleasure to kick things over to St. Louis to two very dear friends of mine and two of the best announcers of all time - Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson! [The shot crossfades to one inside the Family Arena which has an identical setup to what we just saw in Dallas except there are seemingly a handful more people who've shown up for the AWA's debut in the Mound City. These fans are roaring - thanks to Todd Michaelson who is standing atop the announce desk, waving them on. A chuckling Jon Stegglet, clad in a classic black tux, is business as usual.] JS: Thanks, Gordon. And what an honor and privilege it is for me to be a part of this show. As many of our fans know, I have been involved with the AWA from the start but tonight is the first time I am getting the chance to call some of this great, great action. It's been a long time for me to get behind this mic but I'll try to live up to your standards, Gordon. And as for my broadcast partner... [Michaelson hops down off the table, a big grin on his face as he sports a gold sportcoat over a green polo with the AWA logo stitched in the corner. His blond hair is slicked back into a ponytail as he claps his old friend on the shoulder.] TM: I never thought this would happen again, Jonnie. Man, what a night to be in St. Louis! [A big cheer from the St. Louis crowd.] TM: It's SuperClash. It's the biggest night of the year. These fans are ready, the guys in the locker room are ready, and Jon Stegglet, I know you're ready! JS: Indeed I am, Todd, but our friends back in Dallas are going to be kicking this night off for us so let's head back to the Lone Star State for the opening match! [We crossfade back to the ring in Dallas, Texas where Melissa Cannon's temporary replacement, Phil Watson is standing in a bright white tux that seems to be popping a bit at the seams from his ample gut.] PW: Hello everyone and welcome to SuperClash II! [BIG CHEER!] PW: It is now time for our OPENING MATCH of the evening! [Another big cheer!] PW: This is a tag team match is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute time limit and will determine which team will earn the #2 seed at the Stampede Cup! Introducing first... [The sounds of a growling "SSSAAAAMOOOOOAAAAA!" fill the air to the jeers of the crowd. The voice is replaced with tribal drumming and shouts as three men emerge from the entrance curtain.] PW: From the Isle of Samoa... they are accompanied to the ring by their manager James J. Dallas... weighing in tonight at 542 pounds... SCOLA... MAFU... THE SAAAAAAMOOOOAN HIT SQUAAAAAD! [The jeers intensify for the trio as they make their way into full view. James J. Dallas leads the way, clad in his usual white suit and chomping a cigar in the corner of his mouth. The 6'6 beast, Scola, trails behind him, snarling at a pair of young ringside fans waving a, "LAY THE HAMMER ON SCOLA!" sign. The big man is solid as a rock, tall and hefty with his shoulder length hair cornrowed down on his scalp. Mafu brings up the rear, barking and frothing in the direction of anyone who draws too close. The wildman's hair is matching his attitude, tangled and all over the place.] GM: The Samoan Hit Squad has had some trouble getting some momentum towards a shot at the National Tag Team Titles as of late but that can all change here tonight, Bucky. BW: If the Samoans knock off Violence Unlimited, the world is their raw oyster to toss down their gullets. They'll get a shot at the Number One seeds, Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman, in two weeks and they'll earn a nice, high seed in the Stampede Cup tournament which is less than a month away. This is a big night for the Samoans. [As they reach the ring, Dallas joins them inside the squared circle, standing in the middle of it all. He approaches Phil Watson, sticking out his hand.] GM: It appears that Mr. James J. Dallas has something to say to the crowd here in Dallas... unfortunately. [Dallas is all teeth as he looks out over the crowd, his Samoans stalking about the ring.] JJD: Hello there! [Predictably, there are boos.] JJD: Seeing as it is Thanksgiving and I have a lot to be thankful for this year, I thought I'd share the joy with all of you here tonight... and especially towards Jackson Haynes and Danny Morton. [The crowd buzzes, confused.] JJD: I have made the offer before and now I make it one more time. Mr. Haynes, you have seen what happens to you without my guidance - you fall short to a pipsqueak punk like Brent Maverick. [The Dallas fans jeer the insult.] JJD: With me in your corner, that never would have happened. With my Samoans by your side, that never would have happened. So, for the last time... sign your names on this little paper I've had my lawyers draw up. We'll call this one a draw and we'll sit in the back tonight figuring out who we want to beat up first. [Dallas nods his head, grinning to his Samoans who don't respond.] JJD: Come on out here, you two ragamuffins. Let's make this a holiday to remember! [Dallas hands the mic back to the ring announcer who continues.] PW: And their opponents... [Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" starts up to a huge reaction from the crowd.] PW: At a total combined weight of 595 pounds... Danny Morton... "The Hammer" Jackson Haynes... VIIIIIOLENCE UNNNNNLIMITED! [Morton and Haynes emerge through the curtain to a big roar. Haynes is pumped, throwing both arms up in the air, shouting for the fans to get louder. Danny Morton jogs in place in the aisle, pointing down towards their waiting opponents. He runs one hand through his shaggy brown hair and then slaps himself across his beard-covered face before starting quickly down the aisle. The wild Jackson Haynes is right behind him, his long, stringy, dirty blonde hair hanging down to his shoulders. He whoops a few times, throwing an arm in the air as they head towards the ring.] GM: Two of the biggest, toughest men I've ever seen in a wrestling ring, Bucky. BW: These two made their names in Japan, fighting and beating the best teams that they had to offer over there. And now they're in the AWA, looking to beat the best teams here. GM: It's been a little while since we've seen them in tag team action with both men opting to compete in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament - Haynes actually making the semifinals before falling short... BW: To that pipsqueak punk Brent Maverick. GM: According to James J. Dallas, yes. [Morton rolls under the ropes while Haynes hops up on the apron, running the length of one side of the ring, pointing to the cheering fans before he steps through the ropes. Morton walks out to the middle of the ring, glaring at a grinning James J. Dallas.] GM: Danny Morton is eye to eye with Dallas and... what's gonna happen here, Bucky? [Morton slowly reaches up, taking the sheet of paper out of Dallas' offering hands...] BW: Sign it, you big dummy. Make the first good decision of your career! [Morton stares at the paper for a long moment... ...and then holds it up in Dallas' face, tearing it right down the middle before throwing it down to the mat to a huge cheer!] GM: I think that's a no, Bucky! BW: What an idiot! [And to punctutate the decision, Morton shoves Dallas hard, knocking him down on his rear in the middle of the ring to a bigger roar from the crowd... ...a move that brings the Samoans into the fray, throwing limbs with great speed and high impact.] GM: The Samoans didn't like that! BW: Can you blame them? Who the heck does Danny Morton think he is to put his hands on James J. Dallas like that? [Scola goes straight for Morton, battering him with heavy forearms to the ears that quickly knock Morton down to a knee. Nearby, Mafu and Haynes are a blur of motion as they pummel one another with rights and lefts.] GM: We've got a fight on our hands here in Dallas and SuperClash II is underway! [Haynes suddenly brings up a knee into the gut of Mafu, stopping his offense short. Grabbing Mafu by his wild hair, Haynes takes three steps and HURLS Mafu over the ropes to the floor!] GM: The Hammer clears out Mafu! [He spins around like a wildman, grabbing Scola from behind in tugging the arms back to expose the body... ...which allows Morton to throw a skin-blistering chop across the chest!] GM: Morton drills him! [A few more chops connect before each man grabs an arm, firing Scola into the ropes... ...and flattening him with a running double shoulderblock!] GM: DOWN GOES SCOLA!! BW: Anyone's going down from nearly six hundred pounds charging at you. I don't care who you are or how big you are, Gordo. GM: And look at this now! [The crowd roars as Haynes and Morton stand over the downed Scola, pounding down with forearm after forearm, clubbing him across the back and the head and neck area.] BW: I'm lookin' but this is an illegal doubleteam, Gordo! That referee needs to get one of these goofs out of there and get some control over this thing. GM: Well, I can't argue with that. And the official steps right in, trying to get- yes, Danny Morton is staying in but the Hammer is heading to the apron. [Morton grabs the back of Scola's full-length tights, tugging him up to his feet. He promptly hooks a side waistlock, sending the crowd into a frenzy.] GM: BACKDROP DRIV- no! [Scola, feeling the end of the match at hand, drives his powerful arm down on the back of Morton's neck twice, breaking the grip. He grabs Morton by the wrist, flinging him across the ring.] GM: Whip to the corner by the 6'6 Scola... here he comes! [The charging Samoan comes up empty as Morton sidesteps, causing Scola to smash chestfirst into the buckles. Morton quickly spins him around in the buckles, turning his back into the corner before blasting him with a right-handed chop across the chest... ...and then pops him with a closed right fist to the jaw!] GM: Ohh! First the chop, then the hook and- [The crowd roars as Morton repeats the assault, first throwing the chop across the chest and then coming back across Scola with a right hand to the jaw. The referee steps in, warning against the clenched fist but Scola eats a few more before Morton steps back, breaking the attack.] GM: Scola got rocked with several right hands on the jaw - look out now... [Morton grabs Scola by the wrist, firing him across the ring.] GM: The American Murder Machine charges in! [And runs right into a raised boot to the jaw!] GM: OHH! HE GOT CAUGHT!! [Morton stumbles backwards from the impact, staggered but not fallen. Scola charges out of the corner, arm outstretched... ...but Morton catches him coming out, spinning and DRIVING him down to the mat with a powerslam!] GM: OHHH! WHAT A POWERSLAM!!! [Morton pops up, jumping up and down and letting loose a roar that drives the crowd crazy as he marches to the corner, slapping the outstretched hand of his partner.] GM: And in comes the Hammer, quickly living up to his name with a double axehandle across the back of Scola's head! [Haynes hooks a front facelock on the rising Scola, slamming his knee up into the face of the big Samoan three times. He spins around, taking Scola down with a snap mare... ...and then smashes him across the face with a high impact crossface blow!] GM: Good grief! What a shot by Haynes! [With Scola down on the mat, Haynes dashes to the ropes... ...and tumbles over them, crashing down hard on the barely-padded floor as Mafu tugs down the ropes!] GM: OHHH! COME ON, REFEREE! BW: A brilliant move by Mafu! They call him a savage, they call him a wildman, but that was a brilliant strategic move by one-half of the Samoan Hit Squad, Gordo. GM: It was blatantly illegal! BW: Well, sure, but that's just semantics. [Out on the floor, Mafu puts his bare feet to work with stomps and kicks to the torso of the downed Haynes. The referee stands inside the ring, reprimanding Mafu as he hauls Haynes up to his feet... ...and HURLS him chestfirst into the steel barricade!] GM: HARD INTO THE STEEL! [Mafu stands behind the downed Haynes, taunting the ringside fans who seem ready to jump the railing to get at him. A snarling Mafu grabs the railing with both hands, yanking Haynes up to choke him over the top of the barricade!] GM: The referee needs to get out there and stop this, Bucky. This can't go on like this. [Mafu finally breaks it, hauling Haynes over to the apron, chucking him under the ropes where Scola is waiting with a big leaping elbowdrop.] GM: Finally, the action gets back inside the ring. BW: I thought Haynes liked fighting on the floor! GM: He does but not when he's been the victim of a sneak attack! BW: Sounds like an excuse to me. [Scola drags Haynes off the mat by the hair, shoving him back into the corner. He marches in, simply wrapping his hands around the throat of Haynes.] GM: That's a choke, ref! BW: Are you doubting Marty Meekly's ability to see that's a chokehold, Gordo? GM: I'm not but he needs to do something about it. BW: He's counting! What more do you want? [Scola steps back, dragging Haynes into a front facelock. He slings Haynes' arm over his neck... ...and powers him up off the mat!] BW: Look at that, Gordo! Scola just powerlifted all 310 pounds of Jackson Haynes into the air in that suplex... and check this out! [The crowd buzzes as Scola stands tall, holding Haynes straight up in the air without the slightest look of effort on his face.] GM: Wow. Pure power on display by Scola and- DOWN goes Haynes to the mat! [Scola pops back to his feet, smashing his arm across his own broad chest with a "SAAAMOA!" before stomping over to his corner, slapping the hand of Mafu.] GM: In comes the wildman, Mafu... [And he quickly lives up to the "wildman" billing with a quick series of stomps to the chest before dropping down on all fours and wrapping his hands around the throat!] GM: That's a choke too, ref! BW: Would you stop crying about a choke? If this is how this night's gonna go, I'm moving up to St. Louis with Stegglet and Michaelson. GM: If someone's breaking the rules, I'm going to call them out on it, Bucky. If that's too much for you to bear, I'm sure we can arrange to get you the night off. BW: Are you threatening me, Myers? [Mafu breaks the chokehold, climbing back to his feet, and randomly barking at the crowd. He pauses for a moment, glaring down at the gasping Haynes... ...and then deadleaps into the air, bringing a headbutt down across the skull!] GM: Leaping headbutt! Cover by Mafu! ONE!! TWO!! [But Haynes fires a shoulder up at two.] GM: Two count only right there. [An angry Mafu gets back up, stomping the downed Haynes again. The referee steps in, forcing him a step back... ...but he moves right back in, dragging Haynes off the canvas.] GM: Both men to their feet now... whip by Mafu... [Mafu throws his arm out, looking for a clothesline but Haynes ducks it, rebounding off the far side... ...and a big collision occurs in the middle of the ring as the two men clothesline each other, knocking themselves flat!] GM: Ohh! Both men down off the double clothesli- "FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED! TEN MINUTES REMAIN!" GM: Ten minutes left in this one. BW: They're not going to make it ten minutes at this pace. GM: They certainly aren't. [The crowd roars, cheering on Haynes as the Hammer tries to get to the corner where his partner is waiting for him. Across the ring, Mafu is trying to get to his own corner where the powerful Scola has his arm outstretched.] GM: Both men are going for the tag... who can get there first? [The fans boo as Scola slaps the hand of Mafu, stepping into the ring, charging across... ...and knocking Danny Morton clear off the apron before Haynes reaches him!] GM: Ohh! He clears out Danny Morton! [Scola reaches down, dragging Jackson Haynes off the mat. He hooks him around the head and neck, powering him off the mat... ...and sending him down hard to the canvas with a uranage slam!] GM: OHHH! [Scola drops to the mat, applying a lateral press.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! TH- [The crowd cheers as Haynes fires a shoulder off the mat at two. Scola grabs him by the stringy hair, drilling him with three right hands to the skull before shoving him back down to the mat.] GM: Scola back to his feet, glaring down at Haynes... now what's he doing? BW: He's heading to the ropes... climbing to the middle rope... GM: The big man's up on the second rope, looking down at Haynes as he starts to stir... [Scola leaps off the ropes, ready to smash a double axehandle across the skull... ...but he gets caught in the powerful arms of Haynes and DRIVEN spinefirst back to the corner!] GM: He caught him! Haynes with a big counter there! [Grabbing Scola by the cornrows, Haynes throws five big right haymakers to the skull... ...and then DRILLS him between the eyes with a measured left hand that knocks Scola back, clinging to the ropes to stay on his feet!] GM: Scola's got rocked! His eyes are blurry! He's seeing stars! [Haynes grabs Scola by the wrist, firing him across the ring.] GM: Scola hits the corner hard - here comes Haynes! [The crowd cheers a big running clothesline in the corner!] GM: Haynes caught him! He hit all of that! BW: He always does 'em in pairs, Gordo! GM: Another whip across the ring... here comes the Hammer... [Haynes comes barreling across the ring at top speed... ...and stops cold in his tracks as Scola raises his hand, grabbing Haynes' by the throat with his right hand!] GM: OHH! SAMOAN DEATH GRIP!! [Haynes' eyes go wide at the fingers gripping his throat. He struggles against it, flailing his arms wildly... ...and then finds himself shoved backwards before being laid out with a running clothesline!] GM: Good grief! Scola nearly took his head clean off with that! [The big man steps to the corner, slapping the hand of Mafu who starts to scale the ropes as Scola pulls Haynes off the mat, powering him up into a suplex again... ...and then Scola leaps off the ropes, catching Haynes across the torso with a crossbody as they all come crashing down to the mat!] GM: OHHHH! THAT MIGHT DO IT!! [Mafu stays on Haynes as James J. Dallas barks at the official to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [BIG CHEER!] GM: SHOULDER UP!! SHOULDER UP!! BW: I've gotta question that one, Gordo! That pin was applied for a couple seconds before the referee started the count. That's a slow count in my book. GM: The referee did seem to be a little out of position there but Marty Meekly got in there as quickly as possible. [Mafu is all over the official as he gets up, barking and jabbering away unintelligbly at Marty Meekly as he backs him into the corner. James J. Dallas screams for his man to get back in the match as Haynes tries to elbowcrawl across the ring to Danny Morton.] GM: Haynes needs the tag... and this might be his chance, Bucky. BW: It might be 'cause Mafu is yelling at the ref! He's out of control! The Colonel can't get his head back in the game. [But the wild-haired Mafu spins around, spotting the crawling Haynes, and charges towards him, leaping into the air with a big legdrop across the back of the neck to cut him off. Mafu comes up laughing, pointing at Danny Morton... ...who spits square in the eye of the wildman!] GM: He spit on him! Professor Pain spit right in the eye of Mafu! [An enraged Mafu charges the corner, grabbing Morton around the head as the two men tangle up, throwing blows at one another as quickly as they can to the roars of the crowd. A protesting Marty Meekly rushes into the fray, trying to break up the fight.] GM: We've got a fight in the corner and- [A dazed Jackson Haynes inches closer and closer to the corner behind the back of Mafu, climbing to his feet... ...and lunges to the corner, knocking Mafu into the buckles as he slaps the hand of Danny Morton!] GM: TAG! TAG! [Danny Morton bursts into the ring, all full of fire as he throws right and left jabs to the jaw of the stunned Mafu. Pulling him by the arm out of the corner, Morton flings him across the ring.] GM: Whip by Morton... [And a big running lariat sends Mafu flipping head over heels! Morton smashes his chest with his fists, letting loose a whoop to the crowd. He spins around, charging across the ring... ...and knocks Scola clear off the apron with a running dropkick to the chin!] GM: WHOA! BW: Where did THAT come from? GM: A surprising dropkick by the big man and Scola got flattened! [Morton gets back to his feet, dropping down into a three point stance as Mafu slowly rises... ...and flips him head over heels again, this time with a running shoulder tackle!] GM: DOWN GOES MAFU!! [Morton nods his head to the cheering crowd, pulling Mafu by his wild hair to his feet as he runs in place... ...and dashes to the ropes, rebounding off with his arm outstretched.] GM: CLOTHESLI- ducked by Mafu! "WHAAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: THRUST KICK! THRUST KICK UNDER THE CHIN!! [Mafu staggers to the corner, slapping the hand of an angry Scola who marches in, dragging Morton off the mat. He hurls Morton to the ropes.] GM: Morton off the ropes... BIG BOOT!! BIG BOOT ON TARGET!! [Scola collapses on top of the downed Morton.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [The crowd cheers Jackson Haynes as he dives atop Scola, breaking the pin. Mafu charges back in and the fight is on once more.] GM: It's breaking down again! Mafu and Haynes! Mafu and Haynes! [The two wild brawlers stumble over towards the ropes, battling tooth and nail with each other... ...and eventually take one another off the top rope to the floor where they continue fighting on the thinly-padded floor.] GM: Out go the Hammer and Mafu! Scola drags Morton back to his feet... [The big man ducks down, hoisting Morton across his shoulders in a fireman's carry... ...which Morton wriggles free from, landing on his feet behind Scola. He promptly hooks a side waistlock, powering the big man into the air, and DUMPING him violently down on the back of his head and neck!] GM: BACKDROP DRIVER! HE GOT IT ALL!!! [A dazed Morton throws an arm across the chest of Scola as the referee dives to the mat to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEE!!! "DING! DING! DING!" PW: Here are your winners... VIOLENCE UNNNNNLIMITED! [The crowd roars the announcement as a weary Danny Morton pushes up to his knees, nodding his head in triumph. Soon, Jackson Haynes rolls back in to join his partner, yanking him up to his feet into an embrace.] GM: Haynes and Morton win! They've earned the #2 seed in the Stampede Cup next month and in just two weeks, we'll see Morton and Haynes take on Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman and I can't wait to see that one go down, Bucky. BW: It was a tough match. A hard-fought win. I can't complain about the way that one went down. Two hard-hitting teams battling it out until one of 'em just couldn't battle no more? Sign me up every time, Gordo. GM: A big victory here for Haynes and Morton on the big stage of SuperClash II and if that's the kind of action we can expect to see all night, this is going to be one for the ages, fans, so don't you dare go away because we'll be right back after this break! [We fade away from the triumphant Violence Unlimited to black... And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.] "Have you ever dreamed of fame?" [Cut a little closer.] "Of glory?" [A little closer.] "Of your friends and family seeing you on television?" [And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that reads "AWA Combat Corner."] "Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American Wrestling Alliance!" [We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring. There are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course, working out in the ring.] "With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in the ring in the shortest amount of time!" [Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.] "With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on Day One!" [Two young students are grappling on the canvas.] "So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar! You want to be the future of the business! You want to wrestle!" [Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner. We freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to the backstage area in the Family Arena where Mark Stegglet is standing in front of a large SuperClash II backdrop.] MS: Hello, fans! The atmosphere backstage here in St. Louis is electrifying! It is the AWA's first night in this city and these fans - and the wrestlers - are super excited about it! Plus, I'm on the same show as my Uncle Jon! How cool is that? [Mark lets a goofy grin show, revealing he's still a big, dumb kid at heart.] MS: Joining me at this time however is someone who isn't quite so excited about tonight because tonight, he puts his future on the line. Kolya Sudakov, a loss here tonight means you're back under the thumb of the Russian government - thanks to Ivan Kostovich. [Kolya Sudakov steps into the frame, already dressed in a black singlet covered up in a satin red jacket with the Russian flag splashed across the back.] KS: It is dark time for Kolya Sudakov, Mark Stegglet. Tonight, Kolya face my own blood... my Uncle Vladimir. The last time Uncle Vladimir and Kolya in the ring together, Kolya was left bloody and broken - humiliated - run out of the AWA. But Kolya came back. Kolya came back to become the National Champion again. [Sudakov shakes his head.] KS: But other people have other ideas. Uncle Vladimir. That fleabag Bathwaite. Sharif. And now Comrade Kostovich. Comrade Kostovich, you once were hero to Kolya. You were man who inspired Kolya to become a professional wrestler - to fight all over the world. You were man who gave Kolya something to dream about becoming. And now? [He spits.] KS: Now you want to crush Kolya dreams. You want Kolya to go back to Russia. You want Kolya to run from the AWA again. [He shakes his head, waggling a finger.] KS: Not this time, Comrade Kostovich. Tonight, Kolya meets his own blood... tonight, Kolya spills his own blood... and tonight, Kolya begins to show entire world why he came back. Uncle Vladimir... you were once great wrestler. Now? You embarrass yourself. You embarrass your country. You embarrass your legacy. Tonight? Kolya help you retire with dignity. [Sudakov storms out of view leaving Stegglet behind.] MS: Now, that's a man with something to prove here tonight in St. Louis! Todd, Uncle Jon - back to you! [We crossfade to the ringside area where Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson are standing.] JS: Thanks, Mark - this is going to be very interesting, Todd. TM: Still can't believe that goofball is your nephew. JS: Easy there. He's family... and family is exactly what this next matchup is about. Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov were once practically father and son. They were as close as that. After Kolya abandoned the world of MMA, after he suffered early failure as a pro wrestler, he fell under the wing of his veteran uncle. Vladimir polished him, refined him, made him into a National Champion. TM: And when Kolya needed him the most, Vladimir buried a blade in his back and left him lying. Some family. JS: But tonight, when these two meet one-on-one, you have to believe that as much as Kolya Sudakov wants to prove he's come back to become the National Champion again, you also know that Vladimir Velikov has something to prove. TM: Vlad's not been the same since Kolya left the AWA. He spent a year languishing in the bottom of the card, in a failed tag team with Baron Von Klauss. And he wants to prove he still belongs in the AWA here tonight as well. You know Ivan Kostovich will be watching him closely. JS: Speaking of which... let's go to the ring where Ivan Kostovich has snatched the microphone away from our ring announcer for the night, our old friend Ken Graham. [We crossfade inside the ring where Ivan Kostovich is standing in a stylish suit. He looks out over the jeering crowd, shaking his head.] IK: You sicken me, St. Louis. [Big shower of jeers!] IK: You are supposed to be some great mecca of pro wrestling history - a city with true appreciation for the talent that has shaped this industry. But when I arrive... you boo. When I grace your unwashed, pathetic masses with true wrestling greatness, you boo. It was me who stood in the middle of St. Louis over Hamilton Graham's body, having flattened him with the Russian Hammer! I destroyed your hero back in Gateway Championship Wrestling! [Kostovich smirks at the jeering crowd.] IK: And yet, you still boo. [He dismisses them with a wave of his hand.] IK: No matter. Your presence here tonight is a formality as this match will not take place for you. This match takes place for me. An audience of one! The only person watching who matters. For Velikov, it's a chance to prove he still belongs in this business with myself as the sole juror. For Sudakov, it's a chance to avoid being sent back to Russia for further... education. And for you, it's a chance to see two former great Russian warriors do battle. The pleasure, of course, is all yours. [Kostovich grins at the boos again.] IK: Now, Comrade Graham... if you please... [Kostovich steps to the side, allowing Ken Graham and his pink tuxedo to take center stage.] KG: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a fifteen minute time limit and will be conducted under the jurisdiction of the Russian Athletic Federation! [More boos!] KG: Introducing first... [The Russian National Anthem kicks in to a big explosion of jeers.] KG: From the former Soviet Union... weighing in tonight at 287 pounds... VLAAAAAADIMIIIIIIR VELLLLLIKOV! [The jeers intensify as Velikov emerges from the locker room, heavy steel Russian chain draped over his shoulders and the Soviet flag waving back and forth in the air as he walks down the aisle.] JS: This guy certainly knows how to make friends. TM: Waving the Russian flag anywhere probably gets you booed but in the heart of America like St. Louis? Whew boy. This guy may not get out of the building here tonight. [And almost immediately, the chants of "U-S-A! U-S-A! U-S-A!" fill the air.] JS: Velikov, being announced at 287 pounds here tonight, has gotten himself into pretty good shape for this match, Todd. TM: Looks like he's lost a few pounds. He knows how important this match is. [Velikov steps through the ropes, waving the flag back and forth to the jeers of the crowd. A nodding Ivan Kostovich softly applauds the show of Russian patriotism as he leans against the turnbuckles.] KG: And his opponent... [Metallica's "Creeping Death" kicks in to a HUGE cheer!] KG: From Russia... weighing in tonight at 272 pounds... he is a former National Champion... the Russian War Machine... KOLLLLLLYAAAA SUUUUUUUDAKOV! [Sudakov pops through the curtain, also with a steel chain wrapped around his jacket-covered shoulders. He points to the ring where his Uncle is standing on the second rope, waving him towards the squared circle.] JS: Kolya Sudakov is a former National Champion and that means, love him or hate him, he's one of the best wrestlers in the world today, Todd. TM: Only five men have held that title in two and a half years. - Marcus Broussard, Ron Houston, Stevie Scott, Juan Vasquez, and Kolya Sudakov - that's some good company to be in. But for Sudakov to get back to that level, he needs to start by getting rid of this old thorn in his side here tonight, Steggs. [As the Russian War Machine steps through the ropes, he starts towards his Uncle... ...but Ivan Kostovich steps between the men, preventing them from going right at it.] JS: Now, what in the world is this all about? [Kostovich shakes his head at Sudakov, waving for the mic.] IK: Before this starts... we need to make one thing clear. This match is sanctioned by the Russian Athletic Federation... and this man... [Kostovich points at referee Mickey Meekly.] IK: ...is not a sanctioned RAF official. [Meekly looks confused, pointing at the AWA logo on his referee's shirt.] IK: I'm sure he is a fine official but for this match, we need things to be by the book. Therefore, the RAF has assigned their OWN official for this match... a man whose credentials are unquestionable... a man who will call things right down the middle to the RAF's liking... Please welcome the newest RAF referee... [Kostovich gestures down the aisle with a grin.] IK: COUNT ADRIAN BATHWAITE!! [The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Adrian Bathwaite emerges from the locker room area, cane in hand. He grins at the reaction of the crowd as he slowly makes his way down the aisle, gesturing at the Russian Athletic Federation patch on his referee's shirt.] JS: Adrian Bathwaite?! This hardly seems fair, Todd! TM: Kostovich pulled a fast one here and look at Sudakov - he realizes exactly what just happened. Kostovich has gotten Bathwaite involved in this and this could be big trouble for Sudakov. JS: Kolya Sudakov has had his fair share of problems in recent weeks with Sultan Azam Sharif, the charge of Count Bathwaite. At least he doesn't have to worry about Sharif being out here. We're told that the Sultan has returned to Iran where he's being treated like a conquering hero. But what does this do to this match, Todd? TM: It makes it so that Kolya has to win very, very clearly to make this happen. There's no chance that Bathwaite calls this down the middle so if Sudakov wants a win, he needs to make it clear he's the winner. Best way to do that. Sickle right in the middle of the ring. [Bathwaite climbs through the ropes, quickly shaking hands with Ivan Kostovich who exits the ring. Bathwaite turns around, smirking at a glaring Sudakov... ...and jabs his finger into his chest.] JS: Bathwaite is telling Sudakov he's the boss here... he's in charge tonight... [Sudakov accepts the verbal browbeating, stepping back from the middle of the ring as Bathwaite continues to let him have it. The Englishman turns, signalling for the bell... ...and Sudakov rushes past him, attacking his own Uncle with a barrage of rights and lefts, battering Vladimir Velikov back into the corner.] JS: This one's underway and Sudakov is right out of the chute with a beating! [The Russian War Machine sidesteps, snapping off kicks to the body.] JS: Oh my... you can hear those kicks all the way up in the cheap seats, Todd. TM: The man hits and kicks very, very hard. Trust me. JS: That's right. You've been inside that ring with Kolya Sudakov, right? TM: I have. A few years ago now back in Los Angeles. Like I said, the man hits and kicks very hard. I had just the one match with him but I felt like I'd had twenty matches by the time it was over. [Sudakov grabs his Uncle by the arm, flinging him to the opposite corner.] JS: Velikov hits the buckles hard... here comes Kolya! [Sudakov charges across the ring... ...and Count Adrian Bathwaite steps into his path, raising a hand.] JS: What the-?! TM: Bathwaite says you can't attack a cornered opponent! JS: Well, he's right, of course. It's technically illegal to assault an opponent who is in contact with the ring ropes but no one ever enforces that! Bathwaite knows what he's doing in there! [Sudakov backs down, shaking his head, waiting for Velikov to emerge from the corner.] JS: Sudakov had his Uncle in trouble early and now Bathwaite halted his momentum dead in its tracks, Todd. TM: Who knows. Maybe Bathwaite will be the best official ever. JS: I'm guessing Kolya Sudakov will disagree. [As Velikov emerges from the buckles, Sudakov charges him again, tangling his Uncle up in a Muay Thai clinch before throwing knees to the body of Velikov. He uses the clinch to throw Velikov back into the corner.] JS: Back to the buckles again... Sudakov moves in on him and- [Again, Bathwaite intervenes, this time grabbing Sudakov by the arms, holding him back from the corner... ...which allows Vladimir Velikov to throw a big right hand of his own, catching Sudakov on the jaw and knocking him down to a knee.] JS: Unbelievable. TM: I can't say I agree with that one. The referee shouldn't be putting his hands on one of the wrestlers. That's something your buddy Alex Martinez will do good to remember for later tonight, Steggs. JS: I'm sure Alex will conduct himself very fairly but that's for later. For now, this is about these two Russians trying to beat the heck out of each other but getting cut off at every turn by Count Adrian Bathwaite! [The crowd jeers as Velikov delivers a big boot to the chest of Sudakov, knocking him flat on the mat. He follows up with a series of stomps to the head and chest.] JS: Where is Bathwaite now? This is illegal as well! TM: He's using the flat of the boot. That could be legal. It's referee's discrection most of the time and I'm guessing Bathwaite will let it go. [Velikov drops down to his knees, wrapping his hands around his nephew's throat in a chokehold.] JS: Nothing discretionary about that! The referee needs to get in there and stop this... [But the "official" simply stands back and starts a verrrrrrrry slow count.] JS: I could have counted to ten by the time this guy gets to two! TM: Sudakov needs to adjust to it though. He's behind the eight ball but he needs to figure out a way to adapt to it. A true champion always finds a way to win, Steggs. [Velikov breaks at the count of four, earning a soft-spoken reprimand - complete with a pat on the back - from Bathwaite. The elder Russian climbs to his feet, looking down at his nephew who is gasping for air. Measuring Sudakov, Velikov leaves his feet, connecting with a heavy legdrop across the chest.] JS: BIG TIME LEGDROP BY VELIKOV!! [The Russian hooks a leg as Bathwaite hits the mat, counting as quick as possible.] JS: ONETWOTHR-shoulder up! I've never seen a count that quick, Todd! It looked like he was trying to squish ants at a picnic! TM: He did get the shoulder up but with a count that quick, how long can Sudakov survive near falls? [Velikov gets up, grabbing his nephew by the back of the head and delivers three big right hands to the temple before dragging him up to his feet.] JS: Both men back to their feet now... whip to the ropes... [Sudakov ducks under a clothesline attempt, hitting the far ropes.] JS: SICKL- [But as Sudakov races towards his Uncle with his arm outstretched, Bathwaite happens to wander in front of him, looking the other way as he forces Sudakov to a stop.] JS: Oh, come on! This is ridiculous! TM: That may have been an accident, Steggs. I'm not sure Bathwaite knew where he was. JS: Are you serious? Come on, Todd... don't fall for this junk. You're better than this. You're not a bad guy anymore. TM: Old habits die hard, Steggy. JS: DON'T CALL ME STEGGY! [Sudakov complains in Bathwaite's direction who replies by jabbing his finger into the Russian War Machine's chest again, pointing to the Russian Athletic Federation patch on his chest. Sudakov shakes his head as he walks past him, snapping off a side kick to the midsection of Velikov, sending him stumbling back to the ropes... ...where a running double clothesline sends Velikov over the ropes and down to the floor!] JS: OHHHHH! SUDAKOV SENDS HIM TO THE FLOOR!! TM: Now that's an interesting strategy. Maybe outside the ring Bathwaite won't be able to stifle his offense. [Sudakov steps through the ropes... ...but Bathwaite grabs him by the arm, stopping his progress.] JS: Let him go! This is awful! How can the AWA let this go? Where is Jim Watkins? Get the Championship Committee involved with this! [A protesting Sudakov tries to pull away to no avail as Bathwaite holds his ground, threatening the Russian with a DQ... ...and then kicking the middle rope, driving it straight into the groin of Sudakov!] JS: OHHHH! He caught him low! TM: Oh, now, I know that was a mistake. He was trying to hold the ropes open for him and accidentally caught the rope. Total accident, Steggs. JS: There's no way that was an accident! [Sudakov lies on the mat, clutching his groin as Vladimir Velikov rolls back into the ring... ...and grabs his heavy Russian chain from the corner.] JS: He's got the chain! Surely they have to stop this! Surely someone has to step in on this one! [Velikov wraps the chain around his fist, ready to coldcock his downed nephew... ...but Bathwaite does step in, softly warning Velikov not to use the chain.] JS: Well, thank heavens for that but I don't understand why he- [The crowd begins to buzz as Ivan Kostovich slides under the ropes, shedding his suit jacket... ...and charges as Sudakov rises, smashing him squarely across the chest with both fists!] JS: RUSSIAN HAMMER! RUSSIAN HAMMER! [The blow sends Sudakov staggering back to the ropes, stumbling off... ...and getting DRILLED between the eyes with the steel chain, knocking him flat!] JS: VELIKOV HIT HIM WITH THE CHAIN!! COME ON!! [And as Velikov applies the lateral press, the chain still wrapped around his fist, Bathwaite drops down to count.] JS: ONETWOTHREE! Another fast count! Tell me how that's fair, Todd! Tell me! TM: Well... uhh... that was... well, it was a unique way of... uhhh. JS: That's what I thought. Sudakov just got robbed and you know it! Kolya Sudakov just got robbed by all three of 'em - Velikov, Kostovich, AND Bathwaite just robbed Kolya Sudakov of his entire career! [The bell rings as Velikov rises, Bathwaite raising his arm in victory. Still in the ring, Ivan Kostovich approaches... ...and falls into an embrace with both men!] JS: This was a setup! This was a damn setup, Todd! TM: It certainly appears that way. JS: Ivan Kostovich is hugging Vladimir Velikov! These two were in on this all along! Velikov was never under any threat of being sent back to Russia! They were- [The crowd begins to cheer as a new person emerges from the back, quickly making his way down the aisle.] JS: Here comes Supernova! TM: Why? What business does he have out here? JS: Supernova's coming out here - over by us... [The camera picks up Supernova shouting at the timekeeper, "It's not fair! This isn't right!" but the timekeeper shrugs his shoulders, protesting that he has no control over the situation. Suddenly, Ivan Kostovich's voice rings out.] IK: Hey! [Supernova doesn't react.] IK: Hey, pretty boy! You with the makeup! [This time, Supernova turns, looking up into the ring.] IK: You want to stick your painted-up nose into our business, son? [Kostovich is seething as he stares out at Supernova.] IK: What's wrong? Is Sudakov here- [A hard kick to the ribs is delivered by Kostovich.] IK: Is he your buddy? Your pal? [Another hard kick.] IK: Does seeing this happen to him make you cry? Does it make your makeup run down your cheek- [The crowd cheers as Supernova hits the ring, fists flying!] JS: SUPERNOVA! SUPERNOVA!! [Two right hands knock Kostovich flat. He spins around, catching an incoming Velikov with a right hand as well. Spinning again, he DRILLS Bathwaite with a haymaker that knocks him flat! One more spin allows him to drill a right hand on Velikov again before he grabs him by the wrist, flinging him to the corner. Supernova quickly backs up, charging across the ring... ...and leaping into the air, crushing Velikov in the corner with a splash!] JS: HEAT WAVE!! HEAT WAVE IN THE CORNER!! [Supernova throws Velikov down to the mat. He steps up, grabbing the legs, looking to tie them up in the Texas Cloverleaf.] JS: He's trying to turn him over! Trying to- [But Bathwaite strikes, smacking his cane down across the back of Supernova's neck!] JS: OHHH! HE HIT HIM WITH THE CANE!! [On the way to his feet, Kostovich grabs the fallen chain, wrapping both hands in it... ...and SMASHES them into the chest of Supernova with a chain-wrapped Russian Hammer!] JS: OHHH! Supernova's down as well! [Kostovich removes the chains from his hands, throwing them down on the fallen Supernova and Sudakov. Bathwaite helps Velikov back to his feet and the three man stand tall over the downed Sudakov and Supernova as the crowd jeers wildly.] JS: Supernova's down. Sudakov's down. And look at these three men - oh so proud at what they've done. TM: And you know somewhere in Iran, Sultan Azam Sharif is just as proud. JS: Ugh. Makes me sick. Fans, I don't know but I believe... I believe we may have just seen Kolya Sudakov's last night in the AWA. He... under the stipulations of the match, he has to fall back under Kostovich's control. This... it's not fair. It really isn't. [The crowd jeers the trio as they make their escape from the ring, exiting back up the aisle.] JS: I can't believe what we just saw. Let's... let's go back to the locker room where Mark Stegglet is with one of the participants in tonight's Steal The Spotlight showcase. Mark? [Cut to Scott Mayhem, dressed in a red robe decorated with a repeating motif of a blue fleur-de-lis on gold and the wavy blue and white bars inspired by the St. Louis flag. He also has on a large pair of sunglasses. Next to him, in a red dress, is Miss Amanda.] SM: Saint Louis, Missouri, oh yes! Tonight's the night I get my hands on you, Johnny Casanova. I told you I was coming for you, didn't I? Told you I'd find a way, oh yes. You want to be the one who takes me out, Johnny? You want to be the one who takes me out? I'll take you out! I'm going to be the one who takes YOU out! I'd like to see you try to take me out, Johnny, because I swear to God Almighty, you do that and I'll drag you down along with me, oh yes! No, Johnny, I don't think you'll be taking me out. In fact, I think your plan is to hide... Hide behind Wade Kennedy... Hide behind "Gentleman" Jack Holland... Hide behind Adrian Freeman... Hide behind that seven-foot tall goof MAMMOTH Mizusawa... Because if ever there was a support group for anti-social, insecure, inadequate men, oh yes, that would be that team right there, with the exception, maybe, of Wade Kennedy. But it doesn't matter who you hide behind, Johnny, because even four hundred pounds of stupid can't quite cover your big, yellow lard ass, oh yes! And I'm going to do what I do best and let loose the Mayhem and God help anyone who stands in the way. Believe that! [And with that, we fade to black... After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark Stegglet in an apparently moving car.] JD: You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel! MS: Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app! [The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.] JD: Hello, Mr. iPhone. [The iPhone speaks. Yes. Yes it does.] iPhone: Hello, Jason Dane. Did you know that former AWA National Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist? JD: Well, actually I did. iPhone: Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution? MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression): I did not know that! [Thankfully, a voiceover starts.] VO: Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0! This new app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details on your favorite AWA superstars! Plus, be the first to see our brand new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of the AWA - before they were AWA! AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you! [Fade back to black... And then we fade back to Dallas, Texas where, at the top of the aisle stands Jason Dane, microphone in hand, addressing the cheering fans.] JD: What a night of action we have seen already, and much more to come! We will see, right here in Dallas, the Main Event... "Hotshot" Stevie Scott against Juan Vasquez, possibly for the last time, as Vasquez' career will be on the line against the most prestigious title in the sport, the AWA National Title! Plus, the Texas Death Match over a year in the making, as Tin Can Rust will one more time step in against Calisto Dufrense with revenge in mind! There are a lot of scores to settle in the ring tonight, but one match that has been building for the past several weeks is the finals of the Longhorn Heritage Championship Tournament. And with me at this time... [The fans boo as the rotund shape of Percy Childes steps through the curtain. Bald, and bearing a dark pointed Van Dyke on his chin, Childes has a nasty smirk on his face. He wears a black sport coat, white undershirt, and grey tie.] JD: ...a man who has been absolutely offensive to the spirit of this entire competition, Percy Childes! Your man Nenshou faces Brent Maverick in the ring tonight, to determine the first-ever Longhorn Heritage Champion. PC: How appropriate. Another hasbeen of yesteryear... scratch that. A never-was. A man whose claim to fame is riding Matthew Lee "Doc" Holiday's coattails for years, most of which were in a dead territory that noone cared aout THEN, let alone now. A man who symbolizes Longhorn heritage... an illusion! Brent Maverick has never accomplished anything, and I cannot wait to see the dim expression on his face when my Nenshou exposes him for the fraud he is. Brent Maverick: Then turn around and take a good look. [The fans cheer as Childes' eyes bulge in shock. Oops. Brent Maverick, clad in his to-ring attire (rust-red knee length trunks, laceless red leather boots, cutoff brown leather gloves, a matching vest, and a bad attitude) stands right behind Childes, glaring down at the pudgy bald man. Childes slowly turns and Maverick continues.] BM: I hear tell that Nenshou's meditatin', Monosso's gittin' instruction from Layton, an' that leaves you out here with nothin' ta back up yer yap but two-hunderd fifty pounds o' Jello in a hundred-pound sack. So look me in the eye an' say that, Childes. Let's see how much ya really believe in yerself. [A "KICK HIS @$$" chant starts up as Childes backpedals... then recovers.] PC: You lay one finger on me, Maverick... one finger, and I'll sue you for whatever you have left! And maybe I'll give Monosso your home address! BM: I'll give it to him myself. I got shotguns. Five of 'em. Brought one tanight just in case. Why dontcha send that big dumb goon ta jump me inna dressin' room an' see if I'm lyin'? [Childes turns red with frustration as his threats have no impact, and the fans cheer this more.] PC: Fine. You want to come face to face with the truth, Maverick? Isn't that your "catchphrase"? "THAT'S THE DAMN TRUTH"? Isn't it? Fine! I'll tell you the truth! The truth is, the Longhorn Heritage Championship is a slap in the face of wrestling. We're glorifying the long-gone failures of yesterday, thus dooming the present. I hear it all the time, how everything was so much better back in the "old days", when such alleged legends as Tex Violence, Bishop, and Thunder were failing to make any money here in this very state that canonized them for some reason. Ah, but I've already covered that, haven't I, when my man Nenshou put Robert Donovan to pasture. Now it's your turn, so why don't we discuss YOUR heritage, Mr. Maverick? I can't help but notice that, as much as an utter failure as the Longhorn Wrestling Council was, there are still between two and three dozen human beings who still care. And some of these subhumans we've been blessed with in attendance tonight, of course. [BOOOOOOO!] PC: Ah, but I can't help but notice that there is no "Ultimate Heritage Championship", now is there? Tell me, Brent... does it stick in your gut at night? Knowing that for all the success you were part of, clutching Holliday's coattails for dear life... you're still seen by many as second class to men whose claim to fame are singalongs and drinking contests? Knowing that nothing you can do will ever change how you're seen, because you just happened to end up on the wrong coast, and the 'winners' re-wrote the history books without your name in it? Then they failed too, and now nobody remembers anything you did? Were all those years worth it? You've lost your money, you told us all that when Kevin Slater came calling. What do you have left? A distorted history? Did anything you did matter? I thought about coming out here with another urn and burning remnants of the New York territory, but then I realized that it wouldn't really matter; noone cares. It doesn't even deserve a funeral. So, while Robert Donovan and company were failures... you've sunk far lower than that, Brent Maverick. At least a failure exists. You? You're not a failure... you're a _nobody_. [The fans boo, and Percy continues.] PC: So go ahead, Maverick. Fight for this homage to a dead territory you never had anything to do with. Fight to glorify the legacy of others, while your legacy has faded to nothing. It would be _amusing_ if you won it, actually. See Brent Maverick, carrying the emblem of his betters! Ha ha ha. BM: You done? PC: Speechless? Oh, sorry... did the truth hurt? BM: I really only got one thing ta say ta all that dribble. PC: Oh? How will you defend yourself, Brent Maverick? Will you tell us about your 'storied' accomplishment that noone cares about anymore? BM: Just one of 'em. PC: And which one would that be? [Maverick reaches into his vest, and pulls out a photo. It is a photo just like the ones Percy pulled out and burned last week... only the subject matter is much more recent.] BM: I pinned Nenshou. [Percy's eyes fill with rage as he rips the photo out of Maverick's hand... the photo of Maverick getting the three count on Nensou a couple months ago.] PC: GIVE ME THAT, YOU... BM: My turn, rubberlips. You peep one time while I'm talkin', an' I'll hit ya so hard you'll roll all th' way ta Saint Louis in time ta see Taylor whip Slater! Week after week, ya come out here an' run down th' past. Droppin' names here, spittin' on memories there... but what've YOU done, Childes? Or I'll put it in five simple words, so even a fool could get it! WHO. THE. HELL. ARE. _YOU_?! [A roar of approval fills the auditorium as Percy starts to rant... and then is silenced by a menacing finger to the face.] BM: I SAID SHADDAP WHEN I'M TALKIN', PUNK! You ain't nothin' but a leech. I looked up yer history, see. Ya tried ta git in as a wrassler years ago in Portland, but didn't make th' cut. Went ta LA, same. Toronto, same. Then ya went ta Laredo... an' whut happened? Tell 'em! I give ya permission... tell these people whut happened when Percy Childes tried out in Laredo? [Percy is shaking with anger, his fists clenched... boiling mad. The fans love it.] BM: OH! NOW ya wanna be quiet! Then I'll tell 'em what happened! PC: DON'T YOU D... BM: Tex Violence broke yer leg, an' then Powell told ya ta retire, because, an' I quote... "nobody pays ta see a fat midget who cain't wrestle"! [HUGE POP! Percy's secret is out, and the "Collector Of Oddities" rages at the fans... who start a chant.] Fans: "FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET! FAT-MID-GET!" BM: In fact, if I remember, yer last match was a tryout in New York where ya got beat, in four minutes... by Johnny Bod. [Crowd: "OOOOOOOOOOH!" Percy looks like he is either about to have, or is actually HAVING, an anyuerism.] BM: Now fast-forward, years later, ya inherited a load of money from some uncle who pitied yer failure at every turn of life... an' now yer th' little picked-on kid that wants revenge on th' bullies that beat him up fer his lunch money years ago. Some visionary! Some genius! An' ya lucked inta a kid who don't know nothin' in life but how ta wrestle. Nenshou... oh, he's real good. Real gullible, real green, came from a sheltered home an' got no world-smarts... PC: SHUT UP! SHUT UP! I HAVE HEARD ENOUGH! BM: An' ya bragged fer months about the "unbeatable future of wrestling". How he was so far beyond everyone, that he oughta be given the title now. How he was gonna succeed where everyone else failed. Ya built him up as this bad, dangerous killer... undefeated! Unbeaten! Unbeatable! Then I dumped him on his head, pinned him, an' walked away. [The fans are cheering as Childes coninues to rant.] BM: Oh, sorry... did the truth hurt? [A louder cheer as Childes' own words are twisted against him. Percy stops and composes himself, then turns to face Maverick.] PC: Laugh at me. Go ahead... laugh. [A disturbingly peaceful look crosses Percy's face. He's not afraid any more, and his rage has dissipated into... something else. Something disturbng. Or more accurately... something _disturbed_.] PC: Laugh, Maverick. I want to hear it. I want to remember it. I want it to be ringing in my ears when Nenshou _destroys_ you tonight. We were content with taking the title... we were content with burying the diseased memories of the deluded masses. We were content with burying the past and proceeding to the future. We were content with restoring the focus from what is gone to what is here. But now? We won't be content until you _suffer_. So laugh! Laugh and see what it gets you! [Maverick rises to the challenge, bending down to glare Percy eye to eye. He responds by uttering three syllables, without any trace of mirth or irreverence.] BM: HA. HA. HA. PC: We'll see you later tonight... for the last time. Because we're going to see you _ruined_. BM: You got a better chance o' seein' God. [Cheer!] BM: An' when ya do? Maybe I'll see ya in Hell. I got a feelin' though, yer gonna get there first. Oughta be a familiar place, ain't it? You an' Layton... two crybaby punks that blame everyone fer yer shortcomin's. Layton's Master already got what he wants from you. You? You was born a loser, lived a loser, an' gonna lose whatever ya had when ya die. You don't know know other way. Maybe I never did have nothin' ta do with Laredo. But Laredo represents New York. An' LA, St. Louis, Portland, an' every other place anybody called home. It IS the Ultimate Heritage Title, th' Extreme Heritage Title, th' International Internet Heritage Title, th' River City Heritage Title, an' on an' on. I will be damned if I'm gonna let a fat, overgrown _child_ take our heritage from us! Ya wanna piss on our past because ya couldn't hack it? Don' be surprised ta learn that some things in life jus' ain't changed much at all. AND THAT'S THE _DAMN_ TRUTH! [Maverick storms to the back, leaving Childes fuming to the joy of the crowd. Dane takes control of the segment back.] JD: The tournament final just got a little more personal! And back to you, Gordon and Bucky! GM: Thank you, Jason Dane. And thank you, Brent Maverick, for standing up to Percy Childes and saying what has been on the mind of every wrestling fan! No question who the fan favorite will be when Maverick faces Nenshou tonight! BW: The fan favorite? Who cares! I'll tell you who th' favorite will be as far as Vegas is concerned: Nenshou! After that FLUKE this summer where Maverick beat Nenshou by rubbing poison in his face... GM: Nenshou's own mist! BW: ...he went back to Japan and trained even harder! He got even more serious! That was the experience he needed to stay hungry, to focus entirely, and tonight Brent Maverick isn't even going to think it's the same man. Nenshou will never lose to the likes of Maverick again, I guarantee it! And to punk out Percy Childes like that?! Brent Maverick has to be the biggest idiot I know! GM: Why should Maverick fear anyone?! He went through Childes' entire retinue in one single match! He is a storied competitor in his own right, no matter what Percy Childes might think... and I think Maverick may have exposed the fact that Childes' opinion doesn't hold nearly as much weight as his suspenders do! BW: Gordo. Before ya make one more crack at Childes, I think ya oughta watch tanght's match. When Maverick brought all that up... didja see how Percy changed? Didja see the look in his eyes? I only saw a look like that from one other guy. GM: Who? BW: Monosso. Laugh at Percy Childes at yer own risk. I think he's serious when he says he's gonna end Brent Maverick tanight. GM: ...a disturbing thought. But speaking of two men trying to end one another here tonight, Ron Houston is in the building here tonight - against doctor's orders - to try to finish this war with Brian Von Braun once and for all. What makes a man do it, Bucky? What makes a man fight against doctor's orders? BW: That's probably a better question for Todd Michaelson - he's been fighting against doctor's orders for fifteen years. But I'll tell ya what I know. I know that there's a certain level of pride you have to have to get inside a wrestling ring. There's a certain... ego... if you will that it takes. And when a man like Von Braun steps up and repeatedly slaps you in the face. When a man like Von Braun goes to great lengths to put you on the shelf permanently... to take food off your family's table... to take away what you love to do... that's when things change. That's when things become too hard to turn away from. And that's where Ron Houston is. To him? Now? It's worth the risk of never being able to wrestle again to get a shot to put out the guy who has been making your life hell. GM: It's hard to argue with that. And with that, let's go down to Phil Watson for the introductions in that one! [We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.] PW: The following contest is set for one fall with a thirty minute time limit. Introducing first... [But not a single word comes out of Phil Watson's mouth before Ron Houston comes stumbling through the entrance curtain, collapsing down to a knee just beyond the entryway.] GM: What in the...? [The question is answered a moment later when an absolutely mad-looking Brian Von Braun walks through the curtain, metal trash can in hand.] "YOU WANT TO BE A HERO, HOUSTON?" [The dented trash can swings down again, catching Houston squarely over the skull and knocking him down to the floor. Von Braun throws the dented trash can aside, diving down to his belly and crawling right next to Houston to talk to him.] GM: Ring the bell, ref! This match isn't no DQ! BW: The match hasn't even started yet, Gordo! Von Braun can do whatever he wants right now! [Von Braun can be seen whispering something unpicked up by the camera's mic before pushing up off the floor. He threatens a backhand at a ringside fan who is screaming at him... ...and then reaches over the rope barricade lining the aisle, snatching something off the ground.] GM: He just took that fan's crutch! [The Invader walks over Houston, the wooden crutch resting across his shoulder. He paces around the downed Athens, Georgia Madman, shouting at him repeatedly.] BW: He's begging Houston to get up! Almost ordering him to get off the mat! [The East Coast Terror slowly pushes himself to a knee again, looking dead in the eye of Von Braun who stands in front of him. Von Braun squares up to him, extending the crutch. He taps Houston's injured shoulder with it, raising it high overhead... ...and swings!] "CRAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: HE JUST SHATTERED THAT CRUTCH OVER RON HOUSTON'S INJURED SHOULDER! [Houston collapses facefirst on the floor, screaming in pain as he clutches his shoulder.] GM: Brian Von Braun in recent weeks has drawn a bullseye on the shoulder that knocked Ron Houston out of the AWA for nearly a year - the shoulder that cost him the National Title to begin with! BW: Von Braun wants to knock Houston out of the AWA again - this time once and for all and we're just moments into this one and he's reinjured the arm! Who knows what he'll do before this one is all said and done, Gordo? [Von Braun glares menacingly down at Houston, holding a piece of the broken crutch in his hand. He grits his teeth, grabbing Houston by the hair from behind and slowly pulling him into a kneeling position...] GM: Oh my stars... don't do it... somebody stop this... [Holding the splintered crutch in the air, Von Braun nods his head at the jeering crowd... ...and DRIVES the sharp wooden fragments into the forehead of Ron Houston!] GM: AHHHHHH! [The crowd groans in sympathy for Houston as Von Braun digs the splintered wood into the forehead, digging back and forth across the forehead until a trickle of blood starts to pour down his face.] GM: Brian Von Braun has split Ron Houston's head open and... heck, this match hasn't even officially started yet, Bucky! BW: It hasn't and that's a good thing for the Invader because if the bell had rung, this match would be long over. You can't drive a pointy piece of wood into someone's head and not draw a DQ. [The camera catches a look of satisfaction on the face of Von Braun as he throws the broken crutch aside, stepping in front of Houston. He balls up his fist and drives the knuckles into the cut.] GM: Ohh! He's trying to split that head even wider open! [Smirking, Von Braun eyes his work... ...and then punches the cut again!] GM: Come on! There's gotta be something that can be done about this! [Von Braun inspects the damage... ...and then punches the cut again... and again... and again, flailing like a rabid wild animal at the wound.] GM: Get him off of Ron Houston! [Finally, the Alabama native steps back, using Houston's hair to drag him to his feet, pulling the bloodied fan favorite down the aisle towards the ring. Using the hair, he hurls him under the ropes into the ring.] GM: Von Braun puts Houston inside the ring... rolls in as well now... [And now, referee Michael Meekly calls for the bell to start the match.] GM: Are you kidding me? Don't even start this thing! Throw it out! [The bloodied Houston lies on his back in the middle of the ring, crimson streaming down his face as he clutches his injured shoulder. Von Braun rises to a knee, taking some verbal abuse from the official as he climbs to his feet... ...and then viciously stomps the injured shoulder!] BW: Nothing fancy about that. GM: But oh so effective. That injured arm and shoulder has been a weak spot on Ron Houston in the weeks leading up to this match and Von Braun knows exactly what he intends to do tonight. BW: He intends to end the career of Ron Houston - whether he can do it or not remains to be seen. [Von Braun slams home a hard stomp to the midsection of Houston, forcing him to sit up... ...and then nails a running dropkick to the injured shoulder, knocking Houston right back down to the mat!] GM: A clever use of the dropkick right there to attack the shoulder... [But as soon as he uses something with some technique, Von Braun resorts back to his savage nature, just balling up his fist and slamming it down in an overhead blow to the shoulder over and over and over.] GM: Get him off of Houston! [The referee does exactly that, physically pulling the 215 pounder away from Houston. For a moment, it looks like Von Braun will punch the referee square between the eyes... ...but he thinks better of it, driving home another stomp to the shoulder.] GM: This guy is an animal, Bucky. BW: A dangerous animal. One that might rip your eyes out if you get in his way. And right now, Ron Houston is right in the middle of his way. GM: He stomps him again - perfect aim too - right on the shoulder. BW: Don't let Von Braun's violent nature take away from the fact that he's one of the best wrestlers in the world, Gordo. The man is the prize of the Von Braun wrestling family - this business is in his blood and he's had success EVERYWHERE he's ever competed which covers some major, major territories. [Von Braun drags Houston to his knees, pulling him by the injured arm towards the ropes. Once there, he wraps the arm around the rope and kicks it as hard as he can.] GM: Oof! That'll do even more damage to that arm. [Grabbing the top rope with both hands, Von Braun lunges forward to slam his knee into the spot where the arm meets the shoulder. The referee steps in to warn him but Von Braun does it again... and again... and again... before the referee steps in, pushing him back.] GM: The referee just threatened him with a DQ if he continues to ignore his orders. BW: Tell the referee to just do his job and count to five and we won't have a problem. GM: You think a five count will stop this maniac? [Von Braun grabs Houston by the injured arm again, pulling him hard to his feet, wheeling him around and hurling him into the corner.] BW: Oh! He hit hard, Gordo! He tried to turn away to keep his shoulder from hitting the buckles and his head snapped back from the impact. That's a whiplash-type effect there. [A wild-eyed Von Braun promptly climbs the ropes, pulling Houston's arm straight out from his body and bracing his knee against it...] GM: Oh no! He's gonna come off the ropes with all his weight on that knee to the arm and- [A desperate Houston tears his injured arm away, throwing a left hand into the jaw of the shocked Von Braun.] GM: Ohh! He caught him! [With Von Braun stunned up on the middle rope, Houston grabs him by the front of the trunks and falls backwards, yanking Von Braun off the ropes and sending him sprawling chestfirst down to the mat!] GM: DOWN GOES VON BRAUN!! [Grabbing his right shoulder, Houston crawls across the ring, trying to use the time to recover. He leans against the buckles, seated facing the ring so he can see Von Braun as he pushes up off the mat, checking his nose for signs of blood.] GM: Houston bought himself some time here to recover... BW: Not much though. The Invader's already up to a knee and he doesn't look pleased. GM: Houston blocked whatever Von Braun had in mind up there on those ropes and- [And suddenly, Von Braun dashes across the ring, driving his knee into the injured shoulder of the seated Houston!] GM: Again! Right back to the shoulder again! [Holding the top rope, he drives the knee in a couple more times before pressing it against the shoulder, leaning and grinding down on the injured limb with the protesting official shouting at him from the rear.] GM: The referee is ordering him to get out of the corner but Von Braun is completely ignoring him! Von Braun won't back off without a fight! [Von Braun steps back, threatening to backhand the official, a gesture that sends Meekly scattering. Von Braun sneers at the referee as he leans down to pick up Houston... ...and catches a left hand under the chin!] GM: Whoa! Big uppercut by Houston! BW: Don't count him down, Gordo. The guy may be hurt and hurt badly but he's still a former National Champion. You don't get that by being a pushover with no heart. [Von Braun stumbles backwards, grabbing at his own chin. He spits on the canvas, running the back of his hand over his mouth before moving back in on the now-kneeling Houston.] GM: Von Braun's right back on him though... winding up... [But Houston blocks the thrown blow, firing a left hand of his own to the jaw of Von Braun, sending him sprawling backwards into the corner.] GM: Houston rocked him with that one! [The Athens, Georgia Madman pushes up to his feet, wincing as he grabs his right shoulder... ...and then charging in, drilling Von Braun with a left-armed clothesline in the corner!] GM: BIIIIIG CLOTHESLINE IN THE CORNER!! BW: But you notice he's doing all of this with the off-arm. He doesn't have the strength in the right arm for this so he's using the left arm. When someone is forced to use their off-arm, it totally changes their approach to the match not to mention it lowers the effectiveness of every blow thrown. [A hurting Houston uses his left arm to apply a side headlock against the turnbuckles, turning out to face the middle of the ring. He rushes forward...] GM: BULLDO- [But the loose grip applied with the left arm is easily broken by Von Braun who shoves Houston off, sending him sailing a few feet away. As the former National Champion slams on the brakes, he spins around... ...and gets a thumb jabbed into his eye!] GM: Ohh! To the eyes! [With Houston blinded, Von Braun simply grabs the injured right arm and armdrags him down to the canvas. He quickly pins the wrist to the mat, stretching out the arm... ...and leaps up, dropping a knee across the injured arm!] GM: Goodness. Did you hear Ron Houston cry out on that one? BW: Are you kidding me? I think they heard him up in St. Louis, Gordo. [Still kneeling on the arm, Von Braun grabs the wrist, pulling up hard on it and twisting.] GM: Von Braun's got some kind of an arm submission applied here, shouting for the official to ask Houston if he wants to quit but I can't imagine Ron Houston submitting. BW: He may not have a choice, Gordo. That arm's barely held on with bubble gum and spit right now. [Wrapping the arm around his leg, Von Braun sits down on the forearm, keeping the pressure on as he throws hooking left hands to the ribcage.] GM: Houston's having a hard time fighting this one - he's trying to turn to his side to roll out of it but Von Braun is keeping him on his back with those blows to the body. [Still holding the arm, he drags Houston back to his feet, executing a full armtwist before grabbing the wrist... ...and slams his shoulder into the injured arm!] GM: Ohh! Almost like a short-arm tackle but he's pulling Houston's injured arm and shoulder into his own shoulder. That'll do even more damage to that injured limb. [He throws a few more short tackles to the arm before armdragging him down to the mat again... ...and dropping a picture perfect elbow on the shoulder!] GM: I'm starting to think the referee needs to take a look at stopping this match, Bucky. How much of this can Ron Houston take without risking his career? BW: He decided to risk his career the moment he accepted this match. You don't think Ron Houston knew that this was exactly what he was getting into? GM: You don't think they should stop the match? BW: That's a different story. The man's career is in jeopardy so yes, they should look at stopping it. But Ron Houston knew the risks involved so I have no pity for him. [Von Braun drops three more elbows on the shoulder before rolling under to the ropes to the floor. He reaches back in, grabbing the wrist and dragging Houston's upper body under the ropes.] GM: He's got Houston's head and neck hanging out over the apron. BW: And his arms! [Grabbing the injured arm, Von Braun raises it high... ...and SLAMS it down on the hard ring apron!] GM: Come on, referee! Step in there and take a look at least! [Still holding the wrist, Von Braun steps back up on the ring apron. He stomps the shoulder over and over as the referee warns him. Dropping back to the floor, he drags Houston over near the steel ringpost.] GM: Oh no. [Von Braun pulls Houston so that his right arm is on the opposite side of the steel post from the rest of his body... ...and SLAMS the injured arm into the steel!] GM: AHHHHH! [Houston promptly rolls away, clutching his injured arm as Von Braun rolls back into the ring, finally applying a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [The left shoulder just barely creeps off the mat before the pin.] GM: You've gotta be kidding me. Stay down, Ron. [An angry Von Braun pushes up to his knees, balling up his fist and driving right hands into the right shoulder. He then moves up to the bloodied face of Houston, smashing it with a few right hands as well.] GM: Repeated closed fists! Get in there, Michael Meekly! [Von Braun pulls Houston up by the right wrist, tugging him into a front facelock.] GM: He's got the arm stretched out! He's going for that armbreaker DDT! [But before the Invader can drive his rival down to the mat in an attempt to separate his shoulder... ...Ron Houston stands up, sending Von Braun sailing through the air and down to the mat with a thud!] GM: HE BACKDROPPED HIM! HOUSTON COUNTERS THE DDT!! [Houston immediately falls to a knee, grabbing his right shoulder. He smacks his palm into it a few times, trying to slap some life into it as he climbs to his feet, waiting for Von Braun to rise... ...and charges towards him, connecting with a big boot that sends Von Braun sailing over the ropes to the floor!] GM: OHHHHHHHHHH! [Houston collapses against the ropes, wincing with every movement as he looks over the ropes at the motionless Von Braun.] BW: Von Braun went all the way over the ropes to the floor and he hit VERY hard, Gordo. GM: Houston needs to take a breather, use this time to try to recover a bit of his strength. BW: No way. He needs to hit the floor hard and go after him. For the first time in this match, he's got Von Braun in trouble and now he needs to take advantage of it. [Houston bites his lip as he steps through the ropes, gingerly holding his left arm in his right. He drops down to the floor with a wince, still holding the arm. Reaching down with his left arm, he drags Von Braun off the floor and drills him with a left hand that sends Von Braun stumbling backwards into the ring apron.] GM: Both men are out on the floor now. [The big man moves closer, pinning Von Braun against the apron as he throws another left hand... and another... and a third that knocks Von Braun down to a knee.] GM: He's battering Von Braun, trying to chop him down out there... [Stepping back, Houston measures his man... ...and CREAMS him with a big boot to the kneeling Von Braun's face, knocking him flat!] GM: Ohhh! Big boot to the face! [Houston uses his boot to roll Von Braun onto his back, kneeling down over him. He throws a left hand to the face, snapping Von Braun's head back into the thinly-padded concrete floor. Getting to his feet, he leans down and grabs the seams of the padding on the floor, tearing at it with his left hand.] GM: What in the world...? BW: He's trying to rip up the padding! What kind of sportsmanship is this, Gordo? GM: Well, he's gotta be frustrated. Brian Von Braun is trying to end his career here tonight at SuperClash II and you know Ron Houston has GOT to be frustrated at that! [Houston fails to get enough strength in just one hand to rip up the padding and turns away from it, moving in on Von Braun who is back up to a knee... ...and pops up off the knee, driving a boot into the gut of Houston.] GM: Von Braun caught him coming in! [Grabbing a handful of hair, Von Braun tries to slam Houston's face into the ring apron... ...but a shaking left arm blocks the smash. The left elbow is thrown back into the body, catching Von Braun off-guard.] GM: Houston with a left to the body and- [Grabbing Von Braun by the back of the head, Houston SLAMS his face into the ring apron to the cheers of the crowd!] GM: And yet again, Ron Houston is fighting back! [Von Braun stumbles away, pushing the timekeeper out of his chair. He grabs the chair off the ground, folding it up, and turning back towards Houston... ...but the referee dives from the ring apron, stepping in between the two with his hands raised!] GM: The referee's stopping Von Braun from using the chair! Von Braun was going to finish Houston off but the official got in the way and- "CLAAAAAAAAANG!" [The crowd cheers as Houston lets loose a haymaker to the chair, knocking it out of Von Braun's hands. He stalks towards the Alabama native who goes scurrying backwards, hands raised.] GM: Run! Run, you cur! BW: Okay, Wyatt. GM: Von Braun's backpedaling now and Ron Houston's coming for him! [Von Braun throws the timekeeper's table down to the floor, blocking Houston's path. But the big man simply kicks it aside, still stomping towards his retreating rival.] GM: Von Braun's trying to get away from Ron Houston! [The Invader hurdles the barricade, shaking a finger at Ron Houston who rushes forward and grabs Von Braun by the hair with his left hand, dragging him back over the steel railing!] GM: HOUSTON'S GOT HIM! RON HOUSTON'S GOT HIS HANDS ON VON BRAUN!! [Pulling Von Braun up by the hair, Houston uses the leverage to throw Von Braun backwards into the steel, sending a loud "CLANG!" throughout the building. With Von Braun leaning on the barricade, Houston delivers stomp after stomp after stomp to the chest.] GM: Ron Houston is raining down thunder on Brian Von Braun here in Dallas! [He reaches down, hauling Von Braun up off the floor. Spinning him around, he SLAMS his face into the edge of the steel railing!] GM: OHH! HEADFIRST INTO THE STEEL!! [Von Braun stumbles backwards, falling to the floor again. He inches backwards, hands raised, begging for mercy from the incoming East Coast Terror who leans down, dragging him back up... ...and getting another rake of the eyes for his efforts!] GM: Von Braun caught him in the eyes again! He's blinded him! "TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED! TWENTY MINUTES REMAIN!" [Lunging forward, he grabs Houston around the waist, hoisting him up into the air... ...where Houston throws fist after fist into the skull, battering his way free. He leans over, picking up Von Braun with only his left arm to lift with...] GM: He's got him up! What's he- "CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The crowd ROARS as Houston simply turns and falls backwards, smashing Von Braun's skull into the steel ringpost!] GM: My god! My stars in heaven! He may be out cold! BW: His skull hit the steel... you heard that, right? GM: I certainly did. A sickening thud... maybe even a crack... that could split a man's skull open to the bone and- [The crowd roars again as Von Braun rolls over, revealing a gushing wound on his forehead.] GM: And now both of these men have been split wide open! [A hurting Houston reaches down, hauling Von Braun off the mat by the hair. He shoves him under the ropes into the ring before rolling in after him, still trying to protect the left shoulder.] GM: Both men back in... and look at Von Braun! The man is sporting a crimson mask, fans, and now he's- [Houston immediately pulls him up, whipping him with one arm into the corner... ...and then barreling from corner to corner, SMASHING Von Braun against the buckles!] GM: AVALANCHE!! [Houston leans on Von Braun, not letting him fall out of the corner... ...and then steps up to the middle rope, looking through blood-covered eyes to the roaring crowd. He raises a fist and lets it fly.] "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEVEN!" "EIGHT!" "NINE!" "TEN!" [Houston hops down off the buckles, having left Von Braun on Dream Street. He rears back his left hand, throwing it for a Pulse Killer... ...but it's a glancing blow as Von Braun sidesteps and immediately throws a forearm into the shoulder. He quickly moves behind Houston, grabbing the back of the tights, and HURLS him shoulderfirst into the corner!] GM: OHH! INTO THE BUCKLES!! [Von Braun drops down, pulling the injured Houston down into a schoolboy!] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [The left shoulder just barely slips off the mat in time.] GM: Only a two count there but- [Von Braun springs to his feet, stomping the shoulder, trying to get more damage in before Houston can get to his feet but the big man keeps rising, trying to get to a standing position... ...where Von Braun grabs the arm, trying to take Houston down!] GM: He's going for the Endgame! He wants the armbar! [But a desperate Houston fights back, throwing left hands to the back of Von Braun's skull to break the hold. And as soon as Von Braun turns around, Houston hooks a front facelock... ...and SPIKES him skullfirst to the canvas!] GM: DDT! DDT! HOUSTON CONNECTS WITH A DDT!! [A hurting Houston shoves Von Braun onto his back, slumping backwards over him in a terrible cover attempt.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! [Von Braun easily slips out of the pinning position, hooking Houston's injured arm with his arms and the left arm with his legs, rolling Houston into a crucifix!] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [And suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS!] GM: WHAT THE-?! WHAT THE-?! BW: HOUSTON STOOD UP IN THE CRUCIFIX!! [Not exactly. The big man pushed off the mat with his feet, rolling through the crucifix cradle to his knees where he stood up, holding Von Braun across his shoulders...] GM: HE'S GOT HIM UP!! HE'S GONNA- [Houston suddenly does a full spin, HURLING Von Braun off his shoulders with his left arm!] GM: FADE TO BLACK!! FADE TO BLACK!!! [He collapses onto the downed Von Braun, reaching back with the left arm to hook a leg.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! THREEEEEEE! "DING! DING! DING!" PW: Here is your winner... RONNNNN HOUUUUUSTON! [A dazed and hurting Houston rolls to his rear end, clutching his right arm as the referee gingerly raises his left arm, pointing to the triumphant East Coast Terror.] GM: Ron Houston - I don't know how he did it but he did. Ron Houston has defeated Brian Von Braun. BW: Von Braun DOMINATED this match, Gordo. If he wasn't so hellbent on ending Houston's career tonight, he would have won this a long time ago. But in the end, he made one mistake and it cost him everything. GM: But what a counter it was by Houston, rolling through the crucifix attempt into the Fade To Black. Incredible! [Von Braun rolls from the ring, dropping to a knee on the floor as he drops his head, shaking it back and forth as Houston is helped to his feet by the referee. The East Coast Terror raises his left arm in victory, saluting the cheering fans, and watching up the aisle as Von Braun leans on the rope barricade, using it to support him as he heads back down the aisle.] GM: A big victory for Ron Houston and that just might be the win that the East Coast Terror needs to get back in the National Title picture - no matter who wins our Main Event later tonight. BW: Hey, but don't forget about Brian Von Braun. He could have won this one, Gordo. If just one more thing went his way, we'd be talking about Von Braun being a top challenger for the National Title. And in my book, that's exactly what he is! GM: Both of these men put out an extraordinary effort and you're right, either man could be standing with their hand raised right now. It just happens to be Ron Houston but it could have been Brian Von Braun just as easily. Fans, we'll be right back with six man tag team action so 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... ...and then we come back up to the locker room area where Mark Stegglet is standing between Jug, Zeke, and Mange - the Moonshiners. All three are dressed for battle which is to say they're wearing jeans and work boots. Their beards are unkept, their hair is wild, and their potbellies are plentiful.] MS: We are live back in St. Louis where in mere moments, a feud that is over thirty years strong. Tonight, this finally comes to an end. [He holds the mic up to Mange who strokes his beard.] Mange: Thirty years. [Another stroke of the beard.] Mange: People live and die in thirty years, puppy. They are born, they live, and they die... all in the time it has taken the Moonshiners and the Dixie Fireballs to finish what they started so long ago. Tonight, you said it comes to an end... you say it "finally" comes to an end. [Mange shakes his head.] Mange: This feud will live forever, puppy. Two weeks ago, I said this ends tonight but I was wrong. Me? The boys? We'll never not spend nights aching to rip Lee's limbs from his body. And these painted-up buffoons he's hitched his wagon to? They're just roadkill. They don't matter one bit to us. [A nod.] Mange: At the end of the day, we'll fight the Pigs... we'll fight Lee... not out of some dream of ending things between us... but because it's another day when the Fireballs and the Moonshiners need to beat each other up. Some things were just meant to be, puppy. [And the wild-haired Moonshiners walk out of the interview area, heading for the entryway as we crossfade to the ring where Ken Graham is standing.] KG: The following contest is a six man tag team match scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit! Introducing first... from Memphis, Tennessee... Jug, Zeke, and Mange... THE MOOOOOONSHINERS! [Some stereotypical "Southern" music with lots of banjo plucking starts up to the jeers of the crowd. The curtain parts to reveal the three men we saw moments earlier, heading down the aisle towards the ring.] JS: These are three of the toughest men you'll ever see inside a wrestling ring. TM: Or outside one if you believe those stories of them down at the local tavern every weekend. I've heard they close that joint down some nights... and not by drinking. JS: There are more broken chairs and tables in that bar on a Saturday night than on an average night in our old place of employment. [The three wild-haired brawlers climb through the ropes, turning back towards the entryway and shouting for Lee and the War Pigs.] JS: There's no use in trying to hype this as something it's not, Todd. This is going to be a fight. TM: I'm not sure how much of a fight it'll be. I expect the 'Shiners to beat the facepaint off those two muscleheads before putting their old man manager out to pasture. JS: You seem to really be selling the War Pigs short, Todd. TM: The War Pigs are great... in a posedown. But in a fight? Give me the hillbillies who fight every Friday night for kicks. [The banjo music fades out to...] #GENERALS GATHERED IN THEIR MASSES!# [The crowd ERUPTS as Black Sabbath's "War Pigs" hits the PA. After a moment of rock and roll, Hammer, Sabre, and Richard E. Lee come dashing down the aisle towards the ring.] JS: Here they come! [With the two powerhouses and their equally face-painted manager charging down the aisle, the referee signals for the bell as all three men dive headfirst under the bottom rope, popping to their feet and letting the fists fly as they collide with the Moonshiners in the middle of the ring!] JS: WE'VE GOT A FIGHT ON OUR HANDS!! [Zeke pairs up with Sabre, Jug with Hammer, and fittingly, Richard E. Lee starts lighting up the chest of Mange with a series of knife-edge chops that sends the big brawler back into the corner.] JS: All six men are battling it out inside the ring and- [Zeke slips a knee into the gut of Sabre. He grabs Sabre by the back of the had, hurling him through the ropes to the floor. He spins around, smashing a double axehandle across the back of Hammer's neck, knocking him down to a knee.] JS: Sabre's out to the floor. This is down to a three-on-two now. This can't be good for the War Pigs. [Jug squares up, raising both arms as Zeke does the same. They slam double axehandles down across Hammer's wide back in unison, knocking him down to all fours. The crowd jeers as they continue to batter, landing sledge hammer blows over and over as they knock the larger member of the War Pigs down to the canvas.] JS: Hammer's down! TM: I told you, Steggs! Look at the Moonshiners go to work! For the War Pigs, this was just another match but to the Moonshiners, this was the culmination of thirty years of bad blood! [The hillbilly brawlers continue to lay the boots in on Hammer, kicking him in the ribs over and over. Suddenly, Richard E. Lee spots his man in trouble and charges into the fray... ...where a brutal double headbutt knocks him flat!] JS: Lee's down as well! The Moonshiners are beating the hell out of everyone in there! [An angry Mange stomps out of the corner, grabbing Lee around the throat with both hands and yanking him first to his feet... then powers him up into a double-handed choke!] JS: Choke! He's choking the life out of Richard E. Lee! [Lee struggles against the choke, trying to free himself... ...and ends up thrown down to the mat thanks to Mange's powerful toss.] JS: This can't be going the way the War Pigs expected it to. TM: The War Pigs? Imagine what Richard E. Lee is thinking right now! This is his chance to end a thirty-year feud and his boys are blowing it! JS: Are you serious? [Lee rolls to the floor as Jug and Zeke pull Hammer to his feet, throwing him back into the buckles. The two brawlers take turns throwing heavy boots into the midsection.] JS: Hammer's getting beat on by all three Moonshiners and- [Mange backs to the far corner, waving his partners to help him. Grabbing the arms of the manager, they fire him across the ring... ...and send Mange into a big running splash in the corner!] JS: The 'Shiners send Mange like a big ol' freight train into the buckles! Hammer's getting worked over by three men here and- [Suddenly, Sabre gets back into the ring, firing right hands at Jug, knocking him back into the ropes.] JS: Sabre's fighting back! Listen to these fans! [Sabre grabs the wild hair of Zeke, cracking him with a haymaker that sends the big man falling back into the corner. He grabs Zeke by the arm, firing him from corner to corner... ...and SMASHING Zeke into the buckles with a big running clothesline!] JS: CLOTHESLINE ON ZEKE!! [Sabre spins around, connecting with a spinning back elbow into the jaw of an incoming Jug, knocking him down to the mat... ...and the crowd ERUPTS as Sabre points a finger right at Mange!] JS: SABRE'S GOING FOR MANGE!! [Mange backpedals, hands raised in a defensive posture as Sabre approaches.] JS: Mange is begging for mercy - he wants no part of Sabre! [And Sabre replies by burying a boot into the gut of the Moonshiners' manager. He throws a few big right hands, knocking Mange backwards into the corner.] JS: Hammer's up on his feet and- [The big man races towards the corner, landing a big running clothesline on Mange!] JS: The War Pigs are all over Mange! [The War Pigs' powerhouse hurls Mange into the ropes, catching him on the rebound... ...and DRIVES him into the mat with a thunderous powerslam!] JS: POWERSLAM!! POWERSLAM!! [Hammer springs to his feet, jerking a thumb to the sky. The crowd roars as Sabre steps through the ropes, heading to the corner.] JS: They're calling for it! They're going for the WMD! [Hammer ducks down, hoisting Mange up on his shoulders in an electric chair lift as Sabre scales the ropes...] JS: If they hit this, it's over! Sabre's gonna come off the top and- [But before he can do it, a recovered Jug lunges forward, shoving Sabre clear off the top rope, sending him sailing through the air and crashing to the thinly-padded floor with a big thud!] JS: OHHHHHH! TM: Sabre got shoved off the top! He hit the floor hard, Steggs! JS: He certainly did! Jug shoved him all the way down to the floor off the top rope - that's a ten... maybe twelve foot fall to the hard, unforgiving concrete floor! I'll be surprised if Sabre can get back into this match at all. [A shocked Hammer drops Mange harmlessly to the mat, moving to attack Jug. He spins the Moonshiner around, popping him with a right hand... ...but Jug buries a knee in the gut. Grabbing the back of the head, he slams Hammer's head into the buckles.] JS: Hammer's all alone in there! [Zeke gets up to join his partner in a big double whip to the ropes... ...and drops Hammer like a rock with a big double boot to the chest!] JS: That might do it right there, Todd. TM: They're not done though. [Zeke and Jug roll to the floor as Mange drags Hammer over to the ropes, placing a leg on either side of the ringpost.] JS: Oh no. TM: They're gonna put this guy on the shelf, Steggs! JS: Each one of them... each one has got a leg! [And at Mange's shouted order, they pull... HARD!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: THEY PULLED HIS GROIN INTO THE POST!! INTO THE STEEL RINGPOST!! [Hammer immediately grabs his nether regions with both hands, screaming in pain. Jug and Zeke grab the legs again... ...and pull him into the post a second time!] JS: Twice! Twice he goes full force into the post! [Mange drags him away from the corner, putting him in the center of the ring. Jug and Zeke roll back in, climbing to their feet.] JS: The Moonshiners have laid out Hammer and... look at this, Todd. [A sneering Mange points directly at Richard E. Lee who is now standing on the apron, looking to help...] JS: He's inviting Lee in there! They've laid out Sabre! They've laid out Hammer! But what about Richard E. Lee? TM: If he's smart, he'll get the heck out of town, Steggs. JS: No way. There's no way! His men are down and hurt! He needs to help! He needs to- [Shaking his head, Lee produces a white cloth from his pocket. He reaches up with it, wiping his face.] JS: What is he... what's Lee doing? [He holds up the white towel, showing the War Pigs' trademark facepaint... ...and flings it down to the mat.] JS: He just... did he just throw in the towel? [Lee turns his back on the ring, walking back up the aisle to the confused buzzing from the crowd as the referee calls for the bell.] JS: He did! The ref just stopped this thing! [The referee drops to the floor, conversing with Ken Graham who nods before making it official.] KG: Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has ruled that Richard E. Lee, a member of the War Pigs' team... has THROWN IN THE TOWEL! [The crowd jeers!] KG: Therefore, your winners... THE MOONSHINERS! [The boos pour down on all three Moonshiners as they raise their hands in victory. Mange looks on with a mixture of surprise and annoyance as Richard E. Lee backpedals down the aisle, shaking his head. The eldest Moonshiner puts his hands on his hips, spitting on the canvas...] JS: Uh oh. "GET 'IM UP!" [At the barked order of their leader, Jug and Zeke yank Hammer off the mat. Mange leans in, slapping him a few times across the face. He points to the ropes so a double whip happens... ...and Jug and Zeke join hands, mowing down a rebounding Hammer with a double clothesline!] JS: Oh my! Down goes Hammer again! TM: What a night it's been for Hammer. He got his bell rung there and earlier, he got his bells rung... twice. JS: Classy. Sabre's down, Hammer's down, Richard E. Lee has walked out on his team! What does this all mean for the future of the War Pigs, Todd? TM: The future is now and it's all about the Moonshiners! JS: Fans, let's go backstage where another participant in tonight's Steal The Spotlight showcase - "Playboy" Johnny Casanova - is standing by. [We fade to the backstage area. Outside their locker room, the straggly haired, pudgy "Playboy" Johnny Casanova, and his cohort Big Mama are fired up for their match.] JC: Tonight's the night! Tonight's the night when Johnny C finally gets his hands on Scotty Mayhem and gets a little bitta payback for the insults to my sweet rose here, the love of my life, this fine figure of a lady Big Mama! [He points to Big Mama, who curtseys rather clumsily.] JC: Scotty, ya painted a big ol' bullseye on yourself as far as I'm concerned the other week, and ya're gonna have to take ya punishment like a man! The Playboy is gonna make ya wish ya had kept ya big mouth shut, and thought better of ya little Halloween stunt. Cause Scotty, the scariest thing ya see all year will be Johnny C putting ya down once again! And once I've taken down Scotty Mayhem, time for the real fun to begin. Because this match is called Steal The Spotlight, and baby, the Playboy IS the Spotlight! Ten men are going in there, but there's only one who's walking out with a title shot. Like I've already said, I look good in gold! [And with that, we cut to another part of the building to yet another man who will take part in Steal The Spotlight. Raphael Rhodes is standing outside the Family Arena, dressed in a black long-sleeved T-shirt and jeans, sitting on a bench and staring down at his feet.] RR: You know what inspires me? [Rhodes looks up at the camera.] RR: It used to be money, and fame, and recognition. But now, whenever I need to put things into perspective, I go home. Travelin' the world has spoiled me... made me soft. Bein' in the Southern Syndicate did the same... I got used to the money, the cars, the luxury hotels. And you know what that did to me? [Rhodes looks back down.] RR: It made me forget. It made me forget the pain I went through growin' up... even though me dad was a famous telly wrestler, we had to fight for everythin'. We had to stretch every single quid that came in because we knew just what a downturn in business would do to us. And somehow, somewhere, probably on a private jet goin' to God knows where, we forgot this. [Rhodes shifts in his seat, uncomfortably.] RR: So people have been emailin', or textin', or askin' the AWA... where has Raphael Rhodes been these last few weeks? I've been home. I went home to get some perspective. Yeah, I want to beat the heads in of every single last member of the Southern Syndicate, but I couldn't do it with the mindset I was in. So I came home. I spent a month, sittin' out near Wigan Pier, watchin' my city rebuild itself after years of economic turmoil. I trained in the old gyms I started in, tryin' to find the Raphael Rhodes that would break someone's jaw for sayin' a bad word. [Rhodes' voice drops.] RR: I saw me brother, with the vertebrae in his neck fused together, layin' in his bed, unable to stand up and play football with his kid, and saw the disappointment in his eyes because I ain't beat a single one of them yet. [Rhodes pauses, to take in a deep breath.] RR: And that... that, Adrian Freeman, is where I found myself again. You're goin' to pay dearly. See, the Southern Syndicate's one big body... and you're just the left arm. You can cut off the left arm and the body can still function, it just ain't goin' to function as well as it would. At SuperClash II, I don't care what I have to do, I don't care who I have to beat to get to you... I'm goin' to do it. [Rhodes looks up again.] RR: And you, Mizusawa... you're just the overcoat the body puts on to keep warm. You got used by the Southern Syndicate... but that don't make you any less culpable. See, the match has got ten people in it, but you, Freeman, and you, Mizusawa... you're the only ones I care about. I'm gettin' two of you for the price of one. That's why I signed up for Steal the Spotlight, to get the two of you in the ring at the same time. [Rhodes smiles.] RR: I take out the arm, and there's less to fight with. I take out the coat, there's no protection from the cold winter that's settin' in. And believe me, boys... it's goin' to be a very cold winter. [Fade to black... After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.] "Have you ever dreamed of fame?" [Cut a little closer.] "Of glory?" [A little closer.] "Of your friends and family seeing you on television?" [And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that reads "AWA Combat Corner."] "Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American Wrestling Alliance!" [We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring. There are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course, working out in the ring.] "With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in the ring in the shortest amount of time!" [Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.] "With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on Day One!" [Two young students are grappling on the canvas.] "So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar! You want to be the future of the business! You want to wrestle!" [Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner. We freeze there for a moment... ...and then fade back in to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing by with a dark-suited Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa, dressed to compete in a black singlet, knee pads and boots are standing by. The bespectacled Matsui is smirking characteristically next to the scowling seven-footer.] MS: We are back here in St. Louis and tonight, MAMMOTH Mizusawa steps into the ring along- LM: [Interrupting.] Tonight, Stegglet, the San Jose Shark leads his team of flunkies into the ring against the greatest assemblage of talent this place has ever seen. You know what they do to a shark when they catch one back where MAMMOTH Mizusawa comes from? They cut off its fins and dump the rest of it back into the sea. And that's what we're going to do tonight to the San Jose Shark; we won't be cutting fins, but everyone knows my client is capable of ripping the very limbs off your body and tossing you right out of that ring, bleeding and broken, to drown in your own mediocrity. And we have no problems doing the same to each and every one of those men who follow you to that ring tonight... Finish what we started with Rhodes in June... Help the Playboy put down the rabid fleabag that is Scottt Mayhem... Wipe out whatever's left of Preston, because this time it's not some unhinged monster he's facing... And Sone? I might have questioned Wade Kennedy's claim to the Spotlight, but even he is slightly more deserving of being in this match than you. So, tonight? Tonight we take out each and every one of those men... Broussard... Rhodes... Mayhem... Preston... Sone... Then? Then watch as my client cements his status as Mr. Steal the Spotlight. MS: But what about the members of your team? If it comes down to it, MAMMOTH Mizusawa will be battling them for the title shot. LM: And that he will! But I'm banking on the rest of the members of Team Matsui to be smart... Smart enough not to stand between the giant and his prize... Smart enough to realize that Louis Matsui ALWAYS returns a favor. No offense to Waterson, but with Calisto Dufresne sitting on a title shot, the Syndicate does not need another trump card up their collective sleeve. They've made it clear; if they win the shot, they're only going to use it to keep the title within the Syndicate. So, Johnny Casanova, Jack Holland and Kennedy need to ask themselves how that outcome will benefit any of them. On the other hand, my client will take on all comers and if... No, WHEN he becomes National champion, we will remember the people who made it possible. You see, last year, I gave away money to the men who helped my client go the distance at the first Steal the Spotlight match. This year? This year I offer something better; help MAMMOTH Mizusawa steal the spotlight, help my client in his quest to become the National champion, help make that a reality, and when the time comes, we will not hesitate to grant you your shots at the title. The way I see it, that's a pretty sweet deal right there, especially in comparison to a seven-foot-tall, four hundred pound beating. [Mizusawa wraps his hand around Stegglet's and the mic, pulling it towards his face and stooping slightly to reach it.] MM: Spotlight... Mine... BANZAI!!! [With a wide grin on his face, Matsui pats his client on the back approvingly and we fade to footage marked "EARLIER THIS WEEK!" It's Jason Dane in the SuperClash Control Center!] JD: Hi fans, Jason Dane here, just days away from SuperClash II, and what a lineup we have in store for you. Of course the headliner is perhaps the biggest match in history, the final showdown between Stevie Scott and Juan Vasquez, the end to the feud that has defined the AWA. But the winner of that match will no doubt be in the crosshairs of the winner of the Steal the Spotlight match. And one of those competitors is with me at this time, Eric Preston, SuperClash II is upon us. [The camera turns to the left, where Eric Preston stands and nods. Preston is relaxed but focused, wearing blue jeans and a white Nike shirt with a sleeveless denim vest over top. Lots of denim today.] JD: Eric, you've found yourself in line for any title shot of your choice, if you could just make it through the Steal the Spotlight match. What are your thoughts as match time approaches? EP: Well Jason, SuperClash is finally here, and the whole world's watching. There isn't a bigger match in the wrestling world then Stevie Scott versus Juan Vasquez, and I tell you something, along with the fans in attendance and watching at home, I'm gonna have a keen eye on that thing. See, far as I'm concerned it's a done deal. All good things have to come to end, and so do all the bad ones, and Juan Vasquez is gonna walk out of SuperClash with the AWA Heavyweight title over his shoulder. Juan's someone who trained me, someone who I know outside the ring, and he's someone with a lot on his plate. He's got damn near a year's worth of pain and punishment riding on this, not to mention his career. But you can write it in marker and underline it two times, brother, take this one to the bank. Juan Vasquez is going to win the match and his first challenger is going to be yours truly. JD: You're going to be his first challenger? EP: Yeah baby, Eric Preston in the flesh. You see I've been able to clear my mind, Jason, I got what I needed over Monosso to move on, and I'm gonna do just that. One match can earn you a blank check, for any title match you want at any time you wish. Men would kill for this, and they may well do just that at SuperClash. And I know I'm fightin' from underneath, and I realize that a match with ten guys can have all sorts of possibilities, but all I can control is my own performance and I can guarantee you that the best is yet to come from Eric Preston. It was like a roadblock, Jason, it's like what they call a keylog in a dam. The issue with Monosso had invaded my mind enough that it was infecting everything I did, and yet here I was in the match I had petitioned for getting my teeth knocked around. At that moment it was go time or no time, Jason, I had to man up and do something about it. And whatever was holding me back, I broke through it. I did what I had to do, and I got my victory. It wasn't a pretty picture, and it won't go down in the history books, but it was a hard fought, gritty win, and that's what I needed. To get my hands dirty, and earn a victory when all the odds were against me. To prove to myself that all the hours I spent and all the blood and sweat and tears that I shed... that they weren't in vain. They weren't for granted. James Monosso can hate the wrestling business and give all the warnings he wants, but consider them unheeded. I've got what I need to roll into SuperClash and roll out with that title shot, and the only person in St. Louis who won't be surprised is me. [Preston pounds his chest as Dane asks another question.] JD: And your injuries? EP: They are what they are, Jason. I paid the physical price to get that victory, and I'd do it again. My ribs will probably hurt for the rest of my career, and I'll probably be stockholder in Excedrin when it's all said and done. But it's nothing I can't work through, and nothing that can derail my momentum. Injuries are ten percent physical and ninety percent mental, Jason, they only effect what I let 'em effect. I just won't let 'em at SuperClash, brother, that's just how it's going to be. I laid low for a few months, Jason, I allowed myself to become disrupted by some stuff I shouldn't have. All learning experiences, all in the past. SuperClash is the biggest show of the year, when the world is watching, and SuperClash is going to be my coming out party. I'm re-announcing myself to the wrestling world in one of the greatest wrestling city's in the world, and when I've got the free title match in my hand, don't say I didn't tell ya so. [Preston pats Dane on the back and walks out with a smile as we fade to ringside where Ken Graham is standing.] KG: The following contest is the STEAL THE SPOTLIGHT showcase! [BIG CHEER!] KG: Two teams of five men will soon enter the ring. These ten men will do battle in an elimination tag team match until only one team remains. At that point, if more than one member of the surviving team is left, those team members will battle it out as well until there is a SOLE SURVIVOR! [Another big cheer!] KG: And that survivor will earn a future title shot of his choice. And now... Team #1... [Soul Coughing's "Super Bon Bon" starts up to a big cheer from the St. Louis crowd.] KG: They are the team of... MARRRCUS BROUUUSSARD! [The former AWA National Champion walks into view, lifting an arm to the cheering crowd.] KG: JOHNNY SONE! [The third-generation rookie springs through the curtain with a big grin on his face, soaking up the cheers from the crowd.] KG: RAPHAEL RHOOOOODES! [A really large reaction for the former Southern Syndicate member who rolls his neck as he walks into view, ignoring his partners.] KG: SCOTT MAAAAYHEM! [Mayhem walks through the curtain followed closely by Miss Amanda.] KG: And ERRRRRIC PRESSSSTON! [Preston is the final man through for his team. He shows some signs of leftover damage suffered in the final battle with James Monosso twelve days prior as he raises an arm to the cheering crowd. As he joins his team, the five men make their way down the aisle together to big cheers from the crowd.] JS: Quite a team there, Todd. TM: An impressive group of talent. JS: If you had to pick one of these guys to be the sole survivor of this match, whose your money on? TM: That's a tough one. Marcus Broussard was the first man to wear the AWA National Title around his waist and you know he'd love another crack at it. Raphael Rhodes never got his shot after winning the Memorial Day Rumble and no matter if it's Stevie Scott or Juan Vasquez, Rhodes would love to tangle with 'em. Scotty Mayhem and Johnny Sone are the dark horses in this one. No one expects them to win it but that's something the best position to be in. JS: I notice you don't mention your former student Eric Preston. TM: I've got high hopes for Eric here tonight and I'd love to see him pull it off but there's just something about him lately. I'm just not sure he's got the focus to do it here tonight in St. Louis. [The five men hit the ring, saluting the fans as the music starts to fade and is replaced with "Battle Without Honor Or Humanity."] KG: And their opponents... First, the man who won this very match one year ago... MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA! [The giant strides into view, letting loose a loud bellow to the amusement of his manager, Louis Matsui, who is right by his side.] KG: Representing the Southern Syndicate... AAAAADRIAN FREEEEEMAN! [The Australian comes into sight, Ben Waterson by his side.] KG: "PLAYBOY" JOHNNY CASSSSANOVA! [Casanova is the next one through, Big Mama looking as angry as usual.] KG: "GENTLEMAN" JACK HOLLLLLLAND! [Holland walks into view, looking with disdain at his own teammates.] KG: And finally... WAAAAAADE KENNEDY! [There's a big cheer from the AWA faithful for young Kennedy as he trots through, saluting his fans. Matsui looks at Kennedy with disgust before the group starts making their way down the aisle to the ring.] JS: How about this squad, Todd? Who's your pick there? TM: MAMMOTH Mizusawa. JS: That's it? No speculation about the rest. TM: I think Adrian Freeman's a target for half the guys in the ring and he can't overcome those odds. Casanova and Holland are dark horses but I don't think they've got it in them. JS: And Wade Kennedy? TM: He may not even make it to the ring. [The crowd jeers as Matsui spins around before reaching the ring, reading Wade Kennedy the riot act and jabbing a finger into his chest.] JS: Wade Kennedy certainly is the odd man out in that grouping but when a future title shot is on the line, you'll team with anyone I'd imagine, Todd. TM: I would've teamed with my worst enemy to win a shot at a title. JS: All ten men are in the ring now... the referee is right there in the middle of it all, trying to keep this from breaking down right away. TM: This seems like it would've been a good choice for a special ref. Where's Alex Martinez in this one? JS: He's back in the locker room in Dallas, Texas trying to prepare to have the entire balance of power in the AWA in his hands. That's an important role, Todd. TM: He certainly could change things in a big way if he decides to. [The official manages to get some control, getting some people out of the ring as some stay in.] JS: And it looks like it's going to be Marcus Broussard, the team captain, starting things off for his team against... oh brother... [The crowd buzzes as MAMMOTH Mizusawa shoves Wade Kennedy halfway across the ring, pointing to the corner. Kennedy angrily tries to push past the official but gets persuaded to exit the ring.] JS: The two team captains? Are you serious? TM: These guys aren't about to mess around, Steggs. They both want that title shot in the worst possible way so what better way to try and land it than to be the first ones in the ring. [The referee signals for the bell.] JS: We're off and running in this one... TM: And that's exactly what Marcus Broussard will need to be doing - running. He can't stand still and trade with Mizusawa. [Mizusawa strides to the middle of the ring, smacking himself across the chest with a meaty forearm.] JS: But that's exactly what Mizusawa is challenging the San Jose Shark to do, Todd. TM: Of course he is. Matsui's no dummy. But Marcus needs to be smarter than that. He needs to not let his ego get to him. [Broussard eyes Mizusawa for a bit before moving out to the middle. The San Jose Shark feigns going for a right hand before quickly moving behind Mizusawa, throwing a pair of heavy forearms across the back before the giant spins backwards with a backhand... ...a blow that Broussard narrowly avoids, diving backwards out of reach.] JS: He nearly got his head taken off there, Todd! TM: He did a nice job there of staying out of the way though. He'll have to fight exactly like that to survive in there with the giant. [An angry giant spins around, jerking a thumb at himself and glaring at Broussard.] TM: Don't get suckered in, Marcus. Stay on your game. [The San Jose Shark edges closer from the corner again...] JS: The Shark lunges in- no, he fakes it! [Broussard went high, faking a tieup attempt, and then ducked under, moving around to the back again, throwing a pair of kicks to the upper hamstring... ...and narrowly gets his head removed with a backhand again before diving aside to the cheers of the crowd.] JS: Another nice dodge of the blow from the giant. Broussard's sticking and moving, just like you suggested... [And this time, just as a fuming giant turns around, Broussard rushes forward, popping him on the jaw with a forearm smash!] JS: Ohh! Hard forearm shiver to the jaw! [A second blow stuns the giant and a third one has him backpedaling to the ropes as Broussard continues to throw.] JS: He's got him rocked! TM: Get him, Marcus! JS: Mizusawa's on the ropes - Matsui's losing his mind! [Broussard quickly moves to his own corner, hearing the shouts of one of his partner - young Johnny Sone. The Shark slaps his hand, bringing him into the match - or more specifically, up to the top rope. And as the giant stumbles forward...] JS: SONE'S UP TOP!! [Johnny Sone hurls himself off the top backwards, smashing his elbow up under the chin of Mizusawa!] JS: Big shot! Caught him on the chin! [Sone scrambles to his feet, slapping the hand of Scott Mayhem who also quickly scales the ropes... ...and leaps off, cracking the giant across the skull with a double axehandle!] JS: OHHH! AXEHANDLE OFF THE TOP!! [Mayhem pops back to his corner, slapping the hand of Raphael Rhodes who also scales the ropes... ...and propels himself off, catching a wobbly Mizusawa on the chin with a dropkick!] JS: MIZUSAWA'S REELING!! [Louis Matsui is absolutely beside himself at this point, practically on the ring apron as he shouts at the giant. Rhodes moves back to the corner, slapping the hand of Eric Preston who scales the ropes... ...and hurls himself off the top, wiping out Mizusawa with a cross body block!] JS: CROSSBODY OFF THE TOP!! THE GIANT'S DOWN!! [A pumped-up Preston dives atop the stunned giant.] JS: ONE!! TWO!!! TH- [And the crowd gasps in unison as Mizusawa presses Preston off him, throwing him through the air a few feet away.] JS: Whoa! TM: It's gonna take more than that to keep the giant down. JS: Mizusawa is already back to a knee, trying to clear the cobwebs... [Preston retreats to his corner, slapping the hand of the San Jose Shark.] JS: Broussard's back in... [And the Shark wades right back in, grabbing the kneeling Mizusawa around the head and throwing forearms to the jaw. Pulling down on the back of the big man's head, Broussard rocks him with a European uppercut!] JS: Ohh! That'll rock him! [The former champion hooks a front facelock on the giant... ...who responds by standing up, hurling Broussard through the air and down to the mat!] JS: Backdrop! I don't know what Broussard had in mind there but Mizusawa powered his way out of it. [The giant staggers near his corner... ...where Adrian Freeman slaps him across the shoulder, bringing himself into the match.] JS: In comes Freeman - the Southern Syndicate's sole representative in this match. [Freeman rushes the downed Broussard, kicking and stomping his shoulder.] JS: Freeman's going after the shoulder! The same shoulder that put Marcus Broussard on the shelf for months at the hands of Calisto Dufresne and Adrian Freeman before! [From the floor, we can hear Waterson shouting encouragement to his man as he pins Broussard's wrist to the mat before leaping up, smashing a knee down across the bicep.] TM: It was the summer of 2009 when Dufresne and Freeman bent, twisted, and busted up that arm in a tag team match. It may have been Stevie Scott who got the final blow in to put Marcus on the shelf but that arm was a wreck thanks to attacks just like this. JS: And look at the sick grin on Freeman's face as he kicks that arm. This guy is twisted. TM: All of 'em are, Steggs. Those Southern Syndicate jackals are some of the sickest guys I've run across in this sport and that's saying quite a bit. JS: You're speaking from experience too. We all remember what they did to you earlier this year. TM: Yeah. We do. [Freeman pulls Broussard off the mat by the hair, firing him through the ropes to the floor. The referee steps in, trying to prevent Freeman from following him which allows Ben Waterson to pull Broussard up on the floor, grabbing him by the back of the trunks...] JS: No, no! [...and FIRE him shoulderfirst into the ringpost!] JS: Ohhh! Come on! [A grinning Freeman looks on with glee as Waterson shoves a now-injured Broussard under the ropes into the ring. Measuring the downed Shark, Freeman drops another big knee across the injured shoulder. Out on the apron, Wade Kennedy gives Waterson an earful for his illegal actions.] TM: Kennedy better watch himself. Waterson'll turn his dogs on him next. [Grabbing the injured arm, Freeman executes an armtwist before slapping the hand of "Playboy" Johnny Casanova with a shout of "Stay on 'im!" Casanova nods, smashing an overhead elbow across the arm, a blow that sends Broussard down to the mat where he attempts to crawl away.] JS: "Playboy" Johnny C in for the first time in this one... ohh! He cuts off the tag attempt with an elbowdrop to the back of the head! [Popping back to his feet, Casanova does a full hip swivel in the direction of the other team... ...which brings Scott Mayhem into the ring, charging his rival before getting cut off by the referee.] JS: Look out here... [Using the distraction, Freeman comes back in, kicking the armtwisted limb before ducking back through the ropes.] JS: And I suppose it's no surprise that the Southern Syndicate member is the one who takes advantage to break the rules. [Casanova drags Broussard off the mat by the hair, shoving him back into the neutral corner. The Playboy steps in hard, throwing a back elbow up into the chin before dragging him from the buckles into a front facelock, snapping the Shark over with a suplex.] JS: Casanova with the vertical suplex... and you can hear Freeman screaming for him to stay on the arm. You'd think he's the team captain in this. TM: I'm sure he thinks he is. JS: Casanova nods... he's going along with it... [The Playboy executes another armtwist before reaching towards his corner to make a tag which brings in "Gentleman" Jack Holland.] JS: In comes Holland... big double axehandle across the arm... [Broussard uses the separation to move quickly towards his corner but gets grabbed in a half nelson...] JS: SHOTGUN SUPL- [But the San Jose Shark feels it coming, spinning out of the half nelson and burying a boot in the gut of Holland that he quickly turns into a swinging neckbreaker!] JS: OHH! NECKBREAKER BY THE CAPTAIN!! [The former National Champion quickly rolls to his chest, pushing up to all fours as he tries to crawl across the ring, looking for a tag... ...and slapping the outstretched hand of Johnny Sone!] JS: In comes the rookie! [The incoming Sone promptly steps up on the leg of the rising Holland, popping him with a kick to the back of the head!] JS: ENZUGIRI!! [The kick knocks Holland flat on his chest. Grabbing the arm, Sone twists the arm around his leg... ...and rolls him into a La Majistral!] JS: CRADLE! ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [Holland fires a shoulder out, breaking the tight cradle just before the three count comes down. Sone scrambles to his feet, catching a rising Holland with a kick to the chest. A second one sends Holland back to the ropes.] JS: Holland's stunned and- [Sone rushes forward, leaping up to snare the head of Holland who manages to block it, holding Sone up in a powerbomb position, stumbling backwards... ...which allows Mizusawa to reach up, smashing Sone with a right hand before Holland SLAMS him down in a powerbomb!] JS: POWERBOMB!! POWERBOMB!! [Sone lies flat on his back, motionless from the powerbomb. An angry Mizusawa slaps a dazed Holland on the shoulder, bringing himself back in... ...and dropping all of his weight down on a prone Sone in a splash!] JS: SPLASH!! FOUR HUNDRED PLUS POUNDS!! [But Mizusawa does not attempt a pin, standing up... ...and pointing at Marcus Broussard!] JS: I don't- what is he doing? Is he telling Broussard that this going to happen to him next? [The giant steps forward, reaching down with both hands to grab Sone by the throat... ...and powers him up into the air with both hands, holding him high...] JS: He's got him up! He's got him- [The crowd roars as Scott Mayhem rushes forward, leaping up with a kneesmash that catches the giant on the back of the head, sending him stumbling forward, dropping Sone safely to the mat.] TM: Get him out of there, ref. JS: Mayhem tried to help out Johnny Sone. Sone was done for there and- [An angry giant takes a swing at Mayhem who slips back out of the ring, having accomplished his goal for the moment. As Mizusawa turns back to Sone, he marches towards him... ...but Sone crawls between the legs, going into a front roll...] JS: TAG! [The crowd roars as Eric Preston slingshots over the top rope into the ring.] JS: In comes Preston! [Preston rushes across, catching the giant with a leaping back elbow to the jaw, knocking the giant back to the corner.] JS: Oof! Nice shot by Preston! [With a whoop, Preston leaps up to the middle rope, raining down punches to the temple.] "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEVEN!" "EIGHT!" "NINE!" "TEN!" [Preston leaps down from the ropes, grabbing the giant by the arm and firing him across the ring.] JS: He sends Mizusawa from corner to corner... here he comes! [A big leaping clothesline connects in the corner, squashing the big man against the buckles. Preston looks around at the cheering crowd, hopping back up to the middle rope.] TM: Again? [Raising his right hand, Preston starts to throw blows.] "ONE!" "TWO!" "THR- [But the count gets cut off as Mizusawa slips his arms between the legs, hoisting Preston into the air... ...and DRIVING him down with a thunderous powerbomb!] JS: OHHHHH! [The giant plants a knee in the chest, glaring across the ring almost daring someone to try to intervene.] JS: One. Two. And there's three. "DING! DING! DING!" KG: Eric Preston has been ELIMINATED! [Mizusawa pushes off the downed Preston, pointing at Marcus Broussard again.] JS: The giant seems obsessed with eliminating Marcus Broussard, Todd. TM: Hrm? JS: I said, Mizusawa seems obsessed with Broussard tonight. TM: Oh... yeah, he does. JS: You okay? TM: Yeah... just... disappointed, I guess. I thought Eric might prove me wrong tonight. [Eric Preston is helped from the ring by a pair of officials as Mizusawa stands in the middle of the ring, arms crossed as he waits for the next man to step up.] JS: We're down to five on four and- [Johnny Sone wastes no time in charging back into the ring. He takes one long look at the giant, looking a bit overwhelmed... ...and then rushes forward, throwing kicks to the legs.] JS: Sone's going for the legs! Trying to chop the big redwood down! [But the giant simply reaches forward, grabbing the hair of Sone and crushing him with a headbutt that knocks the third-generation star down to the mat.] JS: The giant floors him! [Sone gets right back up though, rushing in to throw palm strikes to the chest of Mizusawa... ...who replies with a massive chop that knocks Sone flat!] JS: Down goes Sone again! The giant is taking this kid's best shots and he's still laying him out! [But Sone gets right back up again, charging in, and leaving his feet with a leaping dropkick to the chest. The blow surprises Mizusawa, stumbling him...] JS: He caught him by surprise with the dropkick! [With the giant dazed, Sone hits the ropes, charging across... ...and catches Mizusawa under the chin with a spinning leg lariat!] JS: He caught him again! The giant got rocked! [Sone promptly rushes to the corner, leaping up to the middle rope, spinning around, and leaping off... ...into the waiting arms of the giant!] JS: CAUGHT! HE GOT CAUGHT!! [And Mizusawa surges forward to CRUSH Sone against the buckles!] JS: OHHHH! [Mizusawa ragdolls Sone around to his feet in the middle of the ring, grabbing him by the throat... ...and powering him up and down in a Tusk Crusher!] JS: OHHHH! ONE! TWO! THREE! [Mizusawa pushes up off his knees, letting loose a wild bellow as the officials drag Sone under the ropes to the floor.] KG: JOHNNY SONE HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! [The crowd jeers Mizusawa as he stands tall in the middle of the ring, holding up two fingers to the opposing team.] JS: That's two! Marcus Broussard has just seen his team knocked down to three men before his eyes thanks to MAMMOTH Mizusawa. Broussard, Rhodes, and Mayhem are left against a full team! [Broussard, still shaking his shoulder on the apron, huddles up with Scott Mayhem... ...only to see Raphael Rhodes dash through the ropes, charging the giant who swings a wild right hand.] JS: Rhodes ducks the right hand! [Balling up his fists, Rhodes throws hooking blows to the ribs of the giant.] JS: He's working the body with those punches! [Mizusawa turns around, lunging for a tieup but Rhodes ducks under it, coming up to throw more punches to the body.] JS: Again to the body goes Rhodes! [The giant spins around, throwing a chop but Rhodes somehow grabs the wrist, blocking the blow... ...and snaps off a series of kicks to the breadbasket. Tying up the arm, he switches to knees to the body instead!] JS: Rhodes keeps going to the body, Todd! Working the ribs... now the stomach... TM: He's trying to take the wind out of him. The big man is only going to have so much wind in his sails and that's what Raphael Rhodes is after right now. JS: Mizusawa shoves him down! [But Rhodes pops back up... ...and SLAPS Mizusawa across the ear!] JS: OH MY GOD!! [The giant's head snaps back from the impact of the blow... ...and then he spins back, eyes filled with rage. Louis Matsui can be heard SCREAMING in Japanese from the floor as the giant rushes forward, trying to squash Rhodes.] JS: Rhodes avoids the charge! Right hands to the ribs! Left hands to the ribs! [Suddenly, Rhodes jumps up on the back of Mizusawa, wrapping his arms around his head and neck.] JS: SLEEPER!! RHODES HOOKS THE SLEEPER!! [A dazed Mizusawa stumbles towards the corner... ...where Wade Kennedy reaches over the ropes, slapping the arm.] JS: TAG! Wade Kennedy tags himself in! [The spunky fan favorite pulls Rhodes out of the sleeperhold, popping him with a right hand on the jaw. And a second. And a third. He grabs the arm of Rhodes.] JS: Whip by Kennedy... LARIAT!!! [The big clothesline connects but the ring generalship of Rhodes comes into play as the Wigan native rolls to the apron, avoiding a pin attempt. A frustrated Kennedy climbs to his feet, rushing to reach over the ropes to grab Rhodes by the hair.] JS: He's gonna bring Rhodes in the hard way! Going for the suplex... [Rhodes throws a few punches to the ribs, forcing Kennedy to set him back down on the apron. He lands a headbutt to the ear, knocking Kennedy back a step.] JS: Ohh! TM: You've gotta watch out for the headbutts of Raphael Rhodes! [Grabbing the middle rope, Rhodes slings himself forward to drive a shoulder into the midsection, doubling up Kennedy...] JS: SUNSET FLIP!! [The crowd roars for the sunset flip by Rhodes but also cheers Wade Kennedy grabbing the top rope, blocking the attempt.] JS: Rhodes is going for the sunset flip but he can't get him down! He can't get him down and- [The crowd ROARS as Adrian Freeman slips down the apron and DRILLS Kennedy with a right hand, allowing Rhodes to pull Kennedy down into the sunset flip!] JS: ONE!! TWO!! THREE!!! "DING! DING! DING!" KG: WADE KENNEDY HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!! [Louis Matsui screams at Adrian Freeman as he climbs into the ring, delivers a pair of boots to the ribs of Raphael Rhodes... ...and then HURLS Wade Kennedy over the ropes to the floor!] JS: What in the world?! TM: This is payback! Freeman's after Kennedy for Kennedy scoring the upset in the Longhorn Heritage Title tournament! [The Australian drags Kennedy up... ...and SMASHES his skull into the ringpost!] JS: Good God! [Freeman delivers kick after kick after kick into the ribcage of Wade Kennedy out on the floor. Louis Matsui can be heard screaming at both Freeman and Ben Waterson.] JS: We're down to four on three but listen to Matsui and Waterson! This team may be falling apart before our very eyes, Todd. TM: Matsui's livid at Freeman taking out Kennedy - can't blame him for that, can you? Freeman put his own personal agenda over the team's agenda. Just like the Southern Syndicate member these days. [With Freeman battering Kennedy on the floor, Jack Holland gets back into the ring, kicking Rhodes in the ribs.] JS: The Gentleman's all over Raphael Rhodes! [Holland grabs Rhodes by the back of the tights, yanking him into a rear waistlock... ...and taking him over hard with a German suplex!] JS: GERMAN! ALL IMPACT, NO BRIDGE!! [Holland rolls into a lateral press as the shot breaks into a split screen, revealing Kennedy getting battered by Freeman on the floor as the referee counts two inside the ring.] JS: Only a two count for Holland right there. [The Gentleman shouts out "SHOTGUN!" as he hauls Rhodes back to his feet by the hair, reaching into a half nelson... ...but Rhodes grabs the wrist, twisting away from his body to pull Holland down to the mat, pinning the arm behind him.] JS: KIMURA!! AN ARMBAR IS SUNK IN!! [And with Rhodes' expertise at joint manipulation, Holland has no choice but to submit!] "DING! DING! DING!" KG: JACK HOLLAND HAS BEEN ELIMINATED!! [The crowd roars as Rhodes scrambles to his feet, getting overwhelmed by a charging Mizusawa who shoves him back into a neutral corner before battering him with two heavy chops across the chest.] JS: We're down to three on three! Broussard, Rhodes, and Mayhem taking on the giant, Freeman, and Casanova. One of these six men will steal the spotlight here tonight and lock down a GUARANTEED shot at a title of their choice. Can you imagine it, Todd? How about Marcus Broussard winning this thing and cashing it in against the man who put him on the shelf, Stevie Scott? TM: Or if Juan Vasquez wins the title later here tonight, maybe we'll get that long-awaited rematch between him and Mizusawa! JS: What about if there's an upset? How about Scott Mayhem or Johnny Casanova REALLY stealing the spotlight here tonight? Maybe they'd cash it in against either Nenshou or Brent Maverick to try and win the Longhorn Heritage Title! [Rhodes tries to cover up as Mizusawa batters him with chops and forearms against the buckles. Grabbing the Brit by the wrist, the giant flings him from corner to corner...] JS: LOOK OUUUUUUUT! [The crowd roars as the giant charges from corner to corner, ready to avalanche Rhodes through the buckles... ...but the fiesty Brit raises both feet, catching the giant on the chin!] JS: OHH! HE CAUGHT HIM COMING IN!! [Rhodes hops up on the middle rope, leaping off with a flying tackle that knocks the giant back another couple feet... ...which gives Rhodes a moment to slap the outstretched hand of Scott Mayhem!] JS: In comes Mayhem! [Mayhem promptly scores with a running overhead elbowsmash to the skull. Grabbing the giant by the hair, he rears back and drills him with a haymaker between the eyes.] JS: Big shot there - and take a look, Todd. We finally got Adrian Freeman under control out here on the floor. It took a handful of AWA officials and security but they're hauling him off this kid. What a mess. TM: Kennedy took a world class beating out there at the hands of Adrian Freeman. This kid may be hurt pretty badly, Steggs. [Mayhem throws a series of stiff left jabs to the jaw before throwing another big right hand that has Mizusawa stumbling back against the ropes. With a twirl of his hand, Mayhem hits the ropes... ...and catches a knee to the small of the back from a sneaky Casanova!] JS: Cheap shot! Casanova caught him coming off the ropes and- [The crowd roars as Mayhem spins around and drills the Playboy with a right hand, knocking him off the apron... ...which causes him to turn around, right into two hands around the throat.] JS: Mizusawa hooks him! [The giant powers him up into the air... ...and DRIVES him down with a Tusk Crusher!] JS: TUSK! CRUSHER! ONE! TWO! THREE! This is crazy, Todd! TM: The giant is a one man wrecking machine! He's eliminated Eric Preston! He's eliminated Johnny Sone! He's eliminated Scott Mayhem! MAMMOTH Mizusawa is stealing the spotlight, baby! JS: He's laid out half of the other team! He's got a body count bigger than Ice T! [A smirking Johnny Casanova pops back up on the apron, taunting the downed Scott Mayhem.] JS: And yes, Johnny Casanova led DIRECTLY to that happening, Todd. TM: He did, he did. Mayhem got under his skin with that Halloween stunt and he may be regretting that right now because Scott Mayhem's night is over. JS: It's a three on two with Broussard and Rhodes battling the giant, Freeman, and Casanova. [The hurting Marcus Broussard steps into the ring, still holding his shoulder. He turns his body slightly, trying to keep the injured limb away from Mizusawa.] JS: This could be a bad situation for Broussard. The San Jose Shark, I think that shoulder's been injured at the hands of Adrian Freeman, and now he's trying to protect it. TM: And when you have to protect a bodypart, it makes it very difficult to wrestle your gameplan. Broussard may be in a panic defensive fight now. [From outside the ring, Casanova shouts something at Broussard, drawing the Shark's ire. The former champion takes a swing at him, allowing Casanova to grab the injured limb, dropping down off the apron and snapping the arm over the top rope!] JS: Ohh! Casanova caught him! TM: And that was a pretty brilliant move, Steggs. I hate to admit it but he suckered in Marcus and made him pay for it. [With Broussard wincing, grabbing his arm, Mizusawa grabs him around the body, hoisting him up... ...and DRIVING him down to the mat with a side slam!] JS: We may need a spatula after that one! [From outside the ring, Johnny Casanova is hollering and hooting in the direction of Mizusawa, reaching his hand into the ring.] JS: Casanova wants the tag! For the first time in this match, Johnny Casanova wants the tag! [Mizusawa climbs to his feet, glaring at Casanova. From outside the ring, an amused Louis Matsui nods his approval, allowing the tag.] JS: And in comes the Playboy! [Casanova slips into the ring... ...and promptly hops up on the middle rope, hip swiveling for the jeering crowd.] JS: Are you serious? He gets tagged into the biggest match of his life and he's taunting these fans in St. Louis? [Hopping down off the ropes, Casanova pulls Broussard off the mat. He reaches down, hooking one arm... ...and then gets dragged down in a small package!] JS: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [The crowd groans as Adrian Freeman dives on the back of Marcus Broussard, breaking up the nearfall.] JS: That was a close one for Casanova! And how embarrassing would that have been for him, Todd? TM: Get tagged in and get eliminated? Yeah, that would've been a bad night. [An angry Freeman stomps and kicks Broussard until the referee forces him back to the corner and out to the apron. A grateful Casanova gets up, shaking his head back and forth before delivering some stomps of his own. He reaches down, dragging Broussard up again... ...and popping him with an uppercut that knocks him back to the buckles.] JS: Nice right hand by the Playboy and- [The crowd jeers as Adrian Freeman tags himself into the match, surprising a sad-looking Casanova as the Australian tears into him with kicks to the body in the corner. Pulling the hair, he yanks the Shark into a scoop up over the shoulder... ...and drops him down across the knee in a shoulderbreaker!] JS: SHOULDERBREAKER ACROSS THE KNEE!! [Broussard screams out in pain at the sudden impact... ...and then shouts out again as he gets rolled to his stomach, his arm grabbed and yanked back into an armbar!] JS: He's got an armbar applied! A straddle armbar slapped on! [The San Jose Shark screams out in pain, holding his injured shoulder as Freeman yanks and tugs at it. From outside the ring, Ben Waterson leans through the ropes, screaming "GIVE UP!! QUIT!" at the first AWA National Champion.] JS: Freeman's got the hold sunk in deep, trying to rip that shoulder out of its socket! [Broussard's eyes are clinched tight, screaming in pain as his shoulder is tortured... ...when suddenly Raphael Rhodes comes in, smashing Freeman with a headbutt to break the hold!] JS: Rhodes makes the save! He saved the San Jose Shark! [The referee forces Rhodes to make his exit as Freeman rubs his skull, shaking his head as he glares at the former Southern Syndicate member there.] JS: Rhodes and Freeman staring each other down - a lot of bad blood there, Todd. TM: The Southern Syndicate believes that Rhodes abandoned them. In fact, from what I understand, there are some who believe that the Southern Syndicate has never recovered since Rhodes left. JS: Well, he didn't really leave. TM: He knew he was making the choice to leave. He knew that taking that title shot against Stevie Scott was him leaving the group. [An angry Freeman delivers a kick to the ribs, pointing at Rhodes.] JS: This just got real personal, Todd. TM: For Freeman, this whole match was personal. Between Broussard and Rhodes and Kennedy, Freeman's been out for blood the whole night. Except for Freeman, he doesn't want to draw blood. He wants to break bones. He wants to tear ligaments. He wants to rip tendons. That's Adrian Freeman, Steggs. JS: It certainly is. [Kneeling on the shoulder of Broussard, Freeman yanks up hard on the rest of the arm, stretching it against the grain.] JS: Look at the arm! Look at the pressure and the torque on the arm! [And suddenly, without warning, Broussard's free arm comes up and slaps the canvas three times.] JS: Oh... oh my god. [The crowd falls into a hush.] JS: Marcus Broussard just tapped out! He tapped out to that high pressure armbar! [Freeman backs off, looking down in surprise.] JS: I can't believe it! The San Jose Shark, the first AWA National Champion, has just submitted to Adrian Freeman! TM: And don't look now but we're down to a three on one! JS: I'm sorry, Todd, but I still can't believe we just saw that. What damage must have been done to that arm to get a submission out of him? I'm in shock. [A frustrated Raphael Rhodes slaps the top turnbuckle. He shakes his head as he steps into the ring, glaring at the San Jose Shark as he's helped from the ring.] JS: Raphael Rhodes, the seriousness of this situation may have just set in. It's a three on one... it's Mizusawa, Freeman, and Casanova against Raphael Rhodes! How can Rhodes get through this? TM: If anyone can, it might be Rhodes. You know how badly he wants that title shot in his pocket. Whether it's Vasquez or Scott, he would love to tangle with either one of them. [Rhodes waves Freeman forward, ready to tussle... ...but the Australian slaps the hand of Casanova, pointing him towards Rhodes.] JS: Johnny Casanova's going in there first... [The two men tie up in the middle of the ring, Rhodes promptly having his eyes raked by Casanova. The Playboy throws a pair of chops to the chest before grabbing the wrist, firing him across the ring...] JS: Big whip... right han- [The crowd roars as Rhodes ducks the right hand... ...and hooks in the sleeper!] JS: SLEEPER! THE SLEEPER IS ON!! [Rhodes promptly places his foot on the back of the knee, pushing Casanova down to the mat and then kneels on the back of the leg, pinning the Playboy to the canvas.] JS: He's got the sleeper locked on Casanova! He's got the leg pinned and the Playboy is fading fast, Todd! TM: Raphael Rhodes came back from some time off with this sleeper in his arsenal and it's a very dangerous hold. The key is that breaking down of the legs, taking the victim off their feet where they have absolutely no leverage at all. JS: Casanova's arms are slowing... [And the referee lifts the Playboy's limp arm up and drops it once... twice...] JS: One more time and it's over... "DING! DING! DING!" KG: Johnny Casanova has been ELIMINATED!! [The crowd cheers Rhodes as he breaks the hold... ...and points right at Adrian Freeman.] JS: Rhodes wants Freeman! He said he was going to start carving his way through the Southern Syndicate here tonight and Adrian Freeman is first on his list! [Freeman's game for the showdown as he steps into the ring, the crowd roaring at the sight of these two former partners staring dead into each other's eyes in the middle of the ring... ...and then roar louder as Rhodes pops Freeman in the eyesocket with a headbutt!] JS: Ohh! No warning on that one! Out of nowhere with the headbutt! [Freeman stumbles backwards from the blow and then falls even further as Rhodes whaps him with a knife-edge chop across the chest, putting Freeman back on the ropes.] JS: Irish whip... sleep- [The Australian ducks the sleeper attempt, rebounding off the far side, and running right into a rear waistlock... ...but Freeman throws a couple sharp elbows back, breaking the hold. He spins out of it into a waistlock of his own, battering Rhodes across the back of the neck.] JS: Hard shots to the upper back! [Freeman quickly hooks a half nelson, hoisting Rhodes up, and bringing him down hard across a bent knee!] JS: HALF NELSON BACKBREAKER!! [Flipping Rhodes onto his stomach, Freeman drops a knee across the lower back. Keeping his knee pressed into the spine, Freeman grabs two hands full of hair, pulling Rhodes' head back to stretch him out.] JS: Freeman with an illegal move there... come on, ref... [The referee steps in, forcing the break. The Australian promptly gets up, stomping the kidneys several times, forcing Rhodes under the ropes to the apron. The official shouts at Freeman, backing him up... ...and allowing Ben Waterson to wrap his hands around the throat of Rhodes, pulling down to choke him.] JS: Waterson's choking Rhodes on the floor! Ref, get in there! [But as soon as the referee turns around, Waterson is already walking away, leaving Rhodes gasping for air on the apron. Freeman grabs him by the leg, hauling him away from the ropes... ...and DRIVES a bent elbow into the throat!] JS: Elbow DRIVEN to the windpiper - there's a cover for one... two... but out at two! [Freeman pops up to his knees, promptly wrapping his hands around the throat of his former stablemate.] JS: Break the choke! Come on! TM: I hate to admit it but he's got a five count, Steggs. He can choke til four. JS: And that's exactly what he does - choking until four and then breaking the hold... and now he puts it back on! TM: Totally within the loopholes in the rulebook. JS: It is but the referee could disqualify him for repeated offenses, Todd! [After the second four count, Freeman breaks the hold, climbing to his feet. He grabs Rhodes by the hair, pulling him into a front facelock.] JS: What's this? TM: We've seen him use the brainbuster recently. That may be what he's looking for here. [It may be but we never get to see it as Rhodes plucks him into a small package.] JS: SMALL PACKAGE FOR ONE!! TWO!! THR- [The crowd jeers not just the kickout but the sight of Ben Waterson essentially halfway into the ring...] JS: Get Waterson out of there! [The referee moves to do exactly that, pushing Waterson back... ...and totally missing Waterson toss something into the ring to Adrian Freeman.] JS: What was that? He threw something in there! He threw something in to Freeman! [The Australian, still on the mat, slips the weapon over his knuckles.] JS: I think- those might be brass knuckles, Todd! TM: That's exactly what they are! Freeman's got knucks! [Freeman winds up as Rhodes gets to his feet... ...and blocks the swung right hand!] JS: HE BLOCKED IT!! [And promptly buries a knee into the gut, spinning Freeman around into a waistlock... ...and takes him up and over, holding with a picture perfect bridge.] JS: GERMAN!! ONE!! TWO!! THREE!!! [But just as the three count comes down... ...so does Mizusawa, all 420 pounds squarely on the chest of Raphael Rhodes!] JS: Freeman's eliminated but... no! [The referee looks at the giant who waves him down to count.] JS: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEE!! "DING! DING! DING!" KG: Here is your winner... MAMMOTH MIZUSAWA! [The crowd jeers wildly as Mizusawa slowly regains his feet, glaring down at the flattened Rhodes.] JS: Raphael Rhodes never saw the splash coming. He had the German on Freeman - he eliminated Freeman but Mizusawa was waiting. The giant didn't want a fair fight with Rhodes! He hit the splash - he got the pin- and MAMMOTH Mizusawa has won the Steal The Spotlight showcase for the second year in a row! TM: And not only that, Steggs, but Mizusawa just won a shot at the title of his choice and I'll lay you dollars to donuts, he's going after the National Champion no matter who it is! [Louis Matsui joins his charge in the ring, leaping up and down in celebration of Mizusawa's victory.] JS: A big night for Louis Matsui and MAMMOTH Mizusawa here at SuperClash II in St. Louis, fans. It's time for a quick break and then we'll be back down in Dallas, Texas. TM: Hey, Steggs - the Devil's comin' down to Dallas! JS: Indeed. Don't go away, fans. [Fade to black. After a moment, we fade back up on a shot of Jason Dane and Mark Stegglet in an apparently moving car.] JD: You know, Mark... the AWA Access iPhone app has been so popular over the past year, I hear we're making a sequel! MS: Jason, that kind of news is so hot, it should be on the app! [The two men laugh very awkwardly as a giant iPhone appears.] JD: Hello, Mr. iPhone. [The iPhone speaks. Yes. Yes it does.] iPhone: Hello, Jason Dane. Did you know that former AWA National Champion Kolya Sudakov was a former Mixed Martial Artist? JD: Well, actually I did. iPhone: Mark Stegglet, did you know that Calisto Dufresne was the first and only champion in Pro Wrestling Revolution? MS(in his best Johnny Carson impression): I did not know that! [Thankfully, a voiceover starts.] VO: Starting today, you can download AWA Access Version 2.0! This new app contains a brand new TRIVIA mode where you can get all the details on your favorite AWA superstars! Plus, be the first to see our brand new BEFORE THE AWA section where you can find matches from the best of the AWA - before they were AWA! AWA Access Version 2.0 - coming to an iPhone near you! [Fade back to black... ...and then back up to black. A completely blackened room presumably somewhere inside the Fair Park Coliseum in Dallas, Texas. Through the darkness, we hear the voice of "Prince of Darkness" Anton Layton.] AL: The time is upon us, Working Man... [A soft chuckling cackle is heard in the shadows.] AL: After all the years, the spotlight is on us - center stage at the biggest event of the year. Anton Layton vs Vernon Riley. The Master's most devoted diciple against the Working Man. Or to put it in terms that even the simplest creatures would understand... Evil versus good. [Another chuckle.] AL: That's what it comes down to for you, right, Working Man? It comes down to you being a hero for these people who pay their last dollar in hopes that you can inspire them to be more than their lot in life allows. It's you trying to show the world that you've got what it takes to vanquish my Master and myself. It's you trying to give these fools one more thing to be thankful for. [A small light breaks through the shadows, partially illuminating Layton and the hulking mass standing behind him, James Monosso.] AL: But their hopes are pointless. No one is listening to their prayers, Working Man! This day will pass, you will fail, and they will go on with their mundane lives as they always have, forgetting that you ever played a role in their existance. But they will remember the day, Working Man. They will forget you but they will remember the day. Because I have a surprise for you, Working Man. A surprise for everyone! [Monosso can be heard breathing sharply in the background.] AL: My Master has provided a grand gift on this Thanksgiving! I have given him my life and in return, he has provided me with his favorite creation. It WILL be a night to be thankful for, Working Man. Just not how you ever dreamed it would be. [A pause.] AL: Ehehehehehehhehehe... EHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHEHEHEHHE... EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHHEHEHEHEHEHEEHEHEH! [The light extinguishes and we fall back to black before fading back up to live action inside the Fair Park Coliseum where Gordon and Bucky are standing.] GM: There is something very, very wrong with that man. BW: Ya think? GM: I've been watching Anton Layton for almost his entire career. From his days down in Florida where this war with Vernon Riley first started until now - even when he was bouncing between every territory in the South because he was too violent and unpredictable to stay in one place - I was watching. And I'm saying right here in Dallas, Texas that I fear for Vernon Riley's safety tonight, Bucky. BW: And what's all this about a surprise for everyone? What does Layton have up his diabolical sleeve now? GM: We're about to find out so let's head down to Phil Watson for the introductions! [Crossfade to the ring where Watson is standing.] PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall. [Danzig's "Until You Call On The Dark" starts up to jeers as the man clad in the hooded black satin robe with a crescent moon splashed across the back emerges from the entryway. He pauses just beyond the curtain, looking out from under the hood at the jeering crowd.] PW: On his way down the aisle... from the Darkness... weighing in at 263 pounds and being accompanied to the ring by James Monosso... He is known the world over as the PRINCE OF DARKNESS... ANNNNNNTON LAAAAAYTON! [Layton walks quickly down the aisle, the hulking form of James Monosso trailing close behind. The Prince Of Darkness snaps back his head to throw off his hood as he gets closer and then shrugging the robe off as he steps through the ropes. Monosso climbs up on the apron, stepping through the ropes with him.] GM: There he is, Bucky. Arguably the most dangerous man I've ever seen inside a wrestling ring. BW: And he's got Monosso with him! This is a recipe for disaster for Vernon Riley. [The music fades and is replaced by the sound of Hank Williams Jr.'s "You Can't Judge A Book By It's Cover" to a HUGE cheer!] PW: And his opponent... fighting out of Amarillo, Texas... weighing in tonight at 295 pounds... VERRRRRRRRNON RIIIIIIILEY! [The cheers continue as the Working Man himself, Vernon Riley, emerges into the entrance aisle. Riley is glaring right down the aisle at Layton. He's clad in a red satin jacket and points a lone finger at the Prince of Darkness before he dashes down the aisle, rolling under the ropes... ...and immediately gets assaulted by Layton who falls to his knees with a clubbing forearm smash to the back of the head. The Prince of Darkness immediately hammers away at Riley's skull, trying to get an early edge as the referee calls for the bell.] GM: HERE WE GO! Layton jumps him before the bell! He wants no part of a fresh Vernon Riley here tonight! Anton Layton has built a career off sneak-attacks and assaulting those who are in no condition to fight. [Climbing to his feet, Layton lays in three kicks to the ribs of Riley before dropping an elbow across the back of his neck. He promptly rolls Riley to his back before wrapping his hands around the throat.] GM: That's a choke! BW: The referee's immediately on top of Layton, ordering a break, but he doesn't give a damn, Gordo! He's taking Riley straight to see his Master tonight, daddy! GM: That's what I'm afraid of. [Layton breaks at four and a half, glaring at the protesting official as he grabs Riley by the ankle, dragging him towards the ropes. The Prince of Darkness promptly hops up on the middle rope, holding a taped fist up... ...and leaps off, driving the punch down between the eyes!] GM: Fistdrop off the middle rope! Layton connected with that - and what's with the tape on the hand? This isn't a taped fist match! The referee needs to step in there and take a look at that. BW: You gonna be the one to stop Layton from beatin' on the hick? GM: That's not my job but that's what these officials are required to do! [The referee reprimands Layton for the clenched fist, backing him away from Riley... ...which allows Monosso to reach under the ropes, yanking Riley's torso from the ring where he smashes a forearm down across the throat. A second blow lands, this time an elbow, before Monosso backs away and the official turns around.] GM: Blatant interference from James Monosso right there! This referee needs to do a better job of staying on top of this thing, Bucky. It's going to get out of control in a hurry if he doesn't. [Layton approaches the downed and gasping Riley, stepping through the ropes to the apron. He measures the Working Man for a moment and then drops off the apron, smashing a forearm across the windpipe that leaves Riley clutching his throat.] GM: What a shot that was! BW: I'd say the gameplan was to take the air away from Vernon Riley but I just don't believe he has a gameplan. I think Layton just wants to punish Vernon Riley here tonight. He wants to hurt him... he wants to take him out of this sport. GM: And win the match? BW: Honestly, I think that's second on the list. If he loses, he's okay with that. But he wants to injure Riley tonight - guaranteed, daddy. [Out on the floor, Layton grabs two hands full of hair to pull Riley out to the floor with him. He promptly grabs Riley by the arm, wheeling him around to HURL him backfirst into the ringside barricade!] GM: OHHH! INTO THE STEEL!!! [A sneering Layton approaches, grabbing Riley by the back of the head to pull his head back... ...and just hauls off to chop him in the throat!] GM: Knife-edge chop to the windpipe! Another blatant disregard for the rules! [Spinning Riley around, Layton pushes his throat down against the top of the barricade, choking him over it.] GM: Come on, ref! Get in there! [A protesting official starts a ten count, forcing Layton to roll back into the ring... ...and allowing James Monosso to crush Riley with a double axehandle across the back that takes him down to his knees. Monosso steps back...] GM: No! [...and CREAMS a kneeling Riley with a running boot to the face!] GM: Good grief! [The crowd jeers Monosso as he stands over the downed Riley, glaring at his motionless form.] GM: This is ridiculous! Vernon Riley is fighting a handicap match out there! [The referee slides to the floor, stepping in front of Monosso and warning him to not get involved in the match. A stoic Monosso simply backs away, still staring at Riley. The official kneels down next to Riley, trying to see if he can continue.] BW: This match may be over right now, Gordo. GM: I highly doubt that. Vernon Riley's got too much heart to let these two get to him that easily. [Proving Gordon right, Riley uses the railing to pull himself off the floor. He nods to the official that he can still go, rolling under the ropes... ...where Layton is waiting with a barrage of stomps to the back of the head.] GM: Come on! Let the man get in the ring! [The referee immediately gets on Layton's case... ...and gets shoved a few steps back for his efforts.] GM: Whoa! That could have been a disqualification right there, Bucky! BW: But again, Gordo, I don't think Layton cares. [The Prince of Darkness drags Riley off the mat by the hair, firing him off the ropes, and burying a knee into the midsection on the rebound, taking him down to the mat again... ...and Layton immediately leaps into the air, driving both feet down into the midsection!] GM: Double stomp! Right in the gut! BW: And if this was a normal Layton match, I'd say he might go for a pin right there but... [This time, Bucky gets proven right as Layton unloops a piece of tape from his wrist, wrapping it around the throat of Riley.] GM: He's choking him with that tape! [The protesting official is on the scene again but Layton doesn't listen one bit, dragging Riley around the ring by the throat.] GM: Count, ref! Count! [The count hits four and a half before Layton lets go, allowing Riley to slump to the canvas.] GM: I think the ref needs to look at stopping this. Layton has no regard for the rules. He has no desire to win the match. He just wants to punish Vernon Riley and that's no way for a professional wrestling match to go down! [The referee throws the tape to the floor as Layton drags Riley to his feet, shoving him back into the corner. He wraps his hands around the throat again, strangling more air out of Riley's lungs.] GM: Another choke! BW: Riley looks like he can barely stand up! [The referee steps in again, forcing Layton backwards. The Prince Of Darkness shoves past him, moving in again... ...and getting caught with a right hand to the jaw! Big cheer!] GM: BIG RIGHT HAND!! [Layton backs away, shaking off the effects of the blow as he walks back in... ...and gets caught again with a haymaker!] GM: Another one! [Layton steps back again, moving in quicker this time... ...and eating another right hand! The crowd roars as Riley steps out of the corner, grabbing Layton by the hair, and HURLS him bodily into the buckles!] GM: Oh yeah! Get him, Vern! [The crowd EXPLODES as Riley lays in the blows, battering Layton's head over and over and over in the corner, ignoring the referee's cries to get out of the buckles.] GM: HE'S TAKIN' IT TO THE PRINCE OF DARKNESS! [Riley's assault puts Layton all the way down on the mat where Riley continues to lean down and pummel him before the official finally physically drags him from the corner where Riley lets loose a violent shout as he walks around the ring, soaking up the cheers.] GM: Vernon Riley's got Anton Layton right where he wants him! [Riley grabs Layton by the ankle, trying to pull him out of the corner but Layton grabs on to the top rope, refusing to be pulled out... ...so Riley grabs the other leg, lifting him off the mat.] GM: Oh yeah! [The Working Man nods to the roaring crowd... ...and then yanks hard, pulling Layton out of the corner where the back of his head smashes down to the canvas!] GM: Down he goes - Riley to the ropes... [As the Texan rebounds, he swings his right arm around and round... ...and leaps up, dropping a heavy elbow down on the chest of Layton!] GM: ELLLLBOW! [Riley quickly rolls into a mount, grabbing Layton by the hair. He holds up a clenched fist to the roar of the crowd, driving his knuckles into the temple of Layton over and over!] GM: He's beatin' the heck out of Layton! BW: Turnabout's fair play, I guess. GM: Wait a second! Monosso! [The big madman from Happy Valley climbs up on the apron, causing Riley to pull out of the mount... ...and DRILLS Monosso with a right hand! BIG CHEER!] GM: HE NAILED MONOSSO!! [But the momentary distraction allows Anton Layton to roll to his knees, digging into his boot.] GM: What's he... Layton's going for something in the boot and- [The crowd EXPLODES as Layton comes out holding the Golden Spike.] GM: Oh my god! Get that thing away from him! [The sharpened metal spike is clutched close to the chest as Riley approaches... ...and then he swings it, driving it into the throat of Riley who falls backwards, clutching his neck!] GM: HE HIT HIM IN THE THROAT WITH THAT DAMNED SPIKE!! [Riley flails about on the mat, clutching his neck with both hands. Layton quickly crawls over him, dropping to his knees near the head of his hated rival... ...and slowly raises the Golden Spike!] GM: This is not a no DQ affair! Ring the bell, ref! BW: He hasn't seen Layton use it yet! [Layton swings the Golden Spike down hard... ...and Riley raises his hands at the last moment, blocking the blow!] GM: BLOCKED!! THANK GOD!! BW: It's not over yet! [Layton struggles against Riley, trying to push the spike into the forehead.] GM: He's still trying! The referee's in shock! He doesn't know what to do here! Layton's trying to drive that sharpened metal spike into the face - maybe the eye for all we know - of Vernon Riley! The Working Man's fighting him! Somebody's gotta stop- [The crowd ERUPTS as Riley swings a hefty leg up, smashing Layton in the face with a cowboy boot. The blow sends Layton sprawling, the Golden Spike slipping from his hand.] GM: Riley got the Spike away from him and- [With Layton dazed, Riley quickly hooks a front facelock, leaping straight and DRIVING Layton's skull into the canvas!] GM: DDT!! DDT ON LAYTON!! [And the crowd ERUPTS as Riley reaches down to the mat, picking up Layton's fallen weapon.] GM: And now Vernon Riley's got the Golden Spike! BW: Is he gonna use it? Is this Boy Scout? This hero of the people? This savior for the unwashed masses? Is he gonna stoop as low as the Devil's foot soldier? GM: I don't know. Layton's tormented Vernon Riley over the years. What we've seen happen here in the AWA is just the cherry on top... this is YEARS of frustration and rage that Riley wants to unleash... he just might do it with that spike! [Riley leans down, pulling Layton up to his knees. He glares down at him, Golden Spike in his free hand pulled back like he's going to stab his most hated rival with it...] GM: The moment of truth for Vernon Riley! Just how far is he willing to go to end this war? He said tonight would be the end of it... but can he do this? Can he - as you said, Bucky - stoop to the level of the Devil's footsoldier? Can he...? [The crowd roars as Riley throws the spike aside, shaking his head. He yanks Layton up to his feet, throwing him into the nearest corner. Approaching the buckles, Riley hooks on a side headlock to the roar of the crowd...] GM: He's got it hooked! Here it comes! [Riley swings his arm around to signal for his finisher and charges out of the corner, dragging Layton with him as he leaps into the air... ...and DRIVES Layton facefirst into the canvas!] GM: RILEY'S ROUNDUP!! HE GOT IT ALL!! [Riley flips Layton to his back, applying a cover as the referee dives to the mat to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [But the count is broken up as James Monosso grabs the official by the foot, violently pulling him from the ring where he smashes facefirst on the thinly-padded floor!] GM: Oh my stars! What in the world did James Monosso just do to our official? Vernon Riley had this match won and- [And now, Monosso is climbing into the ring... ...but before he can get in, Riley cuts him off by kicking the middle rope up into the madman's groin!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: That oughta keep Monosso out of this! BW: But there's no referee. Riley can beat on Monosso all he wants but he can't- [The camera suddenly cuts to the entranceway where a large man is emerging from the locker room area.] GM: Who the heck is that? BW: I don't know but look at the size of him! [The crowd buzzes as the large man makes his way down the aisle. A red and black mask covers his face, peaking with two wild curved horns coming out of the top. His entire face is covered by the mask with just holes cut for the eyes, nose, and mouth. He's wearing a full black bodysuit with splashes of red here and there including a set of red gloves. And oddly, he seems to be wearing a makeshift "cloak" made of animal skins.] GM: Is this the surprise? Is this what Anton Layton was talking about? [The big man, obviously larger than James Monosso who is 6'7 and nearly three hundred pounds in his own right, slings a leg over the ropes to step into the ring behind an unsuspecting Vernon Riley.] GM: Turn around, Vern! [The Working Man slowly turns at the urging of the crowd and looks absolutely horrified by what he sees. His eyes go wide, his head shaking back and forth. The large man throws his arms back, shrugging off the cloak with a bellow...] BW: This can't be good. [Riley rushes his new attacker, throwing fists as fast as he can... ...fists that have absolutely no effect on the big man who simply absorbs every blow before letting loose another bellow and felling Riley with a single headbutt.] GM: Good god! What a headbutt! [The large masked man backs away, battering his own chest with his fists as he stands in the corner... ...and as soon as Riley stirs, he rushes forward, OBLITERATING the Working Man with a spear tackle!] GM: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! BW: He's done. Forget it. Riley may never get up again. [Oh, but he will... because the large man reaches down, grabbing Riley by the throat... ...and physically deadlifting him off the mat straight up into a chokeslam before THROWING him brutally down to the canvas!] GM: CHOKESLAM!! GOOD GRIEF!! [The large man pulls Layton off the mat, rolling him atop the downed Riley before stepping back over the ropes to the floor where James Monosso rolls in the shaken official.] GM: No, no - not like this! [But the referee's hand goes up and down once... twice... and after a long pause, three times!] GM: I can't believe it. "DING! DING! DING!" PW: Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner... ANNNNNNTON LAAAAAAAYTON! [Monosso rolls into the ring, lifting Layton's arm in victory as the large masked man makes his way back up the aisle towards the locker room as a kneeling Layton jubilantly cackles in the middle of the ring... ...and then snaps his head towards the motionless Riley, pointing at him.] GM: Now what are these two doing? He's gone through enough, damn it! [Unable to fight back, Riley is dragged towards the corner where Layton grabs the left ankle, pinning Riley's leg to the canvas as Monosso hops up on the middle rope.] GM: No, no, no! Somebody get in there! Somebody stop this! [But there is no one to help the Working Man as Monosso leaps from his perch, driving his near three hundred pounds down in a King Kong kneedrop across the stretched out leg!] GM: AHHHHH! [Riley immediately shoots straight up to a seated position, screaming in pain as he grabs his leg. A smirking Layton delivers a right hand before rolling to the floor. Monosso quickly joins him, helping him stay on his feet as the evil duo walks back up the aisle.] GM: Get those two out of here! What have they done to Vernon Riley? BW: Hey, Riley's the one who said this was going to end tonight! Anton Layton, James Monosso, and whoever that monster was just proved him right! GM: Oh, come on, Bucky! You can't be endorsing this! [Riley's screaming in pain as the AWA's medicial team, including Dr. Bob Ponavitch, hits the ring to check on the Working Man. The cameraman gets close as Ponavitch grabs Riley, trying to keep him still. As the announcers sit silent, we can very clearly hear Riley say, "It's broken! They broke my damn leg!" A second later, we hear a muffled silence as if something was audibly censored before we abruptly cut to black. And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.] "Have you ever dreamed of fame?" [Cut a little closer.] "Of glory?" [A little closer.] "Of your friends and family seeing you on television?" [And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that reads "AWA Combat Corner."] "Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American Wrestling Alliance!" [We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring. There are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course, working out in the ring.] "With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in the ring in the shortest amount of time!" [Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.] "With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on Day One!" [Two young students are grappling on the canvas.] "So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar! You want to be the future of the business! You want to wrestle!" [Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner. We freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to live action where we find Jason Dane as he stands face to, well, chest, with the Main Event's special guest enforcer, Alex Martinez. Under his usual black leather jacket, Alex Martinez wears the striped shirt of a referee.] JD: Welcome back, fans, and as you can see, I'm not alone. Not long from now, we'll see Juan Vasquez take on Stevie Scott, with you as the special guest enforcer. Mr. Martinez, I was wondering if we could get your thoughts. AM: My thoughts? My thought is, I'm gonna have the best seat in the house for what might be the best damn match of the year. JD: But what are your plans for tonight? AM: Watkins hired me to do a job. And that's all I plan on doin'. I want everyone to understand, I got no dog in this fight. My job is to make sure there's a winner, whoever it might be, and I'm not doin' anything that violates that. JD: But what about Stevie Scott poking you in the eye, causing you to give the Firebomb Chokeslam to Juan Vasquez? AM: As I said before, my business with Stevie is for another time and place. Tonight, my business is doin' what I was brought here to do. And let me say it again, that's what I intend on doin'. Listen, we all know the crew that Stevie Scott runs with. And we all know what they're capable of doin'. They'll hit a guy from behind, they'll drop someone in the parkin' lot. They'll do whatever it takes to win. But see, I'm as far away from sainthood as a man can get. I can enforce the rules, 'cuz in my life, I've broken 'em all. I know every dirty trick there is to pull, and I know how to stop a man from pullin' 'em. Ain't no one interferin' in this match. Ain't gonna be no fast ones pulled. One man is winnin', and one man is losin', and they're doing it the old fashioned way. By beatin' on a guy until he stops fightin'. JD: It sounds like you'll be on the lookout for underhanded tactics from Stevie Scott and his allies. But does that mean you'll be favoring Juan Vasquez? AM: It doesn't mean that at all. Like I told Vasquez, I'm callin' this down the middle. And like I told you, I got no dog in this fight. I ain't givin' one man any favors to the exclusion of the other. The only thing I'm givin' Vasquez is his shot. He's gettin' a clear shot at Scott. But it was Juan who put his career on the line. It was Juan who bet everythin', and its Juan who's gonna have to live with the consequences if he loses. Vasquez., I'm not givin' you a win. Your shoulders go down, I count. You lose? And I'll wave goodbye. You have to win this match by bein' the better man. Callin' things right down the middle, givin' both man their opportunity? That's all I'm gonna promise. [Dane nods his head.] JD: On a different topic, what can we expect from you in the upcoming weeks, now that you are a part of the AWA. [Frowning, Martinez shakes his head.] AM: Look Dane, tonight? It ain't about me or what I'll be doin' in the future. No one needs to worry 'bout me, unless they're thinkin' of tryin' to get away with somethin'. Tonight is about Scott and Vasquez. I'll be in the ring soon enough. But tonight, I'm just there to count to three and raise the better man's hand. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some enforcin' to do. [And with that, Martinez steps away.] JD: No matter what that man says - he is the wild card in this one. He can certainly have an impact on who walks out tonight as the AWA National Champion... as well as whether or not Juan Vasquez ever steps foot inside an AWA ring again. Gordon, Bucky - back to you... [We crossfade back to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.] GM: Thanks, Jason. The whole world is waiting for that huge Main Event later tonight and I think just as many people are wondering just what Alex Martinez might do in that one. But we're not there yet. We've still got a lot more action to come including our next matchup - the finals in the tournament to crown the first-ever Longhorn Heritage Champion! BW: Longhorn Heritage. Whatever. GM: Don't you start in with that. We've heard quite enough from Percy Childes about the legacy of the Longhorn Wrestling Council - the historic promotion that the AWA chose to pay tribute to with this title. He has disparaged that company and anyone who ever worked for it... including this man... [The camera cuts to reveal the seven-foot Robert Donovan sitting at ringside on a steel chair, waiting for the action to begin.] GM: Robert Donovan has pledged to stand out here, waiting to see what goes down and if Childes and Nenshou try to pull a fast one, I'd bet that Donovan will step in and stop it. BW: You'd bet? I'm sure you would. Donovan being out here is a blatant effort by Watkins and the Championship Committee to put that belt on Brent Maverick's waist. Period. GM: We shall see. Let's go up to Phil Watson and crown a new champion. Phil? [We crossfade into the ring where Phil Watson is standing.] PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a twenty minute time limit and is the finals of the tournament to crown the first Longhorn Heritage Champion! [Big cheer!] PW: Introducing first... [Thunder rolls over the PA; the distinctive open to "Raijin's Drums" by George Sakalis. As the drums begin to beat, Percy Childes marches solemly from behind the curtain. The short, fat manager is jabbing at the air with his crystal-tipped cane as he barks at the fans alongside the aisleway.] PW: He is accompanied to the ring by his manager Percy Childes... from Parts Unknown... weighing two-hundred thirty-five pounds... NENSHOU! [Childes waits for his man to arrive, draped in a red cloth mask and matching robe. Nenshou steps in front of Childes, completing the walk down the aisle. Upon reaching the ringside area, Nenshou turns to face the seated Donovan who rises from his chair, pointing a finger at him.] GM: Robert Donovan just told Nenshou to keep out of his way and they won't have an issue. BW: You believe that? GM: I'm not sure. I'm a little bit surprised that the Championship Committee is allowing Donovan to be out here. BW: See?! I told you, Gordo! Donovan's here to steal that title for Maverick! [Nenshou rolls under the ring, taking a knee and dropping into a meditative state, focusing on his hand... his index and middle fingers are upstretched, his ring and pinky fingers bent outwards in some gesture that apparently has meaning to him. Childes smirks nearby, nodding his head with pride at his charge. The Collector of Oddities shouts something in Donovan's direction, stabbing the air with the cane as he does so.] GM: Percy Childes is trying to get under the skin of Robert Donovan for some reason. If I had an angry seven footer glaring at me, I'd probably look the other way but Childes just doesn't know when to quit, does he? BW: If I had an angry seven footer glaring at me and I had weapons like Nenshou, James Monosso, Anton Layton, and that monster they had out here a little while ago at my disposal, I'd tell Donovan to give it his best shot. GM: A good point. [The music starts to fade and is replace by the hard rock version of the theme to "The Good, The Bad, And The Ugly" that can only mean the arrival of one man.] PW: And his opponent... [A big cheer goes up as Brent Maverick emerges from the entrance tunnel, throwing a big fist in the air to even more cheers.] PW: From Tucson, Arizona... weighing in at 243 pounds... BRENNNNNNT MAAAAAVERICK! [Wearing his usual ring attire (rust red knee-length trunks with Arizona Sun logo, laceless red leather Western style boots, cutoff brown leather gloves, and a brown leather vest), Maverick's facial expression is all focus as he marches down the aisle, ignoring the ringside fans.] GM: And here comes Brent Maverick. He's a worldwide wrestling superstar - a man that people have recently discussed as a future Hall of Famer for his work in the legendary tag team, The Outlaws. But to win this Longhorn Heritage Title means so much to him, Bucky. BW: It sure seems to. Maverick's held titles before but he believes this title represents every promotion that has fallen and every man that worked for it. For him, this is about the legacy - the history - of this business and that's right up his alley, Gordo. GM: And when he sees men like Childes and Nenshou throwing away that legacy - actually going so far as to BURN that history in some kind of mocking funeral - well, you can imagine just how mad he is, Bucky. [Maverick rolls under the ropes, popping to his feet and starting towards Nenshou and Childes before the referee steps in, forcing him back.] GM: Whoa! The ref jumped right in there... he wants to make sure this one gets off to an even start, I suppose. [The referee gets both men back to their respective corners. Childes pauses to whisper a few words into Nenshou's ear before stepping out to the apron, walking down to the floor as the bell rings.] GM: And here we go! [Nenshou comes quickly from the corner, dropping to a knee and feigning a single-leg takedown. Maverick quickly sprawls away from that, fists balled up to throw down.] GM: Nenshou wants to use that speed obviously, Bucky. BW: He wants to use the speed. He wants to use the quickness. And keep an eye open, he may want to get Maverick down on the mat. Maverick's never been known as a mat wrestler so if Nenshou can get him down, he might punish him there, wear him down, it could open all sorts of windows for him. GM: But they have to keep an eye on the time limit as well. BW: Twenty minutes is twice as long as they've had throughout the tournament but for a guy like Nenshou, he may not even break a sweat at the twenty minute mark. GM: I highly doubt that. [As our announcers banter, the two men collide in the middle of the ring in a collar and elbow tieup. Nenshou quickly shows off his technical skills, going into a full armtwist before yanking Maverick down to the mat in an armdrag.] GM: Nicely done there. BW: Right to the mat... and Percy liked that. [Nenshou strikes a defensive posture as Maverick climbs to his feet, shaking out the right arm. They go right back into another tieup.] GM: Back to the center... quick hammerlock go-behind by Nenshou... [Maverick struggles against the hold, throwing his elbow back a few times to try and break free but Nenshou manages to avoid it before dropping down to the mat, pulling Maverick down to the mat in a drop toehold. He quickly floats to his feet and snaps off a quick elbowdrop to the back of the head, smashing Maverick's face into the canvas!] GM: Ohh! Nenshou is SO quick, Bucky. BW: He's so quick, he's sudden, daddy! [Maverick rolls to his side, pushing up to a knee. He grabs at his face, dipping a thumb across his nose to check for blood. Seeing none, he grimaces as he climbs to his feet, glaring across the ring at Nenshou.] GM: Nenshou's speed is on display so far in this one. That quickness and ability to get an edge on- [But this time, they don't tie up as Maverick lunges forward with a forearm smash to the jaw on the tieup attempt. He grabs Nenshou by the hair, throwing two more forearms to the cheek of the face-painted Nenshou. He quickly grabs an arm, firing him to the ropes.] GM: Whip by Maverick... [Maverick rears back a right hand but Nenshou drops into a baseball slide, going between the legs of Maverick. He pops up to his feet, leaping up to catch Maverick on the chin with a leaping spinning back kick that knocks Maverick flat.] GM: Down goes Maverick again! BW: And look at Percy Childes! This is like a dream come true for him! [A big grin is splashed all over the face of Percy Childes as he taps his cane on the apron, looking on with approval.] GM: And you have to think Brent Maverick is getting frustrated at this. [Maverick slowly gets back up, staring across the ring at Nenshou who is back in a defensive posture. The Tuscon native shakes his head as he rises, clenching his fists. The referee gives an order to open his hands that Maverick ignores as he edges closer to Nenshou again.] GM: Back to the middle of the ring they go... [This time, they lock up once more but Maverick swiftly delivers a headbutt to the bridge of the nose to stun the Asian Assassin. Grabbing the hair, he delivers a pair of right hands before dashing to the ropes... ...where a slick Percy Childes grabs his foot, tripping him up without the referee noticing.] GM: Did you see that?! BW: Huh? What? GM: Childes hooked the ankle and tripped Brent Maverick! He tripped him, Bucky! BW: I must have missed that. [An angry Robert Donovan gets to his feet, shouting first at the official and gesturing wildly at Childes.] GM: Robert Donovan didn't miss it and he's letting the referee know all about it! [Childes pleads innocence though as Maverick gets up, pointing a finger at Childes as well.] GM: Percy Childes is making more enemies than I think he can handle right now, Bucky. [An angry Maverick shouts a few words in Childes' direction... ...and then gets popped with a double axehandle to the back of the neck, knocking Maverick down to a knee!] GM: Ohh! Nenshou caught him from behind! [Winding up with both arms, Nenshou lashes out with a Mongolian chop, striking both sides of Maverick's neck. Holding Maverick's hair, Nenshou smashes an overhead elbow down across the forehead.] GM: Maverick's down on a knee, taking some abuse from Nenshou here and- [The crowd cheers as Maverick throws a blow to the body, knocking Nenshou back. A second one connects as well before Maverick climbs to his feet, grabbing Nenshou by the hair.] GM: Back up to his feet- ohh! Big right hand puts Nenshou down on the mat! [Maverick throws a big kick to the body that causes Nenshou to roll under the ropes to the apron...] GM: Nenshou's out on the apron... [Maverick approaches, reaching over the ropes to pull Nenshou to his feet. He reaches over with the other arm as well, scooping Nenshou up... ...and getting his leg pulled out from under him by Percy Childes!] GM: Oh, come on! Give me a break! [Maverick crashes down to the mat, Nenshou on top of him. Childes grabs the leg, holding his ankles down.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! TH- [BIG CHEER!] GM: DONOVAN'S GOT CHILDES!! [The pinfall attempt was broken up by Robert Donovan wrapping his massive hand around the throat of Percy Childes.] GM: He's got Childes around the throat! [An angry Donovan screams at Childes whose wide-eyes are a dead giveaway that he took the seven footer too lightly... ...but the assault on the manager is broken up by Nenshou grabbing the top rope, leaping up, and swinging with both legs between the middle and bottom ropes with both feet directly in the face!] GM: OHHHHH! Nenshou nailed Donovan! [Donovan stumbles backwards, freeing Childes from his grasp. Childes quickly staggers away, coughing and sputtering as Nenshou grabs Donovan by the back of the head... ...and SLAMS his skull into the steel ringpost!] GM: Good grief! BW: Nenshou needs to get back on track though. I love what he's doing to Donovan out there but he needs to remember that it's Brent Maverick that he needs to beat! [Donovan slumps down to the floor from the head to the post as Nenshou spins around, moving to help his manager. The two huddle up, Nenshou checking the still-red-in-the-face Childes... ...and fail to notice Maverick grab the top rope, slingshotting himself over the ropes onto both men!] GM: OHHHHHHHHHHHHH! MAVERICK WIPES 'EM BOTH OUT!! [Maverick slowly gets up off the floor, nodding his head at the cheering crowd. He grabs Nenshou by the hair, dragging him to his feet. He swings him around, hurling him under the ropes into the ring. Maverick rolls in after him, pushing up to his feet.] GM: Brent Maverick's on the attack now, pulling Nenshou to his feet. [Grabbing the arm, he fires Nenshou across the ring into the turnbuckles. With a pump of the arm, Maverick sprints across, connecting with a big running clothesline in the corner...] GM: Big clothesline in the buckles! [He hooks Nenshou under the arm and around the neck... ...and HURLS him high through the air before sending him crashing down to the mat with a biel throw!] GM: DOWN! GOES! NENSHOU! [Maverick is fired up now as he stalks towards Nenshou who buttslides backwards, hand raised as he tries to get back to the safety of the ropes... ...but Maverick charges forward, smashing his knee into the face of Nenshou to knock him flat!] GM: Maverick with a cover for one! For two! [But Nenshou simply reaches out, wrapping his hands around the bottom rope to break up the pin. The referee stops, shaking his head and telling Maverick it's just a two count. As soon as Maverick lifts out of the press, Nenshou drags himself under the ropes with his hands...] GM: Nenshou's trying to escape but Maverick stopped him! [The Tucson native grabs Nenshou by the legs, preventing his escape. Maverick leans down, pulling the legs up... ...and falling backwards, smashing Nenshou's throat into the bottom rope which causes the Asian Assassin to slide from the ring to the floor.] GM: Nenshou's making a run for it, Bucky. BW: He needs to regroup. He needs Percy to regroup and help him! GM: Maverick steps out on the apron... measuring him now... [But Nenshou simply reaches up, grabbing Maverick by the ankle and YANKS forward, sending Maverick sprawling off the apron, the back of his head hitting the edge on the way down!] GM: OHHHHHH! BW: The back of Maverick's head smacked the hardest part of the ring, Gordo! That could be a concussion... it could be a cracked skull... it could be- [And as Maverick rolls to his stomach, we see that if nothing else, "it could be" a split open head.] GM: Uh oh... the back of Maverick's head just got busted wide open on the ring apron! It's bleeding... my stars, it's bleeding profusely now, Bucky. There's a heavy stream of blood pouring out of the back of Brent Maverick's head. BW: There sure is. That's a bad cut, Gordo. [Nenshou straightens up, lifting his leg up in a splits and driving it down with an axe kick style stomp to the back of the head. The man from Parts Unknown drags Maverick off the mat, pulling him over to the ringpost.] GM: I don't like the looks of this, Bucky! [Holding the back of Maverick's head against the ringpost by the hair, Nenshou suddenly pulls Maverick towards him... ...and SLAMS him backwards, the back of his skull smashing into the steel!] GM: OHHHHHHHHHHH! [Maverick immediately slumps down to the mat, eyes going glassy as he grips the apron to try to stay up, failing miserably. Nenshou pulls the bloody Maverick off the mat, shoving him under the ropes into the ring.] GM: Maverick's back in - and Nenshou's up on the apron... [Holding the top rope, Nenshou slingshots himself over the ropes, crashing down with a legdrop across the chest. He points to the official who drops down to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [Maverick wearily pushes a shoulder off the mat before the three count.] GM: Near fall there for Nenshou but Maverick got the shoulder up in time. BW: Just barely. There's not a lot of mustard there for Brent Maverick, Gordo. He's pretty worn down. GM: Repeated blows to the skull will do that. [Getting to his feet, Nenshou uses his foot to roll Maverick to his stomach and does another axe kick style stomp to the bloody back of the head. Reaching down, he pulls Maverick off the mat by the back of the trunks, pulling him into a side waistlock... ...where Maverick urgently throws right hands to the head!] GM: MAVERICK'S FIGHTING BACK!! [The Tucson native tries to battle out but Nenshou absorbs the blows, hoisting Maverick into the air... ...and DROPPING him down on the back of the head!] GM: Belly to back suplex! Right on the head! [Nenshou tugs Maverick away from the ropes, leaving a bloody streak on the canvas before applying a lateral press.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [The crowd cheers as Maverick lifts a weary shoulder off the mat, breaking the pin attempt. Nenshou responds by dragging Maverick up around the neck, taking him over with a snap mare... ...and DRILLING him with a snap kick to the back of the skull, causing Maverick to slump back down to the mat.] GM: OHHHH! [Outside the ring, a dazed Robert Donovan is back on his feet, pounding on the mat with his fists and shouting encouragement to Brent Maverick.] GM: Donovan's trying to fire up Maverick! These fans are trying to fire up Maverick! He needs something... some kind of a second wind here to get back into this. [Nenshou hauls Maverick up by the hair again, shoving him back into the corner. A few chops splash across the chest of Maverick before Nenshou grabs him by the arm, firing him across the ring...] GM: Corner to corner whip... here comes Nenshou! [The Asian Assassin goes into a cartwheel, tumbling across the ring with a handspring... ...but Maverick uses the top rope to push his legs up into the air at the last moment, sending Nenshou smashing into his bent knees!] GM: OHHH! BIG COUNTER BY BRENT MAVERICK!!! [With the man from Parts Unknown stunned, Maverick grabs him by the arm, falling to the mat as he whips Nenshou across the ring at top velocity, sending him smashing chestfirst into the buckles... ...and as Nenshou stumbles back out, Maverick surges forward, and CREAMS Nenshou with an enzuilariato!] GM: CLOTHESLINE!! TO THE BACK OF THE HEAD!! [Maverick grabs at the back of his own head, coming back with a bloodied hand that he uses to push Nenshou onto his back, falling across in a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! TH- [Nenshou fires a shoulder up at two, breaking the pin attempt. Maverick quickly takes the mount, grabbing Nenshou by the head and pounding him with haymakers to the skull!] GM: Right hand! Right hand! Over and over to the head of Nenshou! [Seeing his man in trouble, Percy Childes climbs up on the apron, screaming at the official... ...and getting YANKED down by Robert Donovan who doesn't hesitate this time to lay out the manager with a right hand!] GM: OHHH! CHILDES GETS FLATTENED BY DONOVAN!! [Donovan stands over the downed Childes, shouting at him, and then turns to the ring to shout more encouragement to Brent Maverick...] GM: Maverick's on his feet... dragging Nenshou off the mat... [Maverick fires Nenshou off to the ropes.] GM: The Asian Assassin off the ropes... [Maverick hoists him up on the rebound, pivoting, and DRIVING Nenshou down to the mat!] GM: POWERSLAM!! POWERSLAM!! [Maverick hooks the leg deep, shouting at the official to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [Nenshou just barely fires the shoulder off the mat before three. The crowd is buzzing from the nearfall... and the buzzing intensifies as James Monosso comes tearing down the aisle, his eyes wide with rage.] GM: Uh oh! BW: Robert Donovan may have just made the biggest mistake of his life! GM: James Monosso is heading down the aisle and- [Hitting the ringside area, Monosso immediately rushes Donovan, throwing rights and lefts like a thunderstorm of brutality. The referee turns away from the ring, shouting at the two big man on the floor.] GM: We've got a brawl out on the floor! [Maverick casts an eye to the floor, watching Donovan do battle with Monosso as he pulls Nenshou up to his feet... ...and catches a stiff-fingered strike to the throat!] GM: Ohh! "TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED! TEN MINUTES REMAIN!" [Maverick falls backwards, clutching his windpipe... ...and Nenshou falls to a knee, grabbing his own throat!] GM: MIST! [As Maverick turns, Nenshou does indeed let that green mist fly... ...but Maverick is ready for it, ducking down to avoid it as it hits empty air. While down, he grabs Nenshou, hoisting him up across his shoulders.] GM: HE'S GOT NENSHOU! HE'S GOT HIM UP!! [Maverick moves to the corner, looking to charge out and drive his opponent down with the Acey Deucy... ...but Nenshou locks his legs on the ropes, blocking the move. He also drags his fingers across the eyes, blinding Maverick for the moment.] GM: Nenshou to the eyes! Maverick can't- [Nenshou deadleaps to the top rope, backflipping off.] GM: OHHHHHHH! [He catches Maverick squarely across the chest, toppling Maverick down to the mat as he grabs both legs tightly.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEEEEEE!!! "DING! DING! DING!" GM: He's done it! Nenshou has done it! [At ringside, Monosso and Donovan continue to brawl up the aisle as the referee grabs the title belt from ringside.] PW: Here is your winner... and the FIRST AWA Longhorn Heritage Champion... NENNNNNNSHOU! [The title belt is handed to Nenshou who looks down at the golden title belt, clutching it in his taped hands as he rolls from the ring, helping his manager to his feet.] GM: Nenshou is the Longhorn Heritage Champion! He's done it! He's beaten Brent Maverick in the middle of the ring... and you may not like him or Percy Childes but he did it, Bucky. BW: I love it, Gordo! All that talk about the history of the business - of the legacy of the business - but in the end, it's the FUTURE of the business that wins this title! Percy Childes was right all along - just admit it! GM: The Unholy Alliance has picked up their first AWA championship here at SuperClash II! Fans, we've gotta take another break but we'll be right back in St. Louis for Outlaw Rules! [The camera holds on Nenshou and Percy Childes draped all over each other as they walk back up the aisle, the title belt clutched between them, as we fade to black... ...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt. The super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.] "You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!" [A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.] "You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last Stampede!" [A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.] "You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!" [Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging over his shoulder.] "And now, it can be yours!" [A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a shot of a young fan doing the same.] "Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA superstars have held!" [A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black... ...and then fades back up to live action in the backstage area of the Family Arena in St. Louis, Missouri. Mark Stegglet is standing alongside "The Outlaw" Bobby Taylor.] MS: Welcome back to SuperClash II - Bobby Taylor, some have said this might be the most difficult night of your life. Your thoughts? [Taylor, clad for battle in blue jeans, cowboy boots, and a black t-shirt with the sleeves cut off nods his head.] BT: I don't know I can argue with that, Mark. I've faced tougher men that Kevin Slater. I've faced meaner men than Kevin Slater. Some might even say I've faced BETTER men than Kevin Slater. But tonight? At SuperClash? I have to step in there with someone I'm closer to than anyone on this Earth. I have to hurt him. I have to beat him up. I have to make him bleed. And in the end, I have to beat him so badly, he can't fight anymore. I have to do that to someone I consider family. [Taylor nods.] BT: So, yeah... I'd say this is gonna be a tough night, Mark. But Mark Stegglet, you've known me practically your entire life. And you know that the problem with this situation is that I WILL do all of those things. I'll hurt Kevin. I'll make him bleed. I'll make him beg for mercy. And I will beat him so badly that he can't fight anymore. I'll do it... because it's what needs to be done. Because I'm the Outlaw. [Taylor shrugs.] BT: And it's what the Outlaw does. It's a special night, Kevin. [Taylor cracks a grin.] BT: See, you forget that I work in the front office. I know this is the last night on your AWA contract. And you know that I never wanted any of this. You know I wanted to sit back in a cushy office and give the fans what they wanted - not be in the ring to do it. [Taylor nods.] BT: It might not be on the marquee that way, Kev... but we both know this might be the last time EVER that we're in the wrestling ring. It's a special night. Kev, let's give 'em something to remember us by. [Taylor pats Stegglet on the back and walks out of view.] MS: Did anyone else hear that? Is this the final match for both Kevin Slater AND Bobby Taylor? This could indeed be one for the ages. Let's go down to ringside! [We crossfade to ringside where Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson are standing.] JS: When we were asked to be a part of this show - to come back to announcing for one night for this show - we both knew that there was one match that we HAD to call. This is it, Todd. TM: We've both known these two men for almost their entire careers. And for two years, they've been on a path leading directly to this night. To say that I've been waiting a long time to see this would be a horrible understatement. And now that Taylor says this may be it... win, lose, or draw... for BOTH of them? This is gonna be something else. JS: It's Outlaw Rules. No pinfalls, no submissions, no countouts, no DQs, and no referee! This one doesn't end until one man just can't fight no more! I think there's nothing left to say, Todd, so let's go up to Ken Graham for the introductions! [We crossfade to the ring where Ken Graham is standing.] KG: The following contest will be conducted under OUTLAW RULES! [HUGE CHEER!] KG: This match has no countouts, no disqualifications, no pinfalls, no submissions, and no referee! The only way to win is the render your opponent unable of continuing! [Another big cheer!] KG: Introducing first... [The sounds of Cypress Hill's "Rock Superstar" comes over the PA to a big shower of boos.] KG: From Boston, Massachusetts... weighing in tonight at 264 pounds... "SUPERSTAR" KEVVVVVIN SLAAAAAAATER! [Slater struts through the curtain. He's wearing a Boston Red Sox hoodie with a large gold chain necklace hanging around his neck. He bounces back and forth from foot to foot for a moment before heading down the aisle. Rolling under the ropes, he pops up to his feet, going into a full spin with his arms spread soaking up the boos from the crowd.] JS: Kevin Slater has become one of the most arrogant men in pro wrestling, Todd. TM: He always had a bit of an ego problem, Steggs. But now he's showing it off for the whole world. He thinks he's a Main Event player - an impact player - and he wants everyone to believe it too. JS: He IS a two-time former World Champion at our former place of employment - winning one of those titles from Hall of Famer, "Crimson" Joe Reed, so that does say something about his skills. [Slater pulls off his sweatshirt, tossing it to a ringside attendant. He removes his gold chain also. Under the sweatshirt, Slater is clad in his standard wrestling gear of trunks and boots. He steps up on the middle rope, posing to more jeers as his music starts to fade.] KG: And his opponent... [There's a dramatic pause.] #You were better than the best# [The crowd ERUPTS at the sound of Pat Benatar's "Outlaw Blues" - the former entrance music for the legendary John Wesley Hardin.] KG: From Phoenix, Arizona... weighing in tonight at 272 pounds... He is the Outlaw of professional wrestling... BOBBY TAAAAAAYLOR! [The cheers grow as Taylor walks through the curtain, wearing exactly what we saw him in moments ago. He pauses just beyond the entrance, looking side to side at the roaring crowd. A slight smile crosses his face before he starts walking down the entrance aisle...] JS: Bobby Taylor is on his way down the aisle to the ring - perhaps for the final time. He didn't go as far as saying this is his retirement match but we know Kevin Slater dragged him out of the front office for this war. TM: I would not be the least bit surprised to find out that this is Taylor's final match, Steggs. He was perfectly happy in the office until Slater and that whole bounty mess brought him back to the ring. Once this is over, I'd expect Taylor will head right back to that cushy office chair. [Taylor reaches ringside, rolling under the ropes into the ring. He immediately gets to a knee, ready to fight if the moment presents itself but Slater stays back, fists at the ready as well. The Outlaw gets to his feet, backing into the corner.] JS: Just two men inside that ring - two former best friends. So close that you could practically call them brothers. But there's not a referee in sight. TM: There have been many versions of the Outlaw Rules matches over the years but this is the original - this is how it's meant to be done. Just sheer brutality until one man can't fight anymore. JS: No three counts, not even ten counts... this is gonna be something else. [The former Wild Thing dances out of his corner, moving from side to side, hands up in front of his face like a boxer. A look of amusement on his face, Taylor strides out to the middle, his lightly-taped hands clenching and unclenching. A look of focus is on his face, his eyes moving to follow Slater with every twitch... ...and Slater strikes first, snapping off a quick jab that comes nowhere near Taylor's face.] JS: Slater looks like a boxer in there - throwing jabs like he's trying to find the right distance... TM: He's just toying with Taylor, Steggs. This ain't Slater's game. He's not a striker. [Slater throws a few more jabs, flicking them out towards the face of Taylor who simply turns along with Slater's sidestep, his eyes locked on his former friend.] JS: You have to wonder how long Taylor's going to stand for this. [Slater throws a few more right jabs, getting closer and closer... ...but suddenly Taylor lunges forward with a haymaker on the jaw, knocking the Superstar flat!] JS: Taylor with the right hand and down goes Slater! [Slater promptly rolls out of the ring, slamming his arms into the apron as he gets out there. He points with anger at Taylor, shouting in his direction.] TM: Slater just said this isn't fair - something about a closed fist. JS: Does Kevin Slater not realize what he's gotten himself into? TM: He does, Steggs. He's just trying to get into Taylor's head. [After a bit more complaining out on the floor, Slater rolls back under the ropes into the ring. He slowly gets to his feet, rolling his neck back and forth before getting back into his boxing stance, sidestepping his way around Taylor who continues to stand in the center of the ring.] JS: What a jerk Kevin Slater is. This is the perfect example of how he went from one of the most popular men in the AWA to one of the most hated. His ego has just gotten too out of hand. [He snaps off a jab, this one glancing off the jaw of Taylor who doesn't react, simply turning to keep Slater in his gaze.] JS: Another jab to the jaw... anoth- [Taylor slaps the flung fist away and throws a haymaker of his own, catching Slater on the jaw and knocking him flat once more!] JS: Taylor floors him again! [And again, Slater rolls to the floor, this time kicking the ring apron in anger. He shouts in the direction of Taylor who doesn't respond. Marching around the ring, Slater occasionally looks back in at Taylor... ...and then yanks the timekeeper out of his chair by the shirt!] JS: Whoa! Slater's got the timekeeper now! [The former Wild Thing shakes the timekeeper back and forth violently, shouting at him.] TM: He's complaining about the closed fists again. This guy is just too much, Steggs. [Slater shoves the timekeeper down to the floor, pointing up angrily at Taylor. He grabs the middle rope, pulling himself up on the apron. He shouts at Taylor again, screaming over the ropes at him... ...and Taylor rushes forward, grabbing the top rope, and catapulting the Superstar over the ropes, sending him crashing down to the canvas to the cheers of the crowd!] JS: Taylor brings him over the ropes the hard way! Slater hits the mat hard and- [The Outlaw drops to his knees, grabbing Slater by the back of the head, and driving his fist into the face over and over with the crowd roaring for every blow!] JS: THIS IS OVER TWO YEARS IN THE MAKING!! Two years of Kevin Slater tormenting Bobby Taylor and it's on! Taylor's finally getting his payback on his former best friend! [Taylor continues to batter him with right hands, Slater throwing his arms over his head to try and protect himself. He swings his own arms at Taylor, trying to battle back and ends up with just enough separation to roll out of the ring again... ...but this time, Taylor rolls out after him, pursuing him around the ring!] JS: Slater's making a run for it! TM: Get 'im, Bobby! JS: Kevin Slater is quite literally running for his life here in St. Louis because when Bobby Taylor gets his hands on him - who knows what'll happen next?! [Slater's speed advantage is put to good use as he gets a nice lead on the pursuing Taylor, rolling under the ropes and scrambling to his feet as Taylor starts to slide in... ...and gets an elbow dropped down on the back of his head on the way in!] JS: Ohh! Slater caught him coming in! TM: That's the kind of experience and ring generalship that you'd come to expect from a two-time former World Champion like Kevin Slater. JS: But wouldn't you expect the same thing from a veteran like Taylor? TM: You would. And that's what makes a match like this so intriguing. Who can outplot, outplan, and outthink the other man? [Down on his knees, Slater grabs two hands full of Bobby Taylor's shoulder-length hair and SLAMS his face into the canvas!] JS: Ohh! Facefirst into the mat goes the Outlaw! [Pulling Taylor's head up, Slater SLAMS him down into the mat again!] JS: Twice! Slater has smashed Taylor's head into the mat twice now! [Holding the hair, the Superstar smashes his former best friend's face into the mat over and over again as the crowd jeers. With no referee to stop him, only Kevin Slater can stop his assault. He does after several more faceslams, rolling Taylor onto his back.] JS: And this is where you start to see how dangerous this match is, fans. Kevin Slater's got no referee in there to stop him from any of this and - look here, clenched fists driven into the face but in this one, it's perfectly legal! [The Superstar continues his assault from an MMA-style mount, throwing huge right hands to the skull over and over again. After a bit, he pops to his feet, throwing his arms apart with a gutteral roar to the jeers of the crowd.] JS: Kevin Slater is no favorite here in St. Louis tonight, Todd. TM: If he can put down his former best friend, I don't think he cares if they run him out of town on a rail, Steggs. JS: Slater's back to his feet now... what's next for the Superstar? [Leaning down, Slater grabs the feet of his rival, tucking the shins under his armpits. The former two-time World Champion falls backwards, catapulting Taylor through the air and sending him chestfirst into the turnbuckles!] JS: Ohh! Catapult to the buckles! His head hit the turnbuckles right there... [Slater climbs to his feet, yanking the dazed Taylor out of the corner by the hair. He pulls him in, wrapping his leg through Taylor's legs, snapping him back in a side Russian legsweep, smacking the back of Taylor's head off the canvas!] JS: Taylor's head hit the mat hard there... and there's a cover? [Kevin Slater applies a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.] JS: Slater's waiting for a count but he's not gonna get one, Todd. TM: There's no pinfalls in this one and I think Slater just realized that. [The former Wild Thing gets to his feet, glaring down at Taylor with his hands on his hips. He looks annoyed with himself as some ringside fans mock him for attempting a cover.] JS: It's a hard habit to break when you're conditioned to get a pin whenever you can. TM: It certainly is. It's difficult enough when you're in something like a submission match or a no DQ affair but when there's no ref at all? I can't even imagine what that's like. I mean, what kind of gameplan can you come up with to try and render someone unable to fight back? [Slater waves his former partner up, shouting "GET UP!" at him at the top of his lungs.] JS: Kevin Slater's demanding that Taylor get off the mat... [Grabbing the middle rope, Taylor pulls himself to his knees... ...and Slater rushes forward, slamming home a knee to the temple that sends Taylor sailing through the ropes and out to the barely-padded concrete floor!] JS: What a shot! That's the kind of blow that can render a man unconscious if he hits it just right. TM: From my point of view, it looked like Taylor got a hand in front of it. He may have partially blocked some of that running knee and that might be the only thing keeping him awake right now. JS: Awake. You may have just hit the nail on the head, Todd. You talked about what kind of strategy do you come up with for something like this? How about putting someone out with a sleeperhold or a cobra clutch or something like that? TM: It would be a sound strategy. Neither of these men are known much for submissions or that type of hold but it could be a very sound strategy if they were to employ it. [The former Wild Thing steps out to the apron, looking down at his hurting former friend... ...and leaps off, smashing a forearm down across the back of the skull and knocking Taylor back down to the thin black pads.] JS: And there's another possible strategy - blows to the head designed to render the opponent unconscious. The former two-time World Champion has plenty of those. TM: Slater's known all over the business for being one of the hardest hitters inside a wrestling ring. Forearms, elbows, clotheslines - all can be delivered with the force needed to knock someone cold. [Slater stares down at Taylor who is facedown on the floor, already trying to pull himself back to his feet. He shakes his head before grabbing the Outlaw by the hair, yanking him to his feet.] JS: He pulls Taylor off the floor and- look out! [The crowd groans as Slater hoists Bobby Taylor up in his arms, holding him high for a moment... ...and SLAMS him down on the thinly-padded concrete floor!] JS: A bodyslam on the floor! Simple but oh-so effective! [Taylor writhes around in pain on the floor, one arm wrenched around to grab his lower back as Slater climbs back up on the apron. He turns, leaning against the ropes with an arrogant grin as he looks down on the Outlaw.] "Had enough, hero?" [Slater smirks at the jeering crowd, pointing to a rather-vocal young man in the front row.] "You want some next, punk?" [He threatens a backhand in the young man's direction as he looks back down to Taylor.] "You got nothing left, old man! Stay down before I have to really hurt you!" [Grabbing the ring apron with his left hand, Taylor slowly pulls himself off the floor, wincing in pain as he reaches his feet.] JS: Taylor's back to his feet and- [Slater leaps off the apron again, aiming another forearm for the skull... ...but Taylor catches him in the gut with a right hand, blocking the forearm smash! Big cheer!] JS: Taylor caught him coming off the ropes and stopped him dead in his tracks! [Grabbing Slater by the hair, Taylor grabs a handful of trunks as well... ...and HURLS his former best friend skullfirst into the ringside steel barricade with so much force that the barricade becomes unhinged from the other sections of railing, toppling over into the front row!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: HEADFIRST!! HEADFIRST TO THE BARRICADE!!! [Slater slumps over onto the downed section of railing, grabbing his head with both hands.] JS: Taylor's standing over him! THAT'S the Outlaw, Todd! THAT'S the man we saw grow from a wet-nosed rookie into one of the toughest men in the business! [The crowd roars as the Outlaw stares down at Slater, a cold look in his eyes.] JS: I would not want to be standing in there with that man, Todd. TM: I wouldn't want to tangle with either of them anymore but Bobby Taylor is the kind of man who ends a career with blinking. He'll have no remorse if he has to put his former best friend in a hospital bed tonight. JS: I beg to differ. I think if anything - the last few months have shown that Taylor would have GREAT remorse at having to do that. It was very difficult to get him into this match. He didn't want to fight his best friend. He didn't want to fight his own family. He's lost too much to this business - friends, family - to put Slater on that list. But tonight, he has to shove down that remorse. He has to push it back because he can't hold back if he wants to win this thing. [Taylor reaches down, hauling Slater up by his hairdresser-styled ponytail. And in a mirror image of Slater moments earlier, Taylor scoops him up into the air in his arms, holds him high... ...and SLAMS him down on the detatched steel barricade!] "CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" TM: THIS IS OUTLAW RULES, BABY! JS: And parents, please be advised that this may get a little more out of control than your usual AWA matchup. Please be advised that parental discretion may be needed for this one! [The Outlaw stumbles back, leaning against the ring apron, waiting and watching to see if his rival will get to his feet.] JS: This is so unique, Todd, because at a moment like this, we just have to sit here and wait. Will Kevin Slater get up? Will this match continue? TM: He'll get up. JS: You sound so sure. TM: Steggs, we saw these guys in Los Angeles. We know what kind of punishment they're capable of putting their bodies through. Now, they may be a little bit older and in a little worse shape but there's no chance that a bodyslam - even if it's on steel - will keep one of them down and out for good. [Taylor waves with both arms, demanding that his former best friend get back up.] JS: Taylor wants him to get up! He's not done with him, Todd. TM: Slater put him through hell, Steggs. I wouldn't be done with him either. [The former Wild Thing rolls to his stomach, reaching around to grab his back as he pushes up to his knees... ...and Taylor rushes forward, delivering a cowboy boot to the face!] JS: OHHH! TM: He kicked him right in the mush! And that's not a wrestling boot on his foot, Steggs. That's a cowboy boot to the jaw! JS: That's a good point, Todd. And as you look at these two men, you see Kevin Slater out here in his usual ring attire - like he's in a regular match. But Bobby Taylor's dressed for a fight. TM: Taylor looks like he'd look if he wandered into South Laredo on a Friday night and told the local biker gang that Tex Violence was as manly as Michelle Bailey. [Taylor drops down to his knees on the railing, grabbing Slater by the hair and battering his face with repeated right hands to the cheers of the crowd - especially those a few feet away in the front row who've scattered since the barricade collapsed. After a moment, Taylor hauls Slater to his feet, hurling him under the ropes into the ring.] JS: Taylor puts Slater back in... I'm a little surprised by that. Taylor would seem more at home on the floor that Slater would. Slater would have an edge inside the ring by my estimation, Todd. TM: Seems like a good guess to me, Steggs. But Taylor must have something in mind. [And we quickly learn exactly what he has in mind as Taylor pulls himself up on the apron, heading towards the corner.] JS: Is... is Bobby Taylor going up top? [The crowd buzzes as the 270 pound Outlaw starts to scale the ropes.] JS: Taylor's going up top! When's the last time you've seen Taylor go up top, Todd? TM: I remember him breaking his tailbone on a high flying move several years ago. Maybe then? JS: Taylor to the second rope... now to the top... [But before he can do whatever it was he had in mind, Taylor gets caught by a charging Kevin Slater who quickly scales the ropes, throwing haymakers to the body of the perched Outlaw.] JS: Slater caught him up top! Slater's trying to smash him down! [With Taylor dazed, Slater rakes his fingers across the eyes, blinding the Outlaw and allowing him to sling Taylor's arm over his neck, stepping up to the top rope... ...and hoisting him up into the air, taking him over and down to the canvas with a thunderous superplex!] JS: SUPERPLEX!! SUPERPLEX OFF THE TOP BY SLATER!! [The crowd roars as both men hit the mat hard, staying motionless on the canvas for several moments as they try to recover from the big fall.] JS: Both men are down. Both men are hurting. TM: That was a long, hard way down off the top, Steggs. Both of these men hit the mat at top velocity and it could quite possibly be a turning point in this match. JS: What happens if neither of them can get up? TM: Like I said, these two can take a tremendous amount of punishment. I don't think that'll be an issue here - not yet anyways. But if it were to happen, I suppose it would be a draw. [Slater is the first to show signs of life, rolling to his side. He pushes off the mat to a knee, visibly wincing and clutching his lower back as he staggers up to his feet. He kicks Taylor hard in the ribs before dropping down to his knees, grabbing a handful of hair and delivering punch after punch after punch to the temple!] JS: Kevin Slater has regained control in this Outlaw Rules match but the deeper we go into this match - we're close to ten minutes in - you have to start to wonder just what in the world they can do to make their opponent unable to continue. Like we've said, it's not a three count, it's not a ten count. You have to make your opponent unable to fight back! [Climbing to his feet, Slater hauls the Outlaw up by the hair. He grabs his left arm, going for an Irish whip.] JS: Whip by Sla- reversed by Taylor! [The former Wild Thing hits the ropes, rebounding off as Taylor extends his arm for a big running lariat...] JS: LARIA- [But at the last moment, Slater leaps up, floating over across the back of his former friend... ...and SPIKES his skull into the canvas!] JS: FLOATING DDT!! A nod to their former friend, Luke Steele, a man they were in the group known as the Cult of Personality with together! [Slater pops up to his feet, throwing his arms out and going into a spin to celebrate the big DDT that has laid out his opponent.] JS: He drove Taylor's skull into the canvas with that Floating DDT and Todd, for the first time in this match, I have to wonder if that might be enough to keep Bobby Taylor down. TM: Slater was taught that move by Luke Steele, who is the master of it, and he just used it to great effectiveness, laying out the Outlaw of professional wrestling! JS: Taylor's down - he hasn't moved a bit yet. He's facedown on the mat, arms over his head. Kevin Slater thinks he's done it right there... [Slater mounts the middle buckle, pointing at himself with both hands to the jeers of the crowd. He mockingly waves at the fans in the crowd... ...who start to roar as Bobby Taylor pushes himself off the mat to a knee.] JS: TAYLOR'S GETTING UP!! [An angry Slater leaps off the second rope, marching over to the rising Taylor. He delivers a boot to the gut, doubling him up before yanking him into a front facelock...] JS: CATTLEBUSTER! [The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Slater hoists Taylor off the mat, DRIVING his skull into the canvas again!] JS: He just hit Bobby Taylor with his own move, Todd! TM: And it doesn't get more embarrassing than that. Losing to your own finishing move - especially in a match like this - is the ultimate slap in the face to a man. JS: Kevin Slater has been taunting Taylor by using the CattleBuster DDT for months and now he has hit it in this Outlaw Rules showdown. And Bobby Taylor may not get up from that, Todd. TM: Taylor's felt that DDT before but from the master of it, John Wesley Hardin among others. If Kevin Slater hopes to finish him off - to make him unable to stand and fight - he'd better have mastered it. JS: It looked pretty good from here. TM: It certainly did. [Slater sits up, grinning at the jeering crowd. After a moment, he lays flat on his back, rolling out of the ring.] JS: Where is he going? TM: He thinks it's over! Kevin Slater thinks this match is over! [The former Wild Thing stops in the aisleway, trying to high five a young Taylor fan who is shouting at him.] JS: Now he's out here taunting fans at ringside. Kevin Slater thinks he's won this thing and he's walking out of here. He's not even gonna stick around and see if Taylor can recover. [The arrogant Slater slowly walks down the aisle, stopping occasionally to mock a fan as he heads towards the locker room.] JS: Slater's on his way out of here... wait a second here... look at Taylor! [Pushing up on his arms, Taylor starts to crawl, heading towards the timekeeper's area.] JS: Bobby Taylor is trying to get up! Slater's leaving and- [Taylor snatches a mic off the timekeeper's table, dragging himself to his feet using the ropes.] "You..." [The voice of his former friend makes Slater freeze in his tracks. He slowly turns around, looking back up the aisle at the now-standing Taylor.] "You get your ass back here. This ain't over." [Taylor spikes the mic to the mat to the cheers of the crowd.] JS: You heard the man! This ain't over! [An angry Slater spins around, hands on hips as he looks down the aisle. He shakes his head as he marches back down the aisle, moving quickly to dive under the ropes as Taylor staggers towards him.] JS: And the fight is on once more! [Taylor throws a right hand to the jaw of Slater, knocking him a step back. Slater quickly fires back with a pair of haymakers of his own, trying to stagger him... ...but Taylor buries a knee in the gut, cutting off the attack. Grabbing him by the hair, he HURLS Slater over the ropes but the former Wild Thing gets tangled up, his head becoming trapped between the ropes!] JS: HE'S CAUGHT! SLATER GOT HIS HEAD TRAPPED BETWEEN THE ROPES! [The crowd roars as Slater struggles against the ropes, trying to free his throat from the two twisted ropes pressing against his throat.] JS: Slater's being strangled by the ropes! [Taylor quickly moves in to prevent Slater from freeing himself. He holds the rope, keeping it in place as he drives a right hand into the skull of his former friend.] JS: Big right hand by Taylor! Another right! [Slater's hands are wrapped around the ropes, trying to pry them apart. His face is rapidly turning red as Slater continues to batter the skull of the former two-time World Champion.] JS: He can't get free! Slater's turning a bright shade of red! Those ropes are strangling the life out of him! TM: This might be a way to get a win in this one, Steggs. Choke him out! [A panicked AWA official jumps up on the apron, grabbing the ropes to try to pull them apart... ...and EATS a right hand from Taylor, knocking him off the apron!] JS: Ohh! Bobby Taylor just cracked an AWA official with a right hand! TM: Ordinarily, I'd say he might be fined for that but... well... [A second and third official leap up on the apron too, trying to help Slater free himself... ...but two more right hands dispatch them, leaving Taylor to pummel the skull of Slater once more.] JS: He needs help! He needs help out of this right now and- [Suddenly, the timekeeper leaps up on the apron, grabbing the top rope and pulling hard... ...when suddenly Bobby Taylor rushes forward, lashing out with a big cowboy boot to the side of the face that sends the timekeeper sailing off the apron, crashing down to the barely-padded floor with a thud!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: DOWN GOES THE TIMEKEEPER! HE HIT THE FLOOR HARD! [The crowd gasps in shock at the sight of the timekeeper sailing off the apron and crashing down to the thinly-padded floor. Taylor leans over the ropes, glaring at the interfering timekeeper as Slater slips free, falling in a heap on the ring apron next to the timekeeper's table.] JS: Slater's gasping for air... trying to recover from being trapped between the ropes like that... [An angry Taylor reaches over the ropes, grabbing a prone Slater by the hair to haul him to his feet...] "CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!" [Taylor plummets backwards, collapsing on the mat as Slater gets to his feet, clutching the just-used ring bell in his hands. He tosses the bell over the ropes into the ring... ...and then heads towards the ropes.] JS: Uh oh... Slater's going up top! [The former two-time World Champion quickly scales the ropes, standing tall with his arms raised high... ...and hurls himself off the top, burying his elbow in the heart of the Outlaw!] JS: ELBOW!! TM: How many times have we seen that one, Steggs? JS: Too many to count. The late 1990s were filled with Kevin Slater coming off the top rope just like that, burying that elbow into a literal Who's Who of professional wrestling. And if you believe Bobby Taylor's words earlier tonight, that may have been the final flying elbow of Kevin Slater's career! [Slater pops back up to his feet, again going into a full spin to the jeers of the crowd. He climbs up on the second rope, taunting the ringside fans.] JS: And now, the eyes of the entire arena are on Bobby Taylor. Can he get up? Can he recover? Can he keep the fight going? We are over fifteen minutes into this war and Kevin Slater may have just polished off his former best friend, Todd. TM: The flying elbow has hit many, many men over the year and has finished off a lot of them. But is it enough to finish off Bobby Taylor in what could be his final match? [Slater hops down off the ropes, staring down at Taylor whose right arm is moving slightly off the mat. The Wild Thing glares at Taylor, shooting daggers with his eyes as he marches over to the timekeeper's table, reaching through the ropes to grab a wireless mic off the table.] "Hey Outlaw... you think you've got more in you?" [Slater paces around the ring, glaring at you.] "You think you're still the man who fought Hardin? James?" [The Superstar shakes his head back and forth as he walks.] "You're wrong, Taylor. You're not." [Taylor pushes up off the mat, taking a knee... ...and Slater throws the mic aside, grabbing Taylor by the hair with both hands and HURLING him over the ropes to the floor!] JS: Good god! Slater just chucked him to the floor and- [Slater steps out to the apron, dropping to the floor. He drops to his knees, pummeling Taylor with right hands on the thinly-padded floor.] JS: Slater sends im out to the floor and now he's right on top of him! [Taylor reaches up, throwing a punch of his own from his back that knocks Slater backwards. A furious Slater kicks Taylor hard in the ribs, knocking him to his stomach before stomping away.] JS: Where is he going now? [The crowd begins to buzz as Slater grabs the steel chair from the timekeeper's table, folding up the seat. He approaches Bobby Taylor as Taylor pushes up to all fours, climbing to his feet.] JS: He's got the chair and- LOOK OUT! [Slater swings the chair hard overhead but Taylor gets both arms up, blocking the blow.] JS: He blocked it! Taylor blocked the shot to the head with the chair! [The Outlaw responds with a cowboy boot to the gut, allowing him to rip the chair out of his hands. Slater tries to spin away as Taylor rears back...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: CHAIR ACROSS THE BACK!! DOWN GOES SLATER!! [Taylor throws the chair down to the floor, marching over to the timekeeper's table where he sweeps everything off of it with his arm. The crowd begins to buzz as Taylor jerks the table away from the apron.] JS: Uh oh. TM: It looks like Taylor might be having some flashbacks to Los Angeles, Steggs! JS: It certainly does! Bobby Taylor has been in some of the most violent, the most brutal hardcore matches in this sport and tonight, here in St. Louis, he might be about to take the Family Arena to the extreme! [Taylor leans down, dragging Slater off the mat by the hair... ...and SMASHES his face into the table top!] JS: Ohh! Facefirst to the wooden table! [The Outlaw shoves Slater on top of the table, rolling him onto his back. Taylor delivers some clubbing blows across the chest, keeping Slater in place before he grabs the ropes, pulling himself up onto the apron...] JS: I don't like the looks of this, Todd. TM: Taylor's backing down the apron - Slater's laid out on the table... [With a swing of his arm, Taylor drives the crowd into a dull roar as he rushes down the apron, leaping off... ...and DRIVING a leg down across the throat of the laid out Slater!] JS: OHHHH! BIG LEGDROP OFF THE APRON ONTO SLATER!! TM: The table didn't break! JS: It certainly didn't! The wooden table survived that legdrop off the apron and that causes Taylor to get a little shaken up as well. You mentioned that broken tailbone earlier, Todd. That might send a jolt to that old injury. [Falling off the table, Taylor winces as he pushes up to his knees. He uses the ropes to drag himself to his feet, walking over to the barricade.] JS: What is he... uh oh... [The crowd buzzes as Taylor pulls back the thin black pads that cover up the concrete floor.] JS: Taylor just exposed the floor! Bobby Taylor just pulled back the padding off the concrete! The cold, hard, unforgiving concrete is exposed, Todd! TM: You want to know how someone's going to get finished off in this one? This could do it. [Taylor pulls Slater up to his feet, tugging him into a front facelock standing on the concrete.] JS: CATTLEBUS- no! Slater's fighting it! [A few shots to the ribs breaks up the DDT effort and Slater simply straightens up, backdropping Taylor flat out on the concrete floor!] JS: OHHH! HARD ON THE FLOOR! [Slater drops to a knee, breathing heavily as Taylor rolls around in agony on the concrete floor.] JS: Taylor's moving - at least there's that, Todd. TM: As someone all-too-familiar with back injuries, I can tell you that something like that can do a lot of damage, Steggs - a lot of damage. [The former Wild Thing climbs to his feet, slowly moving over towards the downed Taylor. He shouts at his former friend.] "STAY DOWN!" [Slater glares at Taylor, waiting to see... ...and then slams his arms on the canvas as Taylor rolls to his stomach, getting his arms under him to the cheers of the crowd. A furious Slater approaches the fallen section of barricade, dragging it away from the crowd and into the ringside area.] JS: Uh oh... Slater's got the barricade... what's he got in mind here? [The Boston native plants his feet, grabbing the steel railing to try and get some leverage... ...and somehow powers the barricade up into the air in a makeshift suplex, falling backwards to slam the steel down on the back of the kneeling Taylor!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: My god! My god in heaven! I can't believe I just saw that! TM: These AWA fans are getting a taste of extreme and they're loving it, baby! [Slater climbs up on the apron, leaning against the ropes and shouting at his former friend.] "That enough, Taylor? That enough for you?" [The Superstar shakes his head at the cheering crowd, turning his attention to them.] "No! NO! HE'S DONE! YOU HEAR ME?! HE'S DONE!" [But is he? Because it appears the the Outlaw is trying to get up, pushing up with his arms and legs, the barricade still lying across his back.] JS: BOBBY TAYLOR'S GETTING UP!! [Enraged, Slater kicks the bottom rope, shouting "NO! NO! NO!" as he spins around, waving Taylor up, begging his former ally to climb to his feet.] JS: Taylor's trying to get up and- [The Outlaw of professional wrestling shrugs off the barricade to the floor, staggering over to the apron where Slater throws a haymaker down towards his skull... ...but Taylor blocks it, throwing a right hand of his own into the midsection! A second hooking blow snaps Slater back, sending him falling back into the ring!] JS: Slater's back in - and Taylor's coming in after him! [Rolling back into the ring, the Outlaw reaches down, tugging off his cowboy boot.] JS: Taylor's got the boot off! He's got the boot off and he's got it in his hands! [Bobby Taylor holds his cowboy boot high for the fans to see, listening to the roars of the crowd. He winds up with it... ...and BLASTS the rising Kevin Slater between the eyes with it, knocking him flat!] JS: OHHH! Big shot! [Pulling Slater to his knees in front of him, Taylor takes the heel of the boot, digging it into the forehead!] JS: AHHHH! [The crowd groans as Taylor digs the boot into the flesh of his former friend's skull. After a bit of torture, Taylor throws the boot aside to the canvas... ...and reaches for his belt.] JS: Oh my god. [The buzz of the crowd grows louder and louder as Taylor pulls the leather belt off of his jeans.] JS: Taylor's got his belt off! What's he planning on doing with that, Todd? TM: I'm thinking we're about to find out. [Taylor leans over, looping his belt around the throat of the Boston native, dragging him around the ring with it...] JS: HE'S CHOKING THE LIFE OUT OF SLATER WITH THE BELT!! [Slater's face turns a bright shade of red as Taylor drags him around the ring, the leather belt cutting into the windpipe of the former Wild Thing... ...who manages to get his hands on Taylor's discarded boot as they pass it.] JS: Taylor's trying to choke him into unconsciousness! That would end this thing for sure, Todd! TM: It would. If he can choke out Slater, Slater won't be able to keep the fight up and- [The crowd roars as Slater lashes out with the boot, drilling his former friend with it in the head and breaking free of his grip.] JS: Slater hit him with the boot! Kevin Slater got incredibly lucky right there to get his hands on that boot and- [Slater climbs to his feet, choking and gasping as he glares down at Taylor. He grabs the discarded belt, folding it over once...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: He whipped him! He whipped Taylor across the back with that belt! "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: AGAIN! AGAIN ACROSS THE BACK!! [An enraged Slater rears back once more...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" [Taylor writhes around on the mat, screaming out in pain at the deep red welts being put on his back. Trickles of blood start to come from the back of the Outlaw as he lies flat on his stomach on the canvas... ...but Slater doesn't let up, looping the leather strap around the throat, using it to drag Slater up to his feet.] JS: He's got Taylor up with the belt around his throat and- OH MY GOD! [The crowd GASPS in collective shock as Taylor's body goes sailing over the top rope, the belt hooked around his throat.] JS: HE'S HANGING THE OUTLAW!! [Slater holds tight to the leather strap with both hands, trying to strangle the air out of Taylor whose legs and feet hang perilously above the concrete floor. He sways back and forth, trying to get his fingers inside the strap to break the chokehold!] JS: Taylor's trying to fight it but Slater's got a tight grip on that choke! He's got the belt gripped in his hands! TM: He needs to get out of this quick, Steggs. If he can't break this chokehold, this hanging... this thing is over right quick. [Taylor tries to inch his fingers under the leather strap, trying to give himself some literal breathing room, his face rapidly turning red as Slater plants a foot against the ropes, trying to keep Taylor's body weight in the air... ...but failing, allowing a weakened Taylor to slump to the floor in a heap, the belt still wrapped around his throat.] JS: Bobby Taylor got very, very lucky right there in my estimation, Todd. TM: That could have been a lot worse. Slater lost his grip on the belt. Maybe sweat? Maybe just Taylor's 270 pounds. He just couldn't hold him up anymore and Taylor slipped to the floor. JS: But was it enough? Bobby Taylor is down. Bobby Taylor is hurting. He's having a hard time getting air into his lungs no doubt. But is all that enough to keep him down for a ten count? [Kevin Slater seems to think it is, dropping to the mat and rolling out of the ring. He delivers a kick to the ribs before heading towards the aisleway.] JS: Slater's leaving! He's trying to walk out of here again! [The former two-time World Champion heads back up the aisle, taunting the aisleside fans who shout at the rulebreaker from over the rope barricade.] JS: Kevin Slater is walking out of here. He thinks he's won this thing. He thinks he's won this Outlaw Rules showdown - perhaps the final match of his career. Perhaps the final match of Bobby Taylor's career as well! This could be it for both of these men and is this how it ends? With a hanging using a leather belt? TM: Taylor's moving a little bit... but Slater's out of here! [The Superstar stops to argue with a fan in the entranceway, screaming and shouting in his direction... ...when a voice rings out over the PA.] "This... isn't... done." [The crowd ROARS for the weary voice of Bobby Taylor who is kneeling on the floor, his neck covered in red welts from the belt that was wrapped around it moments earlier. Taylor gestures, waving for Slater to come back... ...and his former best friend is quick to respond!] JS: HERE COMES SLATER!! He's coming back! [Slater rushes back to ringside, climbing up on the apron where Bobby Taylor is now standing. The two men immediately lunge at one another, Slater connecting with a right hand... ...and getting a boot to the skull in response!] JS: Ohh! Big shot with the boot! Taylor's got both of his boots off now! [Standing on the apron, Taylor throws a weak left-handed clothesline that knocks Slater over the ropes into the ring... ...and Taylor immediately reaches over it, grabbing Slater by the hair and hauling him to his feet.] JS: Oh no! [The crowd buzzes as Taylor reaches over the ropes, wrapping his arms around the waist of Slater. The fans react strongly, having seen this happen over and over for fifteen years...] JS: He's got him hooked! [The Arizona native hoists Slater into the air in a belly to back suplex... ...and simply lets go, sending Slater crashing down on the back of his head on top of the steel barricade at ringside!] JS: OUTLAW'S CURSE!! OUTLAW'S CURSE TO THE FLOOR!! TM: And the back of Slater's head SLAMMED into the railing! He may be out right there. [Taylor slowly turns around on the apron, leaning back over the ropes to soak up the roars of the crowd. He slowly nods his head, pointing to the downed Slater who is motionless on the floor.] JS: This might be over right now! Bobby Taylor may have just ended this thing with that big suplex to the floor... TM: I don't think he's done. [The Outlaw shakes his head, hopping off the apron. He grabs the barricade off the ground, tossing it aside and rolling Slater to the floor. Taylor moves to the timekeeper's table, dragging it over on top of the exposed concrete.] JS: What's he doing now? He just moved that table onto the concrete. I don't know if he- [He grabs Slater by the hair, hauling his limp body off the steel barricade, shoving him up onto the table.] JS: Taylor puts him on the table... where's Taylor going now? [The Outlaw of professional wrestling steps up on the table, leaning down to drag Slater to his feet, pulling him into a standing front facelock. The crowd ERUPTS!] JS: Oh my god! Oh my god! What in the world is Taylor thinking?! TM: He's gonna put him through the table, Steggy! JS: He can't! He can't do it! He'll snap Slater's neck! [Taylor stands on the table, holding Slater up and keeping him from slumping back down. He reaches out with his free hand, raising a closed fist. The crowd roars, screaming and shouting for the Outlaw. He nods his head, pointing to the crowd with a smile on his face, and a very skilled cameraman catches Taylor say "Thank you."] JS: Taylor's got him hooked! Is he- [Taylor suddenly hoists Slater up into the air, lifting him horizontal to the ground... ...and swings him off the table, leaping with him to take him straight down and DRIVING Slater skullfirst into the exposed concrete floor!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The announcers stay silent, allowing the fans to say it all for them as the fans react with a mixture of shock, awe, and horror at the sight of Slater being driven skullfirst into the concrete floor with a CattleBuster DDT off a wooden table. Taylor slowly sits up, arms on his knees as he listens to the fans. He leans over, patting Slater on the chest softly before climbing up to his feet. And without looking back, Bobby Taylor simply walks away, walking straight up the aisle, ignoring the cheering fans on both sides of the aisle, leaving a motionless Kevin Slater completely still on the floor... ...and right back through the curtain, leaving a roaring crowd behind. 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 we fade back up to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing alongside the AWA's Executive Consultant, a man who has been missing for quite some time, former World Champion Joe Petrow.] MS: Welcome back to St. Louis, fans. I'm here with the AWA's self-proclaimed Executive Consultant Joe Petrow, and Joe, we haven't seen or heard from you at all since Battle on the Bayou. Have you had trouble finding clients since then? [Joe Petrow shoots Mark the look of a professor addressing the class dunce.] JP: I guess what you meant to say was, "Welcome to Superclash Mr. Petrow, it's an honor to have you here tonight", but the stress of being poor at your job is starting to get to you. [Mark himself allows a brief, unprofessional change of expression that reveals his wish to be talking with anybody but Petrow.] JP: The truth is that every successful business undergoes changes in its original business plan. And as much as I enjoyed seeing my plan at Battle on the Bayou flawlessly executed beyond even _my_ expectations, upon further review I realized that that success was the exception that proved the rule. Because Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers are two of the very few of a dying breed of men that actually understands the concepts of respect and honor. Without people respecting and honoring _my_ accomplishments in the proper manner, my services were eventually doomed to failure. But there is another service even more in need in the AWA. A service to enforce the respect earned by these wrestlers through their years and, in some cases, _decades_ of accomplishments! So after Superclash 2, I will be offering my select boutique services of Respect Management to the very few elite AWA members who deserve it! MS: So is that why you approached Mark Langseth on the last show? If so, I can understand why he turned you down! JP: Oh _really_? Mr. Langseth is an active Hall of Fame wrestler, of course he would be the first person I would approach! But Mr. Langseth still believes in the good side of people, he still believes that his accomplishments are being acknowledged by the fans and by the AWA! But in the time I've been here, I have seen things differently! I've seen the AWA have a man of his caliber stand in a perp line at Independence Day, making him beg for a title shot! I've seen the AWA desecrate his Battle at the Bayou triumph by standing back and allowing Shane Destiny to assualt him after his match! And now I see the AWA handicapping him in a match where Destiny is allowed to win with an illegal chokehold! At first I thought the AWA was clueless as to what they were doing with a man of Mr. Langseth's prestiege, but now I know better. The AWA _knows_ what it is doing! They are deliberately _trying_ to make Mr. Langseth look bad, to make themselves look better by comparison! MS: Aw c'mon, that is ridiculous! JP: Is it now? Let me tell you something, my manager's license allows me to be backstage, but I bought a ticket to be ringside just so that I could watch wrestling's living legend as closely as possible. With his talent, there is no way that Mr. Langseth should possibly lose this match. But if what I say is true, then somehow, before the night is through, the AWA will try to find a way to make him look bad regardless. You just wait and see! MS: Conspiracy theories abound in Joe Petrow's world. But one man who may be beyond those conspiracy theories is the man who Mark Langseth will meet one on one here tonight. Earlier today, I caught up with Shane Destiny and needless to say, describing Destiny as "tense" would be an understatement. Let's go to that footage. [Petrow gives a condescending smirk and sinks back into his chair as we crossfade to Shane Destiny sitting in a chair opposite Mark Stegglet. Destiny is dressed in a black suit, white shirt, and blue tie. He seems impatient, ready to get prepared for his match tonight.] MS: Shane, thank you for joining me. Tonight, you go hold for hold against Mark Langseth. Tell us what your mindset is going into this match. SD: My mindset's the same as it always is. I'm here to win. I'm not here to play games and pat Mark Langseth on the back. I'm here to hurt the man. I'm here tonight at SuperClash II to break the man's neck. Same as I've done to dozens of other people in the past. MS: You've made your feelings towards the National Title known. If you get past Langseth tonight... SD: If? IF?! [Destiny stands up, kicking the chair over.] SD: I _will_ beat Langseth tonight! And then, I don't care who wins in Dallas tonight, I _will_ win that title! MS: Shane, please... let me ask the question. SD: No! No, I've had enough of this. Everyone in the AWA doubts me. Everyone here doesn't believe in me. Well, I'm going to prove tonight that I'm everything that I say I am. And if Mark Langseth thinks he can stop me? If Joe Petrow sticks his nose in my business? Well... let's just say what I did to Pure X was the appetizer. [Destiny kicks the chair again.] SD: And this interview is _finished_. [Destiny storms off camera as we fade back to the ring where Ken Graham is standing.] KG: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a thirty minute time limit and is billed as HOLD VERSUS HOLD! [Big cheer!] KG: Introducing first... ["True Faith" by New Order kicks in to a HUGE mixed reaction!] KG: From Las Vegas, Nevada... weighing in at 252 pounds... SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANE DESSSSSSSSSTINY! [Shane Destiny walks through the curtain to a huge reaction - a strong mixture of cheers and boos from the St. Louis fans who have followed his career for so long. He pauses just beyond the entrance, looking a slight bit overwhelmed by the roar of the crowd. His head moves in a slight nod of respect before he begins the long walk to the ring, ignoring the fans along the aisle who stretch out to reach for him.] JS: Shane Destiny is a former World Champion and a man who has - pardon the pun - seemed destined for a shot at the AWA National Title since he has arrived here. Yet time and time again, he has been denied that opportunity. A win here tonight in Hold versus Hold would seem to cement that title shot to me, Todd. TM: Destiny's one of the best wrestlers in the world, Steggs. And whether your name is Juan Vasquez or Stevie Scott, you want no part of Destiny in that ring with the National Title on the line. JS: Todd, Destiny seems a little surprised at the reaction of this crowd in St. Louis... and I can't say I blame him. What is going on here? TM: What's going on here? St. Louis is Shane Destiny country, Steggs! The man was a regular fixture in the River City for quite some time. You mentioned that he's a former World Champion. Where do you think he won that World Title? Right here in St. Louis. I would be more surprised if there WEREN'T people cheering him. JS: Some people at least. It sounds like some fans here in St. Louis have seen what Destiny's had up his sleeves in the AWA and aren't too pleased about it. [Destiny reaches the ring, stepping through the ropes and promptly heading to a corner, waiting for his opponent.] KG: And his opponent... [The sounds of New Order are replaced by Stabbing Westward as "Save Yourself" starts up to an equally-mixed reaction. A quick cut to Joe Petrow seated in the front shows a look of irritation on his face as he shakes his head.] KG: From Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania... weighing in at 233 pounds... MARRRRRRK LAAAAAAANGSETH! [The AWA's sole Hall of Famer walks into view through the curtain, hands on hips. He looks around at the crowd, almost equally split into cheers and boos with a hint of annoyance. Shaking his head, Langseth walks down the aisle towards the ring, also ignoring the aisleside fans.] JS: Todd, I have to admit - it feels right to be seeing this man coming to the ring for a match we're about to call. TM: Of course it does, Steggs. We've called the biggest matches in this man's career - his World Title wins, the big blood feuds, the matches that MADE him a Hall of Famer. This is just another one of those big matches. JS: Mark Langseth has not had the most active schedule in this ring since his AWA debut but he has promised that he wants to change that - he wants to prove he can beat Shane Destiny and move into the Top Ten rankings. Make no mistake, Mark Langseth would love to wear gold again. [Langseth climbs the ringsteps, moving through the ropes. He has a few words with the official, not taking his eyes off of Destiny the whole time. The referee goes over to speak with Destiny who nods slowly, his eyes locked on Langseth as well.] JS: A lot of bad blood in this one. TM: You can say that again. Destiny exposed Pure X as being Langseth's nephew and then ran the kid out of town. These two have been at each others' throats for months, Steggs. JS: And now it comes down to this - Hold Versus Hold - the Destiny Strangle versus the Greatness Personified. TM: Two of the greatest - and most feared - submission holds in the history of our sport are coming to a head here tonight and when it's all said and done, only one of those holds can be the best in the world. [The referee signals for the bell, bringing the two men slowly out of their respective corners, looking for a tieup.] JS: We're underway here in St. Louis and this should be something else, Todd. [The two men meet in the middle, tangling up in a collar and elbow. And Shane Destiny quickly shows off his power advantage by pushing Langseth back into the closest set of buckles...] JS: Destiny powers him to the corner... the ref's looking for a clean break here... [Destiny steps back, hands raised... ...and then squares up, throwing a skin-blistering chop across the chest!] JS: OHHH! TM: That's the kind of chop that makes Shane Destiny one of the most feared strikers in our sport, Steggs. He'll split your chest wide open with a chop like that. [Langseth grabs his chest with an open palm, moving to step out of the corner... ...and gets shoved hard with both hands, knocking him back to the buckles so he can deliver a second chop that echoes through the Family Arena to the roars of the crowd.] JS: These fans here in St. Louis certainly liked that and- [Destiny steps back again... ...and again shoves Langseth back into the corner with both hands. He points at him, shouting, "I'm the next champ!" as he makes a "I want the belt" gesture with his hands before rearing back his right hand and slapping Langseth across the face!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" JS: I'd say the feeling out process may be over, Todd! He just slapped Mark Langseth across the face! No respect for the Hall of Famer! Absolutely none! [This time, Destiny backs to the middle of the ring, waving a fuming Langseth forward. The split crowd is cheering the action thus far, causing Langseth to look around with an odd expression. Shaking his head, he marches out of the corner, stomping right into another tieup.] JS: Back to the collar and elbow they go... jostling for position... [Langseth quickly pulls Destiny into a side headlock, popping his hips to take him down to the canvas with it.] JS: Nice headlock takeover by Mark Langseth... [He cranks on the head a few times down on the mat before grabbing a flailing arm and twisting it behind Destiny into a hammerlock with Destiny's face pushed into the mat. Langseth kneels on the back of Destiny's head as he cranks towards himself with the bent arm. He flattens out onto his stomach, spinning across the back of Destiny before scrambling to his feet.] JS: Some good groundwork there for Langseth. [And as Destiny gets to a knee, Langseth reaches down and SLAPS the taste out of his mouth to a big mixed reaction. This time, the Hall of Famer is the one to step back, gesturing at his own waist in the "I want the belt" stance as he waves Destiny up.] JS: Whew boy. This one's getting hot in the River City, Todd. TM: I'm loving the reaction of these fans here in St. Louis. They are living and dying with every blow - so split between cheering for the man who became a World Champion before their very eyes in this city and the Hall of Famer who is so respected around the wrestling world. [Destiny slowly climbs to his feet, smirking slightly as he does so. He nods at Langseth, mockingly applauding him before he lunges into another tieup, immediately raking his fingers across the eyes.] JS: Ohh! Cheapshot by Destiny! [A well-placed overhead elbow smashes into the back of Langseth's neck, dropping him to a knee. Destiny measures him... ...and throws a BRUTAL forearm shiver right into the back of the neck, knocking Langseth flat on his stomach on the mat.] JS: Good god! TM: That'll send you to the hospital real quick! JS: Especially for someone with a history of neck injuries like Mark Langseth. Don't forget - when Langseth was first forced to step away from the ring, it was because of a neck injury... because of a spinal injury. And you just know that Shane Destiny hasn't forgotten that. TM: It's an early Christmas for Shane Destiny to know information like that, Steggs. That paints a big ol' bullseye right on the neck of Mark Langseth. [With Langseth on his chest, Destiny drops down to his knee in a straddle, looking to hook his arm around Langseth's head and neck in an inverted facelock...] JS: STRANGLE! HE'S GOING FOR THE STRANGLE! [But the feel of the arm slipping around is enough for a frantic Langseth to push the arm away, wriggling free of his grip, and crawling from the middle of the ring under the ropes to slip out to the floor.] JS: Wow. Did you see Mark Langseth's desperation when he fleed that Destiny Strangle attempt? TM: Like we said, it's one of the most dangerous holds in our sport. Of course he's running from it. 'Cause if Destiny gets that thing locked in deep, I don't know if there's any way out. JS: You got that right. [Inside the ring, Destiny moves to the ropes, sitting on the middle one to invite Langseth back into the fray. Langseth paces back and forth at ringside for a bit, shoving aside a cameraman who gets a bit too close to him as he stares up at Destiny.] JS: Langseth up on the apron... pointing at Destiny.. he wants the referee to back him off... [The official does exactly that, moving Destiny away and giving him the chance to step through the ropes. He rolls his neck back and forth, staying loose as he edges to the middle of the ring, tying up once more.] JS: Destiny with a forearm smash off the tieup! Right on the jaw! [A second forearm sends Langseth spiraling back to the corner, resting against the buckles. Destiny moves in, throwing another big chop across the chest. He grabs the wrist of Langseth, firing him across the ring...] JS: Corner whip... here comes Destiny! [The Las Vegas native charges in, arm stretched out.] JS: CLOTHESLI- [But Langseth hops up, driving his feet into the face of Destiny for a mixed roar of jeers and cheers. Langseth moves from the corner, burying a boot into the midsection.] JS: Ohh! That doubles up Destiny! [Langseth dashes to the closest set of ropes, rebounding off and grabbing Destiny around the head...] JS: NO SWEA- [But the swinging neckbreaker attempt is spun through by Destiny who simply rears back and throws his arm as hard as possible, knocking Langseth flat with a standing lariat!] JS: OHHHHHHHH! SHADES OF HIS MENTOR, CHRIS COURTADE!! TM: And if it has the same impact as Courtade's, this match might be over right now, Steggs. JS: I don't think he got all of it though. He threw it in mid-counter and it might not have had the impact he wanted. Langseth's down but he's moving. [Destiny promptly gets to his feet, measuring the downed Langseth, and leaps into the air, dropping his leg across the back of the neck!] JS: And it's become very clear what Shane Destiny's gameplan is for this match, Todd. TM: He's going for the neck - no doubt. It's the smart thing to do. JS: Destiny pulls him up by the hair... [And hurls Langseth through the ropes to the floor!] JS: Ohh! Langseth goes out to the floor hard! [Destiny steps out to the apron, measuring Langseth as he pushes up to a knee on the floor... ...and leaps off, dropping a double axehandle smash across the back of the neck!] JS: Destiny's got a gameplan in mind... and what do you think he's got in mind out here on the floor, Todd? TM: Whatever it is, it can't be good for Mark Langseth. [Dragging Langseth by the hair over near the barricade, Destiny loops his arms around the waist in a side waistlock...] JS: What is he thinking of doing here? [Destiny powers Langseth up, holding him high... ...and attempts to drop straight down, aiming to drop the back of Langseth's neck on the barricade!] JS: OHHH! ARE YOU KIDDING ME?! TM: That's a blatant attempt to cripple a man, Steggs! Luckily for Mark Langseth, Destiny had to do that blind and he didn't quite get what he wanted out of it. If he had, Mark Langseth might have needed a wheelchair to get back to Pittsburgh! JS: He missed hitting the neck on the railing but he did get the back of Langseth's head to graze the railing! That couldn't have yielded a much better result! [Frustrated with himself, Destiny takes the MMA-style mount out on the floor to batter Langseth over and over with right hands to the skull.] JS: He's beating the heck out of Langseth out there! The referee is ordering him back into the ring...but he's obviously not done outside the ring with this one... [He hauls Langseth to his feet again, again hooking that side waistlock.] JS: He's going for it again! [But before he can lift the Hall of Famer off the mat, Langseth fires clenched fists into the face, breaking his grip. Desperate, the Pittsburgh native grabs Destiny by the hair, and SWINGS him back to slam into the steel railing!] JS: OHHHH! INTO THE STEEL HE GOES!! TM: Destiny's spine just got shaken to the core! Langseth with a desperation move to save himself - no pun intended - and now it's Destiny who is in a world of pain. [Langseth drags Destiny to his feet, shouting at him something including, "YOU WANT TO END ME?" before slapping him across the face again. Still holding the hair, he SLAMS Destiny facefirst into the ring apron before shoving him under the ropes into the squared circle.] JS: Langseth puts him back in... and now he rolls in as well... [Back to his feet, Langseth promptly grabs Destiny's foot, yanking it towards him... ...but a frantic Destiny rolls to his back, lashing out with his free leg twice, the second one catching Langseth in the side of the face and breaking his grip.] JS: He went for the Greatness Personified but Destiny got out of it! [Destiny scrambles to a knee... ...and Langseth floors him with a rushing knee to the side of the face!] JS: OHHH! He got all of that, Todd! [Langseth instinctively dives atop Destiny for a cover... ...but the referee waves him off, ordering him to his feet.] JS: No way, the ref says... this is Hold Versus Hold. If Langseth wants to win this, he needs to do so with the Greatness Personified. TM: That's right. Those are the rules in this one. And just like in our last match, it's hard to adjust to that. Mark Langseth's used to going for pins whenever he can and now he has to adapt. [Langseth angrily gets up, barking something at the official as he stomps the downed Destiny a few times. He leans down, dragging Destiny to his feet. Grabbing the hair again, he HURLS him backwards into the buckles, snapping Destiny's head back in a whiplash-type effect.] JS: Good grief. It's such a simple move but it takes so much out of the tank, Todd. TM: Sometimes it's the easiest moves that do the most damage. How much skill does it take to swing a steel chair at someone versus how much damage it does? JS: Langseth in the corner... [Pushing Destiny back, Langseth throws a chop of his own that doesn't do anywhere near as much damage. There is a buzz of laughter from the crowd that just seems to infuriate Langseth as he throws chop after chop after chop... ...and gets spun around, pushed back to the buckles.] JS: Reversed! [Destiny rears back and lets one fly!] JS: Another big chop by Destiny! [A fired-up Destiny pushes him back to the corner again, throwing another hard chop to the chest that causes Langseth to curl up, trying to cover up his chest... ...so Destiny simply throws his forearm down over and over and over across the head and neck.] JS: He's all over him in the buckles! [Destiny grabs the wrist, flinging Langseth across the ring.] JS: Here he comes! [The charging Destiny connects with a big clothesline in the buckles!] JS: HE HITS THE CLOTHESLINE!!! [A stunned Langseth stumbles from the buckles into the waiting arms of Destiny who hoists him up, dropping him in an inverted atomic drop... ...and then rushes forward, connecting with another big clothesline that takes Langseth down!] JS: Down goes Langseth! [A series of stomps to the ribs sends Langseth rolling under the ropes to the floor... ...where he grabs Destiny by the leg, yanking him down to the mat and pulling him partially out of the ring.] JS: Wait a second! Look out here! [Langseth lifts Destiny's leg as high as he can... ...and SWINGS it down, smashing his ankle into the edge of the ring apron!] JS: OHHH! HE SMASHED HIS ANKLE INTO THE APRON!! [Grabbing the foot again, Langseth lifts it high... ...and SLAMS it down into the hard edge of the apron again!] JS: That's the hardest part of the ring! He smashed the ankle again into the hardest part of the ring! TM: Langseth with a quick decision there to go after the leg! He's been waiting for the opening to do so - you know he has. Destiny got caught by surprise and now he's paying for it. [Grabbing the injured leg in his left hand, Langseth smashes his right fist down with overhead hammerfists again and again, causing Destiny to cry out in pain.] JS: Langseth's going after the ankle! [He pushes Destiny a bit back into the ring, bracing the ankle against the top of the apron... ...and slams home an overhead elbow into the ankle!] JS: Good grief! TM: And you can hear Shane Destiny crying out in pain from a blow like that. Those two smashes into the apron really did some damage to the ankle, I believe. JS: Langseth scampers up onto the apron now... measuring his man... [Langseth walks down the apron, leaping into the air... ...and DROPPING all his weight down on the ankle with a kneedrop!] JS: OHHHHH! ON THE ANKLE HE GOES!! TM: Two hundred and thirty-three pounds down on the ankle! Langseth hit it all and this one might be over right there. [Langseth steps back into the ring, absorbing some reprimands from the official as he gets inside. He shoves the official aside, stepping up on the middle rope... ...and drops a knee down on the chest of Shane Destiny, knocking him flat once more!] JS: That'll take some wind out of Destiny's sails. [Langseth grabs Destiny by the arms, hauling him away from the ropes to the middle of the ring. He paces around him... and delivers a punt-style kick to the ribs to another mixed reaction.] JS: These fans in St. Louis are split right down in the middle, Todd. TM: That's what it sounds like. JS: Another hard kick to the ribs by Langseth... [The Hall of Famer leans over, grabbing the injured ankle... ...and again, Shane Destiny has the presence of mind to roll to his back, lashing out with a kick to the chest.] JS: Destiny's trying to get out of the anklelock but Langseth's hanging on! [A second kick lands in the chest but Langseth shakes his head, continuing to try to turn the ankle... ...but a third kick catches him on the jaw, sending him falling backwards and breaking the submission attempt.] JS: Langseth gets knocked back... Destiny's sliding away, trying to get some recovery time... [Destiny backs to the ropes, using them to pull off the mat as Langseth charges towards him... ...and connects with a big clothesline that takes Destiny over the top rope and down to the floor!] JS: OHHHHHH! OVER THE TOP GOES DESTINY!!! [As he hits the floor, Destiny immediately grabs his ankle with both hands, wincing and grimacing as Langseth quickly exits the ring, moving after his opponent.] JS: Destiny hit the floor hard but Mark Langseth is coming right out after him. [Out on the floor, Langseth grabs the injured leg of Destiny, jerking it hard to straighten it out. He tucks the injured ankle under his armpit... ...and falls back in a DDT-like motion!] JS: My god! That could rip out a knee... could break the leg... TM: I've seen that move break a leg before, Steggs. JS: As have I and we may have just seen it happen again. [Langseth pulls and torques the ankle while down on the thin mat, bending it against the grain as Destiny screams in pain, slapping and smashing his arms into the padded floor.] JS: The referee is ordering Langseth to let go and get back in the ring but he's got no control over this. Out on the floor? That's not the referee's jurisdiction in this one. [Langseth gets to his feet, looking up at the protesting official and the still-split crowd showering him with a loud of mixture of jeers and boos. From ringside, Joe Petrow stands from his seat, shouting something in Langseth's direction.] JS: I couldn't hear Petrow right there. Joe Petrow just stood up and yelled something to Mark Langseth but I didn't catch what it was. [Langseth shakes his head in Petrow's direction as he hauls Destiny up to his feet. He reaches down, bending Destiny's leg up as he hooks him around the waist...] JS: Shinbreaker perhaps? [But Destiny throws a flurry of punches, battering his way out of the shinbreaker attempt. He grabs Langseth by the back of the head, SMASHING his face into the ring apron to a loud cheer!] JS: Destiny's battling back! [The former World Champion turns his back to Langseth, visibly hobbling on one leg as he reaches back to grab Langseth around the head and neck, bracing the neck against his own shoulder... ...and drops down to his rear, jolting Langseth's neck!] JS: OHHH! NECKBREAKER!! [Destiny stays seated on the floor for a few moments, breathing heavily and holding his ankle with his hand. He shakes his head as he gets to his feet, dragging Langseth off the floor by the wrist and shoving him under the ropes into the ring. Destiny rolls in behind him, pushing up to all fours.] JS: Both men down... Destiny's crawling towards Langseth... [With a shove, Destiny rolls Langseth onto his stomach, and then throws a leg over him into a straddle...] JS: He's going for the Strangle! [A wincing Destiny grabs Langseth by the hair, pulling his head slowly back...] JS: He's almost got it on! He's almos- [Langseth promptly rolls to his back, slipping away from the Strangle, and throws a pair of right hands from his back, trying to battle away. But Destiny promptly stands up and stomps on Langseth's sternum to some cheers.] JS: That'll cut off any offensive flurry, Todd. TM: A stomp to the chest. Again, so simple but so effective. [Destiny quickly drops an elbow to the throat. He flips Langseth to his stomach, raining down blows on the back of the neck again. He again goes into the straddle, grabbing the hair to pull the head back...] JS: HE'S GOT THE FACELOCK!! [But before he can sit back into the Strangle, Langseth slams his elbow backwards into the injured ankle twice causing Destiny to scream out and collapse to a knee, clutching the injured limb.] JS: Langseth got out of it before it got sunk in deep! He rolls to his back and- ohhh! Big kick to the face! [Having knocked Destiny to his back, Langseth returns the favor by taking the mount and pummeling his rival's face.] JS: The Hall of Famer is battering Destiny on the mat! [The referee steps in, shouting at Langseth.] JS: The referee's trying to get Langseth off of Destiny but Langseth won't quit! He's beating the tar out of Shane Destiny in the middle of St. Louis! [Grabbing him by the arm, the official blocks the thrown punch and then drags Langseth off the dowend Destiny. A furious Langseth shoves the referee, knocking him back to the corner, and threatens him with a right hand to the jeers of the crowd. Langseth, hands on hips, looks around at the crowd with a disbelieving look on his face, shaking his head back and forth.] JS: These fans are letting Mark Langseth have it for shoving the official and Todd, he looks almost shocked. TM: Can you blame him? The man walked into this match as a hero of the people, a legend in this sport, and one of the most popular men in the AWA and he's getting booed by this crowd. I always knew there were a bunch of idiot wrestling fans in St. Louis. JS: Easy, Todd. We're not the same people we were back in LA. [Langseth pulls Destiny to his feet by the hair, shoving him back into the corner. He winds up, throwing a big right hand to the temple. A second and third blow have the Las Vegas native seeing stars as he clings to the ropes to stay on his feet.] TM: Langseth's getting hot under the collar but he needs to stay on focus. This isn't how you win this thing. You can't beat your opponent with haymakers into submission. He has to slap on the anklelock. JS: We haven't seen Langseth attempt the anklelock for several minutes now though. It's almost like he's changed gears. TM: In a normal match, that would be fine. In this one, he has to get the anklelock sunk in and make Destiny quit. [Langseth grabs Destiny by the arm, going for an Irish whip.] JS: Whip by Lang- ohh! Destiny fell down! He couldn't even keep enough weight on the ankle to run across the ring there. Mark Langseth has REALLY done a number on that ankle, Todd. [Destiny rolls under the ropes, trying to get a breather as Langseth steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor. Grabbing Destiny by the hair, he drags him over towards the barricade... very close to where Joe Petrow is seated... ...and SLAMS his head into the railing!] JS: Ohh! Headfirst to the barricade! [Langseth promptly pushes Destiny's throat down on the top of the barricade, choking the air out of him as the crowd jeers.] JS: That's a blatant choke and- [Langseth backs away, glaring at Petrow... ...who grabs Destiny by the back of the head, looking to repeat what Langseth just did.] JS: Wait a second! What in the world is Petrow doing? [Destiny suddenly slaps Petrow's arms away, drilling him across the dress shirt-covered chest with a knife-edge chop!] JS: OHH! HE NAILED PETROW!! [Reaching over the railing, Destiny grabs Petrow by the collar, pulling him closer and battering him with right hands... ...which allows Langseth to rush in, burying a knee into the back of Destiny.] JS: Oh! He caught Destiny from behind! [Langseth hurls Destiny under the ropes back into the ring, turning to look at Petrow with disgust before rolling back in on his own...] JS: Both men back inside the ring again... [Nodding his head to the crowd, Langseth grabs the foot of Destiny... ...and gets a large amount of boos for it. Shaking his head, Langseth pulls the leg closer, grabbing the ankle with both hands and twisting it!] JS: GREATNESS PERSONIFIED!! [Destiny immediately cries out in pain, smashing his arms into the mat, clawing the canvas as the referee dives to the canvas, checking to see if the former World Champion wants to submit.] JS: He's got the anklelock sunk in deep! [The Las Vegas native screams loudly as Langseth tightens up the hold with a shout of "QUIT! GIVE IT UP, DESTINY!"] JS: He's trying to get Destiny to submit to this anklelock! TM: Can Destiny hang on? Can he find a way to counter this hold? [Suddenly, Destiny pushes off the mat, tucking his head and going into a front roll, a move that hurls Langseth off where he stumbles to the mat. Destiny quickly springs up, surging forward to hook the inverted facelock!] JS: DESTINY STRANGLE!! [Destiny struggles to get the inverted facelock on, trying to secure it as Langseth wriggles and struggles and tries to free himself.] JS: And now it's Langseth's turn to try and avoid this! TM: If the Strangle gets locked in, it's over! [Destiny slips his arm closer to applying the hold... ...but a desperate Langseth lunges forward, wrapping his arms around the ropes!] JS: He made it to the ropes! TM: So what? Destiny's not letting go! [With Langseth tied up in the ropes, Destiny secures the Destiny Strangle, sitting down on the lower back of his rival.] JS: He's got the Strangle on! The referee doesn't know what to do! TM: It's Hold versus Hold! See if he quits, ref! [Langseth screams in pain, trying to free himself... ...and somehow manages to drag himself out of the hold, falling down to the floor as Destiny releases the hold, slowly getting to his feet. The official is right in there, shouting at Destiny.] JS: The referee is reprimanding him for keeping the hold on in the ropes but I'm not entirely sure that's illegal in this one, Todd. TM: I don't think it is, Steggs. I think anything goes in- [With everyone focused on Destiny arguing with the official, Langseth reaches under the ring apron, pulling out a steel chair.] JS: Wait a second! What's he doing with-?! [Not wasting a second, Langseth shows the world EXACTLY what he's doing with it, taking a full force swing with the chair and SMASHING the distracted Destiny in the ankle with it, knocking him down to the mat!] JS: HE HIT DESTINY IN THE ANKLE WITH THE CHAIR!! [The crowd EXPLODES in jeers as Langseth stands at ringside, still holding the chair in his hands. The referee is leaning over the ropes, SCREAMING at Langseth who sneers at him before smiling at the anguished Destiny howling in pain... ...and then winds up again!] JS: No, no! Don't do this, Mark! Don't do this! [And Langseth lets the steel chair fly, SLAMMING it down across the injured ankle once more!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The crowd boos loudly as Langseth throws the chair down to the mat. He looks out at the jeering crowd, a look of shocked betrayal on his face.] JS: Langseth's being booed out of the building here in St. Louis! He just hit Shane Destiny in the ankle with that steel chair twice! He smashed the injured ankle with- [Langseth quickly rolls under the ropes into the ring, popping up to his feet. Destiny crawls backwards, hands raised...] JS: He's trying to back away! Destiny's trying to get away! [But Langseth is having none of it, grabbing the injured foot off the mat and twisting the ankle, sending moans of agony into the crowd.] JS: Greatness Personified is on again! Langseth's bending that ankle! Twisting that ankle! [Destiny howls in pain, clawing the canvas with both hands, trying to drag himself towards the ropes as Langseth grits his teeth, trying to keep the hold applied.] JS: That hold is on deep, Todd! I don't know if Destiny can get out of this! [Destiny again tries to roll through it but Langseth rolls with it, dropping to his back and scissoring the leg on the roll-through!] JS: He's got the anklelock on and now he's got the legs grapevined as well! Both men are down on the mat! There's no way out of this, Todd. There's absolutely no way out of this! [Langseth nods his head wildly, screaming like a banshee as he twists the badly-injured ankle.] "QUUUUUUUIT!! GIVE UP!! QUIT, YOU SON OF A BITCH!" JS: Fans, I apologize for that. Strong words can come out in the course of a match like this. Langseth has the hold on - he's got in deep... can Destiny hang on? [The Las Vegas native smashes his arms into the mat, screaming in pain. He tries to twist his torso, trying to get to his back to alleviate the pressure but the legs wrapped around his lower body prevent it. And slowly, Destiny starts to fade.] JS: The Greatness Personified was taught to Mark Langseth by Gabriel Whitecross and over the years, it's claimed more victims than we have time to name. Could we be about to add Shane Destiny's name to that list, Todd? TM: Like you said, there's no way out of this. Destiny's starting to fade! That ankle may be broken already! [The arms slowly fade, no longer pumping the air to try and find a way out but just flat down on the canvas, Langseth with his eyes closed as he continue to bend and twist the ankle...] JS: The ref is down on the mat... the ref is checking on Destiny... [The ref lifts one of Destiny's limp arms, watching it slump down to the mat... ...and springs to his feet, calling for the bell.] JS: What the...? TM: The ref just stopped the match! It's over! JS: Did Destiny give up? [The referee moves to ringside, speaking with Ken Graham.] KG: The referee has ruled that Shane Destiny has lost consciousness and is unable to continue. Therefore, your winner of this Hold Versus Hold showdown... MAAAAAARRRRRK LAAAAAAANGSETH! [Langseth rolls to his knees, throwing both arms in the air in triumph as the crowd howls with boos. He looks on in shock, shaking his head at the jeering fans. He slumps over, exhausted but victorious.] JS: Mark Langseth has won... but- TM: But what? You heard the announcement. Destiny's unable to continue! JS: I heard it but... [Langseth climbs to his feet, looking on with a mixture of puzzlement and annoyance at the jeering crowd. He glares at the official, his arm held out. The referee finally gets the hint, grasping the wrist to lift Langseth's arm into the air.] TM: What's your problem, Stegglet? Mark Langseth just won this match fair and square - clean as a whistle - in the center of the ring. He won Hold Versus Hold. He showed the whole world that the Greatness Personified is the greatest hold on the planet. JS: But he didn't make the man tap out! He didn't make Shane Destiny submit! I was under the impression that to win this match, you had to make your opponent submit! TM: It's not an I Quit match - it's a Hold Versus Hold match and Mark Langseth certainly just won this match WITH his hold! He won with Greatness Personified! JS: I don't know, Todd. I think it's kind of a hollow victory. I think it's- [Stegglet is interrupted by Mark Langseth who was walking behind him. He grabs Stegglet by the collar, jerking him to his feet to shout at him.] ML: He LOST! Destiny LOST! I'm the better man here! I won! I made him pass out! I WON! [Langseth shoves Stegglet back towards the apron, pointing a warning finger as he marches away.] TM: See? He won. JS: If you - and he - say so. But I think a reaction like that just proves that Mark Langseth wanted more than that. He wanted more of a victory than that. [The Hall of Famer is still shaking his head, muttering to himself as he walks away from Stegglet... ...and finds himself face to face with a solemn-looking Joe Petrow who has what appears to be a business card outstretched.] JS: What's going on here? [Langseth looks at Petrow long and hard... ...and then grabs the card, waving him on. Petrow steps over the barricade, joining Langseth at ringside. He grabs the Hall of Famer by the wrist, lifting his hand in victory as the crowd jeers.] JS: What in the... is Mark Langseth joining forces with Joe Petrow? Is that what we're seeing here? TM: That's a Dream Team, Steggs! Two of the greatest of all time standing side by side! If those two are working together, we just witnessed wrestling history going down before our eyes! JS: But Langseth... I thought he had changed his ways, Todd! TM: Oh, cry me a river. That's real sweet, Stegglet. But Mark Langseth has always been one of the smartest men in our sport. If he thinks Joe Petrow can help him, to hell with what these whining fans think! JS: Unbelievable. Fans, we've got to take a quick break but we'll be right back with more AWA action! [Close on an angry Mark Langseth stomping back up the aisle, a smirking Joe Petrow trailing close behind as we fade to black. After a moment, we fade back up on a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.] "Have you ever dreamed of fame?" [Cut a little closer.] "Of glory?" [A little closer.] "Of your friends and family seeing you on television?" [And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that reads "AWA Combat Corner."] "Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American Wrestling Alliance!" [We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring. There are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course, working out in the ring.] "With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in the ring in the shortest amount of time!" [Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.] "With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on Day One!" [Two young students are grappling on the canvas.] "So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar! You want to be the future of the business! You want to wrestle!" [Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner. We freeze there for a moment... ...and then come back up to ringside where Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde are standing.] GM: Welcome back, fans. It's been a wild and exciting night of action here at SuperClash II LIVE on WKIK but we've still got three big matches to come, Bucky. BW: Two titles matches and a retirement match. GM: Retirement match? This is a Texas Death Match. BW: Yeah but when Calisto Dufresne gets done with Tin Can Rust, that old man will be looking for the local retirement village. GM: Give me a break. Fans, it was one year ago at this very event that Calisto Dufresne threw fire in the eye of Tin Can Rust's best friend, City Jack. One year ago that has driven Rust into such a rage - it can only be satiated with this Texas Death Match. Tin Can Rust has refused to speak to our backstage reporter tonight, pledging to do his talking inside the ring... most likely with his clenched fists. Jason Dane is standing by right now, trying to get some final words from the Ladykiller. Jason? [We crossfade back to the locker room area where Jason Dane is standing by a door marked "DUFRESNE."] JD: Thanks, Gordon. As you can see, I'm outside the locker room door of Calisto Dufresne, trying to get him to come out to talk to us. I've been knocking on this door for several minutes now to no luck but... well, let's give it one more shot. [Dane turns, pounding on the door with his fist. He waits a moment for a reply before shrugging his shoulders, turning back to the camera.] JD: It appears that Calisto Dufresne wants no part of the press here tonight at SuperClash. Gordon, Bucky - back to- [The door abruptly swings open. Calisto Dufresne walks through. He's wearing his ring gear but it's covered by a pair of sweat pants and a windbreaker jacket that hangs open.] JD: Mr. Dufresne, you're about to step into the ring against your worst enemy in this sport, Tin Can Rust - a man who has pledged to bloody and batter you in the middle of the ring tonight. Your thoughts? [Dufresne looks nervous, wild-eyed and a bit frantic. He speaks very quickly.] CD: Out there? With him? I don't think so. This whole thing... all of it... bad misunderstanding. I'm not fighting Rust tonight... or any night. In fact, I refuse to ever get in the ring with Tin Can Rust again. JD: But you signed a contract to face him tonight! The Championship Committee will- CD: What? Fine me? Suspend me? Sue me? [Dufresne snorts.] CD: Let 'em. I'm outta here. [The Ladykiller shoves past Dane, heading down the hallway.] JD: Fans, it appears as though Calisto Dufresne has opted to LEAVE the building here tonight rather than face Tin Can Rust! We're going to - let's follow him, guys! [The cameraman follows after Dane, trudging down a hallway in the back of the Fair Park Coliseum as they try to keep up with the fleeing Dufresne who rounds a corner...] "CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASH!" [Dufresne leaps backwards, having narrowly avoided what is now a splintered piece of plywood.] "YOU?! YOU'RE CRAZY!" [Dufresne backpedals, shaking his head as Tin Can Rust emerges from around the corner, holding a piece of broken wood in his hands. He throws it aside as he stalks towards the Southern Syndicate member like a villain from a horror movie.] JD: Pull back... pull back... [The cameraman freezes in his tracks, backing off to show Dufresne walking steadily backwards.] "Look... come on... let's be reasonable here..." [Rust keeps on walking, stalking towards him.] "Come on! There's gotta be something we can do! I'm a very rich man!" [One-half of the first AWA National Tag Team Champions continues to pursue, sending Dufresne looking over his shoulder as he backpedals down the hallway.] "I'm not doing this! You can't make me!" [Suddenly, a metal garbage can goes sailing through the air, smacking Dufresne in the upper body and knocking him down to his rear. Tin Can Rust continues to approach, grabbing the garbage can off the floor as he draws near... ...and SMASHES it over the head of Dufresne as he turns to flee, knocking him forward! Dufresne grunts and groans at the trash can to the head as Rust pulls him up by the hair, dragging him through tbe backstage area.] JD: Gordon, Bucky... they're heading your way! [A quick cut reveals Tin Can Rust walking into the Fair Park Coliseum, dragging Dufresne by the hair into the building to the roar of the crowd. As they get several feet down the aisle, Dufresne buries a right hand into the midsection. A second one breaks Rust's grip on the hair and a third sends Rust falling back into the rope barricade being used to form an aisleway.] GM: Thanks, Jason - and they're here in Dallas, Texas for this Texas Death Match! Tin Can Rust and Calisto Dufresne, looking to polish off one of the fiercest rivalries in all of the AWA. [Rushing forward, Dufresne throws a big boot into the jaw of Rust, toppling him over the rope barricade and into the seats. Stepping over the ropes, the Ladykiller moves to join his rival in the stands. He promptly shoves aside a couple of vocal fans who impede his progress, throwing a haymaker down at the kneeling Rust.] GM: Our cameras are right in there in the crowd to make sure you don't miss a moment of this action, fans... ohh! Big right hand by Dufresne! [Turning away from Rust, Dufresne grabs a fan's tray of food... ...and SLAMS it down over the head of Tin Can Rust, leaving a smear of nacho cheese dripping down his forehead.] GM: Well, that won't hurt... getting hit with a cardboard tray... BW: No, but it'll sting the pride for sure. And for someone like Tin Can Rust who can't stand the thought of even being in this Texas Death Match, it could be a major blow. GM: Can't stand the thought... what are you going on about now? BW: Hah! I thought you were supposed to be the historian around here, Gordo! [A cackling Dufresne pulls Rust off the floor by the arm, jabbing a finger in his face... ...and EATING a right hand in response that sends him stumbling backwards!] GM: Big right hand! [Rust promptly hooks Dufresne under the arm, grabbing him around the neck with the other arm... ...and HURLS him over the row of chairs, sending him crashing spinefirst down onto the steel seats!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: DUFRESNE'S SPINE MEETS THE STEEL AND YOU COULD HEAR THAT ONE DOWN THE ROAD! [The grizzled veteran reaches up, wiping his forehead as he steps over the chairs, standing atop the seatback as he reaches down to grab Dufresne... ...who buries a thumb in the eye!] GM: Ohhh! Immediately to the eye! BW: That's become a trademark of Calisto Dufresne. He wants the National Title and he doesn't care who the heck he has to send runnin' to the seeing eye dog shop on the way to it. And if he can put Rust in there too? Whew. He'll be walkin' on clouds come Christmas. [Reaching up, he grabs the front of Rust's gear, yanking hard and sending him sprawling over the chairs and into the next row of seats. The fans part to allow Rust to hit the steel and concrete floor before rushing around him.] GM: Big leverage move by the Ladykiller! He used Rust's tights to get a big edge on him... BW: And for an old man like Rust, a fall like that can do major damage. He might've broken a hip there. GM: Nothing funny about that, Bucky. [Dufresne sits up in the middle of the jeering crowd, smirking as he looks down at the floored Rust. The Avery Island native gets up, stepping into the next row. He reaches down, dragging Rust up by the arm... ...and pulling him into a standing front facelock!] BW: WHAM, BAM- [But Rust isn't having any part of that, shoving Dufresne backwards, sending him sprawling into the seats. Rust rises up, shaking his head in disbelief as he crawls over the chairs to pull Dufrense off the floor by the hair... ...and pastes him with a right hand to the temple! The crowd roars as Rust throws blow after blow after blow to the skull outside the ring.] GM: Tin Can Rust is all over Dufresne! He's smackin' him around out on the floor! [After several more blows, Rust drags Dufresne to his feet by the hair. He waves an arm, asking the crowd to clear a path as he drags the Ladykiller closer to the barricade.] GM: Rust is taking him towards ringside and- [The crowd ROARS as Rust hoists Dufresne up over his shoulder into powerslam position.] GM: He's got Dufresne up but what's he gonna do with him? [Rushing forward, Rust HURLS Dufresne over the railing, slamming him down hard on the thinly-padded floor! The crowd ROARS at the sight of Dufresne being thrown down on the concrete.] GM: Good grief! Dufresne sounded like a hunk of meat being shoved off the kitchen counter right there! [Rust slings a leg over the barricade, coming after his rival. He drags him off the floor by the arm, dragging him towards the ropes and hurling him under the ropes into the ring.] GM: Dufresne's in... and so is Rust! [The crowd mockingly cheers the official who calls for the bell as soon as both men step into the ring. Rust is in no mood for jokes though as he delivers a hard kick to the ribs, forcing Dufresne to roll under the ropes on the opposite side of the ring, slumping to the apron.] GM: Dufresne's out on the apron... [Rust leans over the ropes, dragging Dufresne to his feet... ...where Dufresne again buries a thumb in the eye, blinding Rust. The Ladykiller promptly grabs Rust by the back of the neck, dropping down off the apron, snapping Rust backwards and down to the canvas!] GM: Nice counter by the Ladykiller! [Dufresne quickly rolls in, diving into a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! [But Rust slips out of the pin attempt easily.] GM: And this seems like a good time to tell you the rules for this one. These two men will battle until one of them scores a pinfall or submission. After a decision, the other man has until the count of ten to get back to his feet or the match is over. [Dufresne quickly grabs Rust by the head, smashing closed fists into his temple before shoving him back down to the mat and applying another lateral press.] GM: One! Two! [Rust powers out, throwing Dufresne off of him.] GM: Tin Can Rust is out at two - and I can't help but notice Ben Waterson is absent from ringside for this one, Bucky. BW: He certainly is. There's a National Title match later tonight he has to be out here for. I'm sure he and Stevie Scott are discussing strategy. GM: Shouldn't Waterson be making time for ALL of his clients? BW: The National Title is the most important thing in the wrestling world. Without it, the Southern Syndicate loses a lot of their status as the most elite group in the sport. Keeping that title is the number one goal for them here tonight at SuperClash II. GM: I see. [Dufresne delivers a few stomps to the ribs before dragging Rust off the mat, shoving him back into the corner. He kicks at the torso a few times before grabbing Rust by the wrist...] GM: Irish whip... here he comes! [The Ladykiller charges from corner to corner, smashing home a running clothesline across the chest. Rust staggers out into a boot to the gut...] GM: Here it comes! [Dufresne promptly hooks a front facelock, ready to deliver his big DDT... ...but Rust charges forward, smashing Dufresne's back against the buckles!] GM: OHH! HE SENDS HIM BACK TO THE CORNER!! [Squaring up, Rust throws his heavy hands into the ribs of Dufresne, first to the right side of the body then to the left. The crowd roars for Rust treating the Ladykiller like a heavy bag before grabbing the wrist, firing Dufresne across...] GM: Oh! He hits the corner hard! [But as the Ladykiller staggers out, Rust rushes forward yet again and smashing him with a running clothesline of his own.] GM: Down goes the Ladykiller! [He scrambles back up, getting knocked right back down with another clothesline.] GM: Down he goes again! [But he gets right back up, Rust rushing him for a third time... ...and running RIGHT into a superkick that knocks him flat!] GM: SUPERKICK! OUT OF NOWHERE!! [Dufresne lunges into a lateral press, hooking the leg.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [Rust fires a shoulder off the mat at two, sending Dufresne into a questioning frenzy at the near fall.] GM: That was a lot closer than I thought it would be. BW: He caught Rust off-guard with that superkick and almost stole a pinfall. But a pinfall's not enough in this one tonight, Gordo. You gotta have the ten count too. [Pushing Rust down to the mat, Dufresne leaps skyhigh, dropping a knee across the chest. He re-applies the press, reaching back to grab a leg.] GM: That's one! That's two! [But Rust is out at two again, leaving Dufresne to scream and shout at the official who simply shrugs and holds up two fingers. The Ladykiller leans down, dragging Rust up to his feet where he starts to pull him into a front facelock but Rust simply picks him up, his arms wrapped around the waist... ...and rushes forward, DRIVING Dufresne spinefirst into the buckles!] GM: OHHH! INTO THE CORNER AGAIN!! [Leaning forward, Rust grabs the middle rope. He slings himself forward, smashing the shoulder into the midsection. He holds there, pushing the air out of Dufresne... ...and then repeats the process, driving his shoulder into the ribcage again!] GM: Another shoulder to the body! BW: He's trying to knock the wind out of the Ladykiller. It's a smart move. Remember, Tin Can Rust made his debut in pre-historic times so he needs to do quite a bit of work to get Dufresne down to his stamina levels. [Still holding the middle rope, Rust smashes his shoulder into the gut again and again and again to the cheers of the crowd. As he backs away and Dufresne stumbles out of the corner, Rust hooks his arms around the waist...] GM: Wait a second! [Rust suddenly pops his hips, spinning Dufresne through the air, and smashing him down to the mat in a belly-to-belly slam.] GM: METROBOOM! A little bit of a shout-out to his old friend City Jack! [Rust throws himself across Dufresne, reaching back to hook a leg.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! THRE- [The crowd groans as Dufresne throws a shoulder off the mat before the three count comes down. A frustrated Rust pushes up to his knees, hands on his hips. He pulls Dufresne up by the ponytail, smashing him with a right hand near the eye before flinging him into the buckles. With a shout, Rust mounts the buckles...] GM: Listen to these fans here in Dallas! [The capacity crowd counts along as Rust rains down blows to the skull.] "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" "FOUR!" "FIVE!" "SIX!" "SEV-" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The count is interrupted by Dufresne wriggling free and SLAMMING his arm up into the groin of Tin Can Rust. With Rust doubled up on the middle rope, Dufresne reaches up and shoves him over the ropes, sending Rust crashing down to a heap on the floor!] GM: OHHH! A LONG WAY DOWN FOR TIN CAN RUST!! [Sensing blood in the water, Dufresne rolls under the ropes to the floor. He promptly approaches the timekeeper's table, shoving the timekeeper down to the floor and grabbing his chair.] GM: Uh oh. Dufresne's got a chair! [Folding up the chair, Dufresne approaches the on-all-fours Tin Can Rust...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: STEEL CHAIR TO THE BACK OF RUST!! [Dufresne stands over the downed Rust, a sick sneer on his face as he throws the chair down to the floor. Grabbing Rust by the hair, he hurls him under the ropes, quickly rolling in behind him to apply a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! "DING! DING! DING!" [The Ladykiller springs to his feet, quickly ordering the official to start the ten count.] GM: A hard fall off the ropes to the floor followed by a vile shot with that steel chair across the back... that made Tin Can Rust easy picking for Calisto Dufresne right there and now, the question becomes - can Tin Can Rust beat the ten count? [The crowd roars in support as the referee's count hits four. Rust starts to stir, rolling to his stomach and slipping his arms under his chin.] GM: He's trying to get off the mat... up to his knees at six... [And Dufresne decides that Rust's arrival to his feet is a given, rushing in to hook a loose side headlock where he delivers some hard shots to the head.] GM: Rust was going to beat the count so Dufresne decided to beat him to it, hooking that headlock... big shots to the face by the Southern Syndicate member... [Rust wraps his arms around the waist of Dufresne, trying to hoist him off the mat... ...but a well-placed thumb to the eye stops that one short.] GM: Come on! Keep him out of the eyes, ref! BW: The ref can't do a thing about it, Gordo. If Dufresne wants to take a pencil out and jab it clear through his eyeball, that's totally legal tonight in this one. GM: Let's hope it doesn't come to that. [Dufresne smirks as he pulls in the side headlock again, still throwing blows to the head... ...until he's suddenly shoved off, smashing chestfirst into the buckles!] GM: OHH! INTO THE CORNER!! [The Ladykiller staggers backwards into the waiting arms of Tin Can Rust who hoists Dufresne into the air, dropping him down on the back of his head and neck with a belly-to-back suplex!] GM: High impact suplex by Tin Can Rust! And that might Dufresne ripe for a pin attempt... [But Rust is having none of that, kneeling down next to Dufresne where he pulls his head off the mat by the ponytail and peppers him with punches to the skull.] GM: No pins by Rust! He's not done with Dufresne, Bucky! BW: Like we said, there's a lot of bad blood in this one and Rust may be lookin' to spill a little of it out all over this ring before he's done, Gordo. [Climbing to his feet, Rust drags Dufresne up as well. He grabs the arm, firing Dufresne towards the ropes where a staggered Ladykiller grabs the ropes, preventing the rebound.] GM: Dufresne hangs on to the ropes - look out! [Rust rushes towards him, a clothesline aimed at his rival's head but Dufresne drops down, pulling the top rope with him and sending Rust tumbling over the ropes and down to the thinly-padded concrete floor below!] GM: OHHHHH! A HARD FALL TO THE FLOOR FOR RUST!! BW: And that's not the first time this match that he's hit the floor like that. You know those have to be taking a lot out of him, Gordo. GM: They certainly do. [Dufresne drops to the mat, rolling out to the floor to join his rival. He holds onto the bottom rope, delivering stomp after stomp, kick after kick into the torso of Rust to keep him from getting back to his feet.] GM: Dufresne is all over Rust out on the floor... now where's he going? [An angry Dufresne storms away from Rust, searching the ringside area, and returning with his discarded steel chair from earlier in the match.] GM: He's got the chair again! BW: He does! And Rust is completely laid out, Gordo! He's down and out and... where's he going?! [The crowd buzzes as Tin Can Rust crawls underneath the ring, leaving Dufresne standing with the chair overhead, completely puzzled as to what's going on.] GM: Where did he go, Bucky? BW: He's under the damn ring, Gordo! You saw it as well as I did! GM: But Dufresne didn't see it! Dufresne is looking all over the place for him! [A quick camera cut reveals the wily Rust crawling out from under the ring on the other side. Dufresne, chair lowered, is stalking around the ring, lifting the apron to check... ...but when he reaches Rust...] GM: WHOA!! [...he gets a handful of powder right in the eyes!] GM: RUST! RUST THROWS POWDER IN THE EYES!! [A blinded Dufresne staggers away to the cheers of the fans as Rust climbs to his feet... ...and picks up the discarded chair!] GM: RUST HAS GOT THE CHAIR!! [He winds up with it...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" GM: RIGHT ACROSS THE BACK!!! [He turns, shoving the chair under the ropes into the ring, and then stalks towards the downed Dufresne, pulling him up by the ponytail. He grabs the arm, whipping the Ladykiller into the barricade.] GM: Ohh! First the chair across the back and now Dufresne gets whipped into the steel! Two hard shots to the back on the Ladykiller and... what in the world is Rust doing? [The Kentucky native drops into a sloppy three point stance... ...and breaks into a run, as fast as his old body will carry him.] GM: HERE! HE! COMES! [Dufresne raises up off the railing... ...just in time to eat a major spear tackle that sends him falling back into the barricade which snaps off it's supports, toppling down and into the front row!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: OH MY STARS, BUCKY!! BW: Rust puts Dufresne THROUGH the railing! GM: This is what a Texas Death Match is all about! This is what the AWA is all about! Two men settling their differences like men do - with one heck of a fight! [The camera zooms in on the two men both sprawled across the steel railing, the fans encircling them to shout their support or derision for the two warriors.] GM: Both men are down... both men are hurting. That was an absolutely brutal moment, fans. Tin Can Rust just delivered a hellacious spear tackle that put Calisto Dufresne THROUGH the steel railing and into the crowd! I've never seen Rust do something like that! BW: I've never seen Rust ATTEMPT something like that. Maybe if he'd done that in his last Texas Death Match, he wouldn't be so afraid of this one. GM: What is that all about? What are you talking about? BW: Tin Can Rust has fought in only one Texas Death Match before, Gordo... and it nearly ended his career. In 2004, he fought Grant Stone - yes, THAT Grant Stone - in Kentucky in a brutal brawl. Rust won the match... but only when Stone walked away from the match. But Rust went to a hospital that night for severe blood loss and a broken arm. He missed four months of action due to that one, Gordo, and after Calisto Dufresne gets through with him tonight, he's gonna miss a heck of a lot more time than that. GM: We'll see about that. [Rust is the first to stir, rolling to his back, his chest heaving quickly.] GM: We're closing in on fifteen minutes since these two started fighting in the locker room area and you can see that's taking a physical toll on Tin Can Rust. He doesn't have the conditioning - the stamina - of a man like Calisto Dufresne. [But Rust sits up, bracing himself with his arms as he looks out at the cheering crowd. He nods his head to them, pushing up to his feet as Dufresne rolls to his stomach...] GM: Rust grabs the hair... ohh! Facefirst to the steel! [The crowd roars as Rust pulls the head back, slamming it into the fallen barricade again... and again... and again... before yanking Dufresne's head back, screaming at him.] "YOU WANT TO PUT ME IN A HOSPITAL? YOU WANT TO TELL THE WORLD HOW BAD YOU ARE FOR MESSIN' UP JACK?" [He punctuates the question by smashing his face into the railing again. Pulling the Ladykiller up by the hair, he drags him over to the timekeeper's table... ...and SMASHES his face into it!] GM: Facefirst to the table! [Dufresne staggers away from the table, grabbing on to the steel ringpost to stay on his feet...] GM: Look at Dufresne. He can barely even stand right now, Bucky. [Rust grabs him by the hair again, pulling him away from the post... ...but Dufresne battles out of the faceslam, throwing a few elbows back into the ribs to escape. Grabbing Rust by the hair, he turns the tables and SLAMS Rust facefirst into the steel ringpost!] GM: OHHH! FACEFIRST TO THE STEEL!! [Rust slumps down to the floor to his knees, then falls facefirst to the padded floor. Dufresne falls back, leaning against the ring apron for a moment... ...and then leaps up, stomping the back of Rust's skull to drive his face into the unforgiving floor!] GM: Good grief! [Dufresne leaps upon Rust, flipping him to his back to a loud crowd reaction as they see a stream of blood coming from the skull of the veteran.] GM: Something right there just split Tin Can Rust's head wide open. I don't know if it was the slam into the post or the leaping stomp on the floor but Rust is busted open and he's bleeding profusely, fans! [Dufresne grins as he kneels down, peppering the cut with clenched fists to the jeers of the crowd. With the blood really pouring from the wound, Dufresne drags Rust off the mat, shoving him under the ropes into the ring before rolling in after him.] GM: Both men are back inside the ring here in Dallas... Dufresne quickly to his feet... measures his man... [And a leaping kneedrop connects, Dufresne rolling through it in a front roll. He smirks at the crowd before crawling into a pin attempt on the bloodied Rust.] GM: We've got one! We've got two! We've got thr- shoulder up at two! [An angry Dufresne grabs the veteran by the hair, again pummeling the cut forehead to increase the blood loss.] BW: Nothing wears a man out faster than seeing his blood pour out all over the mat, Gordo. GM: Tin Can Rust is bleeding very badly now - back in Kentucky, they used to call that the Rust Effect, Bucky. BW: Well, the Rust Effect is in FULL effect then, Gordo, because that blood is pouring from his head like a faucet that got left on. [Dufresne breaks out of the mount, dragging Rust to his feet... ...and hooking in a front facelock.] GM: He's going for it again! BW: If he hits it, it's over! [Dufresne points to the jeering crowd, jerking a thumb at himself... ...and then gets backdropped down to the mat! Big cheer!] GM: A desperation counter by Tin Can Rust to save himself... BW: But with the blood pouring down like that, you have to wonder for how long, Gordo. How long can Tin Can Rust avoid the Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am? How long can he avoid getting his lights turned out by the future of this industry? GM: The future of this industry? That's what Dufresne is to you? BW: You disagree? GM: Well, we can't deny that Dufresne's got a guaranteed Anywhere, Anytime title shot in his back pocket. We haven't even talked about that, Bucky. What are the odds we see that cashed in tonight? BW: I'd say they're about the same as the odds that Juan Vasquez wins the National Title. GM: Are you saying that Dufresne wouldn't cash it in against Stevie Scott? BW: The Southern Syndicate's solidarity is stronger than ever. No way that happens. [As our announcers were bantering, Tin Can Rust had regained his feet. He grabs Dufresne's fallen ring jacket that he'd lost earlier in the night, using it to wipe the blood from his eyes before throwing it to the floor. The grizzled veteran points a finger at Dufresne as he slides backwards towards the corner, shaking his head...] GM: Dufresne's backing off! I don't think he wants any more of Rust. BW: Or he's luring him into a trap! GM: I don't think- [But Bucky proves to be correct as Dufresne lunges forward, using his speed advantage to hook a single leg, lifting Rust into the air, spinning away from the buckles... ...and DROPS him facefirst on the mat!] BW: FLAPJACK!! THE ONE-MAN FLAPJACK!! [And Dufresne quickly rolls into a cover, tightly hooking a leg.] GM: ONE!! TWO!!! THRE- [But again Rust powers out a shoulder to the cheers of the crowd. An irate Dufresne springs to his feet, shouting at the official who defiantly holds up two fingers.] GM: Dufresne thought he had him there but... oh no... [The crowd's buzzing echoes Gordon's thoughts.] GM: Dufresne's got the chair! He's got the steel chair! [Standing over Rust's head, he slowly raises the chair higher and higher...] GM: No, no, no! Don't do this! [But while he's posing with the chair back, Rust balls up his right hand and SLAMS it into the groin!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" BW: LOW BLOW!! RUST CAUGHT HIM LOW!! GM: A desperation move by Tin Can Rust! He saw Dufresne with that chair! He knew what was coming next! [Dufresne drops the chair onto the mat, clutching his nether regions... ...and Rust pops up, hooking a front facelock, and DRIVING Dufresne's skull into the fallen chair!] GM: OHHH! DDT!! DDT!!! [Rust shoves Dufresne to his back... ...and grins at the sight of blood streaming from the Ladykiller's perfect face as well.] GM: He's busted open Dufresne! BW: And he looks... satisfied? GM: We know he wanted to torture Dufresne tonight... he wanted to hurt him... he wanted to punish him... and maybe just maybe, he also wanted to split his head wide open! [Seemingly satisfied with his work, Rust drops into a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEE!!! "DING! DING! DING!" [Rust rolls off the Ladykiller, taking a seat against the ropes as the referee starts the ten count.] GM: The DDT on the chair claims Dufresne as a victim but now he's got ten long seconds to get back to his feet. BW: They're only long seconds if you're watching your opponent get counted down. If you're Calisto Dufresne trying to break the count, it's the ten shortest seconds of all time. GM: The count is up to three... Rust is leaning back and watching... he wants to win this so badly. On the one year anniversary of his partner being blinded, he wants to show the world that Dufresne's not going to get away with it. BW: That's so sweet I just might gag, Gordo. GM: The count to five now... Dufresne is still flat on his back, staring up at the lights... BW: And if I were the Ladykiller, I might think about taking the dive right here, Gordo. GM: What?! BW: Well, he still might have another match tonight. The National Title is a MUCH bigger deal than Tin Can Rust. So what if he loses to Rust if he walks out of Dallas, Texas with the National Title! GM: I just don't think Dufresne's massive ego would allow for that. He wants to beat Rust... heck, I think he NEEDS to beat Rust in his own mind, Bucky. [At the count of eight, Dufresne pushes himself off the mat, looking dazed but able to get to a knee where the referee signals that he's up... ...and Rust pulls him the rest of the way up, shoving him back into the ropes.] GM: Dufresne's in the ropes... in comes Rust... [A wild-eyed Rust wraps his hands around the throat of Dufresne, blatantly choking him to the roar of the crowd. After a few moments of that, he winds up a right hand that DRILLS Dufresne on the jaw, sending him sailing over the ropes to the apron!] GM: TIN JAW ROCKER!! He caught all of that! BW: Luckily for Dufresne, he didn't go all the way to the floor. [Rust turns to salute the cheering crowd... ...as the camera catches Dufresne dipping into the front of his pants.] GM: What in the... knucks! Dufresne's got knucks! BW: Not sure what you're talking about, Gordo. I don't see anything. GM: Open your eyes then because Calisto Dufresne just put brass knuckles on his hand... [Rust approaches, completely unaware that the kneeling Dufresne is ready to throw a knuck-covered punch. He leans over the ropes, grabbing the Ladykiller by the ponytail... ...but Dufresne wildly spins, throwing the biggest punch of his life to catch Rust squarely on the jaw!] GM: OHHHH! BW: IT'S OVER!! IT'S OVER!!! RING THE BELL!! GM: He caught all of that! He hit Rust right on the jaw with the brass knuckles and I think he may be out! [Dufresne dives back into the ring, throwing himself across Tin Can Rust.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! "DING! DING! DING!" [A frantic Dufresne rolls off Rust, screaming at the official to count.] GM: Dufresne orders the ten count to be started. He's trying to end this thing as quickly as possible. [While the referee counts, Dufresne pulls the knuckles off and tosses them to the floor. He crouches in the corner, looking on with anticipation as the count gets closer and closer to ten.] GM: The count's up to four... now to five... Rust hasn't moved a bit yet, Bucky. BW: And he's not going to! Calisto Dufresne's got knockout power in that right hand and he just proved it tonight in Dallas, Texas! GM: Knockout power? Give me a break. He hit the man with a loaded fist! [The count hits seven... ...and Rust starts to stir, rolling to his stomach.] GM: He's getting up! Tin Can Rust is trying to get up! Come on, Rust! [The crowd rallies behind Tin Can Rust as well, urging him to get to his feet before the ten count falls as the referee shouts "EIGHT!"] GM: We're up to eight - Rust is extending those arms like a push-up, trying to- [But before we can find out if he'll make it, Dufresne rushes forward, shoving the referee aside. He yanks Rust the rest of the way up to his feet, hooking the front facelock...] GM: NO! [He lifts Rust into the air, holding him horizontal to the mat for a split second, and DRIVES him skullfirst into the canvas!] BW: WHAM, BAM, THANK YOU, MA'AM! HE GOT ALL OF IT!! [Dufresne quickly flips Rust to his back, planting a knee on the chest as he orders a three count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREE!! "DING! DING! DING!" GM: He hit the DDT and Tin Can Rust went out like a light! BW: And as we saw twelve nights ago on Saturday Night Wrestling, that DDT always yields a ten count, daddy! GM: Was it really only twelve nights ago? Seems like a month. [Dufresne rolls away, taking a knee as he furiously gestures for the referee to start counting again which he obliges.] GM: Here we go... this could be it right here, fans. I don't know if Rust can get up from this. Considering the punishment he's taken in this match... the blood loss... can Rust get up in time? Can he beat the ten count? [Dufresne is counting along with the official, demanding a quicker count as the referee hits three.] GM: The count is up to three... BW: And Rust hasn't moved an inch. He's flat on his back, wondering why in the world he ever stepped up to face Calisto Dufresne. Dufresne was done with him, Gordo. He could've walked away and lived out his golden years - what's left of them - in peace. But no, he wants Calisto Dufresne. Well, he got him. How's it feel, Rust? How's it feel to know you let your friend and the fans down? GM: You're really loving this, aren't you? BW: As a matter of fact, I am. GM: The count is to five... now to six... [Dufresne waves his arm, trying to urge the referee to count faster.] GM: Tin Can Rust has been through so much in the past year - physically, emotionally, mentally - I just don't know how much he's got left in him. Can he get up? Can he keep the fight going? Can he- BW: EIGHT! THE COUNT IS AT EIGHT!! [The Ladykiller can be heard pleading with the official as Rust slowly lifts an arm, trying to wedge it behind him to get some leverage to push himself off the mat...] GM: Come on, Rust! Listen to these fans trying to implore Tin Can Rust to get to his feet! They want to see Dufresne get what he's got coming to him. They want to see- BW: NINE!! GM: Will you stop interrupting me? BW: I'm sorry but no one wants to hear your grand dramatic statements right now. We're about to see Calisto Dufresne defeat Tin Can Rust with the greatest finishing move in the sport! [Rust starts to push himself up... ...but slumps back down, sending Dufresne into a leaping celebration as the ref counts ten.] GM: He's done it. I can't believe it but he's done it. Calisto Dufresne, bloodied and battered, has defeated Tin Can Rust in a Texas Death Match, fans. It may have taken a pair of brass knuckles and a- BW: It doesn't matter what it took! This was a Texas Death Match! Dufresne could've lived up to the name of it and fried Rust in an electric chair and it would have been totally legal. The fact is - at the end of the day, it was the Wham, Bam, Thank You, Ma'am being put to great use and showing the world who the future of this business is! GM: Rust is down. He's gotta be upset with himself. He gave it one heck of an effort but Dufresne got the better of him on this night in Dallas. He's got nothing to be ashamed of but you know he wanted more out of this one, Bucky. BW: Maybe this will be what Rust needs to go back to the retirement home next to his buddy. Step aside, old man, because the future is now! [Dufresne pauses his celebration, looking down at the still-downed Rust... ...and a sick grin crosses his face.] GM: I don't like the looks of this, Bucky. [Suddenly, Dufresne drops to a knee, reaching down to unlace his boot... ...and pulls out something very familiar to AWA fans!] GM: He's got a lighter! He's got that damn lighter! BW: We're about to get a re-enactment of one year ago! He's gonna burn up Rust and blind him in front of all these idiot fans here in Dallas! You people wanted a Texas Death Match? Well, you got it! His blood is on your hands! GM: Stop that right now, Bucky! This is not the fault of the fans in Dallas or anywhere else. This is Calisto Dufresne, a maniacal Calisto Dufresne, trying to permanently injure another man. He wants the world to see what he's capable of and... I can't believe this... [The official puts himself between Dufresne and Rust, shaking his head vehemately... ...and EATS a right hand to the jaw for his efforts!] GM: Ohhh! Come on! That's gotta be a fine, Bucky! BW: Maybe but that leaves Dufresne all alone inside that ring with Tin Can Rust! It leaves Rust to his mercy and if the last year has shown us anything, Calisto Dufresne has NO mercy, daddy! [With a twisted smirk on his face, Dufresne ignites the lighter. He slowly walks towards the downed Rust who has fallen back into the corner, an arm weakly raised in an attempt to defend himself...] GM: Get some officials out here! Get some help out here right now! We can NOT have this happen again! We can NOT have this kind of crap happen two years in a row! [Suddenly, the crowd breaks into a loud roar.] GM: The fans are reacting to something.. I can't see- [And suddenly, the whole world breaks into a loud roar as one man slides into the ring. He rises up, standing between the fallen Tin Can Rust and the attacking Calisto Dufresne. The man wears a pair of blue jeans, a black t-shirt, and work boots. In his hand? A Louisville Slugger pointed directly at Dufresne whose eyes are as wide as the Grand Canyon at this point. The look on the man's face is quite simply, murderous. Oh, and part of his face is obscured by a black eyepatch.] GM: OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!! BW: WHAT THE HELL IS _HE_ DOING HERE?! GM: CITY JACK!! CITY JACK IS IN THE RING!! [Dufresne shakes his head in disbelief, his arms raising up to plead with the furious-looking fan favorite who has whipped the entire state of Texas into a frenzy!] GM: CALISTO DUFRESNE LOOKS LIKE SOMEONE JUST WALKED OVER HIS GRAVE!! [And suddenly, Jack lunges for him, the wooden baseball bat reared back and ready to fly... He takes a full swing at Dufresne's head, a blow narrowly avoided when Dufresne drops down to the mat. Jack rears back again, swinging down like an axe... another blow narrowly avoided when Dufresne rolls from the ring!] GM: GET HIM, JACK! GET HIM!! [A sea of AWA officials swarm the aisle in the ring, pushing Dufresne back up the aisle and away from City Jack who is standing on the middle rope, pointing the bat in his direction.] GM: My god, if that's not a threat, I don't know what is! City Jack has returned here in Dallas... City Jack has returned here at SuperClash! It's been one year since he's wrestled and... my god, he wants Dufresne's blood, Bucky! BW: He wants more than his blood. I've NEVER seen City Jack look like that. He's that goofy, fun-loving, playful guy... but not this City Jack. This City Jack wants blood. This City Jack wants vengeance. This City Jack wants a year of his life back! GM: Calisto Dufresne is running out of here... running from the ring like a thief in the night... BW: Can you blame him? That maniac's got a baseball bat and is ready and willing to use it, Gordo! GM: I can't believe it. I can not believe that we just saw City Jack return to the AWA! His eye is still covered by a patch but... I can't believe it, Bucky. BW: He saved his friend... he saved Tin Can Rust from suffering the same fate as he did... [Convinced he won't be getting his hands on Calisto Dufresne on this night, Jack throws the bat down to the mat, moving to the corner to check on his fallen friend.] GM: What a moment! What a night! And we're not done yet! This is one of the greatest moments - one of the greatest nights - in AWA history, fans! And we'll be right back with two big title matches right after this! [With Jack kneeling next to a downed Tin Can Rust and the crowd roaring their support for the returning hero, we fade to black... ...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt. The super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.] "You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!" [A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.] "You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last Stampede!" [A shot of Ron Houston wearing the belt in a promo picture.] "You've seen the best the AWA has to offer wearing it!" [Now a shot of Kolya Sudakov in a fighting pose with the belt hanging over his shoulder.] "And now, it can be yours!" [A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air fades into a shot of a young fan doing the same.] "Available NOW on AWAShop.com, get the official replica of the AWA National Title belt that only the best and brightest of the AWA superstars have held!" [A closeup of the AWA National Title slowly fades to black... ...and then back up to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing backstage alongside the members of Rough N Ready. Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers are already dressed in their wrestling attire, each with a title belt slung over his shoulder.] MS: Rough N Ready, tonight you are set to face The Blonde Bombers in your first defense of the AWA National tag team titles. Over the past few weeks, we've seen you come after their bodyguard Crusher Glenn and, more recently, you confronted the Masked Menace about his contract with Larry Doyle to provide bodyguard services. Is it possible the two of you are a bit concerned about Doyle trying to stack the deck against you? DC: Mark, if I were you, I wouldn't be too quick to rush to judgment about what Eric and I are thinking about. MS: Well, we've seen what Larry Doyle has... DC: Yes, Mark, I am well aware of the way Larry Doyle operates... I'm also aware that his mouth is too big for his own good. But that was the same way we saw opponents before us who tried to stir things up, and you don't see those teams around any longer, do you? MS: Well, Larry and his men seem a little more... how shall you say... persistent. DC: Nor would I expect anyone who wants to come after our titles to be anything less than that. But what you have to remember is this: If you plan to be persistent, you better make you sure aren't biting off more than you can chew. There was a team before us that kept tossing warnings about what would happen if we kept pushing their buttons, but you know exactly what the outcome was. And tonight, you've got a couple of egomaniacs being led around by a loudmouth who, while certainly talented in their own way, aren't nearly as tough as Eric and I are. We've been through much more than the Bombers have... really, when your only adversary has been a couple of partying pretty boys, you can't say you've been through hard times here. MS: It sounds like you might be underestimating the Bombers a bit. EMS: [slight grin] Mark, Mark... I never thought I'd see the day you'd be sticking up for the Bombers. MS: Well, I wasn't sticking up for... EMS: [laughing] I'm sure you weren't... and no, we aren't going to underestimate the Bombers. What Dave is saying is... we don't really think they know what it's like to go through the school of hard knocks, where you've been hit in the mouth multiple times and have to find a way to respond. Well, believe me... we are gonna hit the Bombers in the mouth, and we just might hit Larry Doyle in the mouth if he wants to get involved. MS: Yet what about the Menace... after all, he is working for Doyle and... DC: Mark, you know what we had to say to the Menace last time... and if he really thinks about what we said to him, I don't think he's going to be a problem for us... but he just might be a problem for Larry Doyle. So if anybody needs to be worried about the Menace, I'd say it's the man who hired him in the first place. We're done here, Mark... let's go, Eric. [With that, Rough N Ready walk off.] MS: Those two men seem very determined to send a message in this, their first defense of the National Tag Team Titles. Todd, Uncle Jon... back to you. [We crossfade to ringside where Jon Stegglet and Todd Michaelson are standing - the latter of which is chuckling softly.] TM: "Uncle Jon." JS: Quiet, you. Professional wrestling fans all over the globe have marveled at the greatness of the AWA's tag team divison for months, Todd. TM: Some of the best tag teams in the world stand in this division - all shooting for those golden belts that rest on the shoulders of Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers, Rough N Ready. JS: Cooper and Somers are the fourth team to hold those title belts since their creation and tonight, they'll try to prevent the Blonde Bombers led by Larry Doyle from becoming the fifth. TM: Were you watch Cooper and Somers right then, Steggs? Were you listening to them? JS: What are you getting at? TM: Those two men are determined. They're focused. And quite honestly, I think the Blonde Bombers may be in for a rougher night than anyone thought. JS: We're about to find out because it's title defense time here at SuperClash II so let's go up to Ken Graham for the introductions! [Cut to the ring to the pink-tuxedoed Graham.] KG: The following tag team match is set for one fall with a one hour time limit and is for the AWA NATIONAL TAG TEAM TITLES! [The St. Louis crowd responds with a loud roar for the title match!] KG: Introducing first... they are the challengers... #REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH# [The crowd explodes into jeers as Larry Doyle leads the Blonde Bombers through the curtain accompanied by their rather large entourage of Crusher Glenn and The Masked Menace.] KG: From Anywhere Larry Doyle Pleases... [Doyle beams proudly at the new "hometown" for the Bombers.] KG: "Beautiful" Bobby and Love Machine Nova... They are the BLONNNNNNNDE BOMMMMMBERRRRRS! [Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" continues to rock the PA as the five men make their way down the aisle to the ring, soaking up jeers all the while. Upon reaching ringside, Doyle climbs through the ropes alongside his tag team while Glenn and the Menace take up protective positions out on the arena floor.] JS: These are some of the most unpopular men in the entire AWA, Todd. TM: Popularity's overrated. Sure, it's nice to have the fans cheer you. Who wouldn't like that? But at the end of the day, it's about winning matches, making money, and winning titles. If Larry Doyle can lead the Bombers to the National Tag Team Titles here tonight in St. Louis, you can bet he won't care if he gets booed out of the building. [Doyle certainly does seem to be enjoying the boos from the crowd as the music fades and is replaced by "Knocking At Your Back Door" from Deep Purple to a bigger mixture of cheers and boos from the crowd.] KG: And their opponents... at a total combined weight of 615 pounds and hailing from Albuquerque, New Mexico... they are the AWA National Tag Team Champions... Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers... ROUGH! N! READY! [The crowd erupts with a mixed reaction - more cheers than boos - for the veteran squad as they step out into the arena, a steely gaze in the eyes of both men. The title belts are slung over this shoulders. The two men turn to one another, exchanging a few final words... ...and then BOLT for the ring, rushing down the aisle past the roaring fans.] JS: HERE THEY COME! THE CHAMPS ARE HERE!! [Cooper dives under the bottom rope, immediately cracking Baldwin with a right hand on the jaw that knocks the Bomber flat. The referee signals for the bell as Somers steps up on the apron, climbing through the ropes and promptly grabbing Nova around the throat...] JS: What in the-?! [The big man hoists Nova sky high and DRIVES him down with a thunderous chokeslam to the cheers of the crowd... ...and then turns to point at a cornered Larry Doyle who is still in the ring!] JS: THE BOMBERS ARE DOWN AND DOYLE IS TRAPPED!! [A frantic Doyle shakes his head, raising both arms to plead for mercy as Cooper and Somers advance on him...] TM: Where the heck is Larry's protection? [On cue, Glenn and the Menace leap up on the apron... ...and get knocked right back down with a running pair of shoulder tackles!] JS: The protection is cleared out as well! [But the momentary distraction was enough for Doyle to flee the ring, leaving his men alone with the champions. An angry Somers reaches down, grabbing Nova by the throat and deadlifts him straight to his feet.] JS: Somers picks up Nova and- WHOA! [Not wasting a moment, Somers hoists Nova overhead into a military press... ...and rushes forward to HURL Nova over the ropes, sending him crashing down on a shocked Glenn and Menace! The crowd roars as Larry Doyle loses his mind out on the floor!] JS: SOMERS CLEARS OUT THE PROTECTION!! [In the meantime, Cooper is battering Baldwin with body shots in the ropes before he grabs the wrist, firing him off to the ropes.] JS: Baldwin off the far side... [Cooper scoops him up around the upper thighs, spinning and DRIVING Baldwin down to the canvas!] JS: SPINEBUSTER!! [Cooper springs up, throwing his arms apart to a big roar from the crowd. Leaning down, he grabs the legs of Baldwin, tying them up into a Texas Cloverleaf, turning the Bomber over onto his stomach.] JS: CLOVERLEAF!! IT'S ON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE RING!! [A frantic Doyle dives under the ropes, grabbing the referee by the ankle.] TM: Doyle's trying to save his team! [But Eric Matthew Somers cuts that off by dropping a 350 pound elbow down onto the back of Doyle's neck!] JS: OHHHHHH! [Somers shoves Doyle back out to the floor in a heap as Baldwin struggles and strains and screams and shouts... ...and finally taps!] "DING! DING! DING!" [The crowd ERUPTS in a roar for Cooper and Somers as they embrace in the middle of the ring, glaring outside the ring where Nova pulls Baldwin to the floor. The fivesome retreats, carrying Doyle between them as the champions celebrate.] KG: Your winners of the match... and STILL the AWA National Tag Team Champions... ROUGH! N! READY! [The title belts are handed back to Cooper and Somers who stand in the middle of the ring, clutching the belts to their chests.] JS: Now THAT'S a message, Todd! TM: With the Stampede Cup coming up in under a month - an event designed to show us who the greatest tag team in the sport is - who is going to tell Rough N Ready that they're not the best thing going today? JS: The number one contenders were just dispatched in just over a minute! TM: They got overwhelmed. They were surprised by the aggressive start. Don't count the Bombers out yet, Steggs. JS: The Blonde Bombers have been defeated and when you look at Rough N Ready, you are looking at the best tag team walking the Earth... but can they retain that designation in just about a month at the Stampede Cup? That remains to be seen. Fans, that's all from us in St. Louis! Todd, it's been a pleasure. TM: The pleasure was all yours, Steggy. JS: DON'T CALL ME- eh, never mind. AWA fans, it's been our honor to call some action for you here tonight at SuperClash II but we've got one more final commercial break. When we come back, you'll be live in Dallas, Texas for the Main Event of the night! Thank you all so much! [We fade away from the celebrating National Tag Team Champions to black. And then to a very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.] "Have you ever dreamed of fame?" [Cut a little closer.] "Of glory?" [A little closer.] "Of your friends and family seeing you on television?" [And just a little closer, revealing a red, white, and blue sign that reads "AWA Combat Corner."] "Well, now you can make all your dreams come true by signing up today at the AWA Combat Corner - the official training school for the American Wrestling Alliance!" [We cut to the interior of the building where we can see lots of standard gym equipment surrounding a very basic wrestling ring. There are people lifting weights, running on treadmills, and of course, working out in the ring.] "With the very best trainers in the business, the AWA Combat Corner is the most-equipped training facility to get you in shape and get you in the ring in the shortest amount of time!" [Cut into the ring where Todd Michaelson is barking out instructions.] "With former World Champion Todd Michaelson leading the classes, you can guarantee that you will be prepared for in-ring action upon graduation and with the AWA expanding by the day, you will have a place to work on Day One!" [Two young students are grappling on the canvas.] "So, stop by the Combat Corner today... call our offices... visit our website... and let them know that you want to be the next AWA Superstar! You want to be the future of the business! You want to wrestle!" [Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner. We freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to footage marked "EARLIER TONIGHT" where we see Jason Dane standing by with a somber-looking Juan Vasquez in the backstage area. The number one contender is dressed in his trademark white tracksuit w/ black trim, ready for tonight's bout. However, there's a less than enthusiastic look on his face, the stipulations of the match obviously weighing heavily on his mind.] JD: The stakes have never been higher than tonight, where Juan Vasquez is putting his AWA career on the line against Stevie Scott for the National title! Juan, any last thoughts on tonight? [A sad sort of smile forms on Juan's face as he collects his thoughts.] JV: Can you believe that it's already been a year? Since Raph took that chair and smashed it right into my face? Since Stevie Scott... ...defeated me? [That really took the wind out of his sails. Juan lowers his head and softly says it to himself.] JV: One year. [He looks up and turns to Dane.] JV: I've been dreamin' about this day for one year. [His eyes are downcast as he says that. There's a certain bit of tentativeness in his voice.] JV: We've been through a lot together in those 365 days since, but I never forgot that feeling I had deep in my heart when I left the Dallas Memorial Auditorium that night. [Juan shakes his head.] JV: It was hopelessness. It was despair. It was the first and last time I'd ever felt that I was in a battle that I couldn't win. [He looks up with an angry expression on his face, letting his frustration show.] JV: And it made me sick. Sick to my damn stomach that I felt that way...because Juan Vasquez doesn't give up. Juan Vasquez doesn't run from fights. Juan Vasquez faces every single challenge, conquers every obstacle and he wills...he _wills_ his way through it all! [A sigh.] JV: But I wanted to turn my back. I wanted to run. I wanted to give up, 'cause I'll admit it...I was shook. I was scared. I'd never been done like that. I had no idea how the hell I was gonna' win against those odds. Hell, I wasn't even sure if I was gonna' survive. And comin' from a proud bastard like me, you know that this ain't easy for me to say. [He bites his bottom lip and shakes his head.] JV: So there I was, feeling like a coward, at just about my lowest, ready to walk away and that's when it happened. Gordon Myers asked for a hero. [There's a short silence after Juan says that as the hurt becomes apparent on his face.] JV: That hurt me. That hurt worse than that chair to the face from Raph. Worse than getting put through the WKIK studio wall. Worse than the Firebomb chokeslam. Worse than all that combined. I hadn't just disappointed Gordon, I hadn't just blown my shot at the National title...I realized I'd let everyone down. Why couldn't I be that hero? Why _wasn't_ I that hero? [A determined look forms on Juan's face.] JV: That's when I realized I couldn't just walk away. I still had too much to do. I _knew_ I could be that hero. I _knew_ I could be the man they thought I was. And ever since that night, I've spent every waking moment trying to prove it. I've fought...I've fought like hell. I've scratched, I've clawed and I've planned and I've schemed and I've raised the stakes every time... [He lowers his head.] JV: ...but now I've made the biggest gamble of them all. My career. [Juan goes silent for a few seconds, before continuing on.] JV: A lot of people in this sport like to tell you that there ain't anybody more dangerous than a man with nothing to lose. [A soft chuckle.] JV: That's a load of crap. [He looks back up with steeled determination on his face.] JV: The most dangerous man, is the one with _everything_ to lose. [Juan looks right into the camera, making it no mystery who he's speaking to.] JV: Stevie, you've been able to hold onto the National title because there ain't no doubt in my mind that it means the world to you. Holding onto that title made you desperate. It made you dangerous. It made you do anything and everything possible to keep that National title around your waist. And that was the difference between you and me. No matter how badly I wanted that National title, no matter how much it hurt me to be without it...your desperation always made you want it *that* much more. [He holds his finger and thumb *that* far apart.] JV: But if I lose tonight, if I fail...there ain't any more chances. There ain't no hope. There ain't ever gonna' be a better and brighter tomorrow. If I lose... ...it's all over. [His eyes narrow as the intensity picks up slightly.] JV: I've literally put _everything_ on the line. [The words are measured, Juan making certain Stevie understands the enormity of the situation.] JV: Tonight, it ain't about the Southern Syndicate and the AWA. It ain't about Calisto Dufrense, Adrian Freeman or even that devil, Ben Waterson. It's about what began last year and what ends tonight. It's about you and me, Stevie Scott. [Juan shakes his head slowly.] JV: It ain't a matter of wanting or needing to win. [His eyes look down for a split second, before staring back up with fierce determination.] JV: I _have_ to win. [Juan crosses his arms across his chest and lowers his head, the weight of the world seemingly bearing down on him now. His finals words aren't filled with any passion or purpose, just a simple statement of fact.] JV: And that's all there is...to it. [The shot on the screen changes to what is obviously a television playing the exact footage we just saw. The camera pans back to reveal Jason Dane standing between "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson and the AWA National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott. Being moments away from belltime, both men are ready to head to the ring. The title belt is around the waist of the champion. A soft chuckle can be heard from both men as the shot on the screen fades out. A slightly agitated Jason Dane shoves the mic in front of Ben Waterson.] JD: Something funny? [Waterson smirks, looking at Dane.] ATTSBW: Yeah, something's funny to me, Dane. Something's real funny. Tell me, Jason Dane. What are the stipulations for this match tonight - the match just moments away - arguably the biggest match in AWA history? [Dane looks puzzled.] ATTSBW: Please. Enlighten us. [An irritated Dane responds.] JD: If Juan Vasquez doesn't win the match tonight, his AWA career is over. [Waterson laughs again, joined by the Hotshot.] ATTSBW: Oh, Dane... you of infinite hype and bluster. [Waterson produces a stack of papers.] ATTSBW: This is the official contract for tonight's Main Event. A contract that was written and executed to my EXACT wording by the Southern Syndicate's legal team. And it most certainly does NOT say that if Juan Vasquez doesn't win the match tonight, his AWA career is over. This document very specifically says that if Juan Vasquez does not win the AWA National Title in this match tonight - his AWA career is over. JS: What's the difference? [A smirk.] ATTSBW: The difference, my naive roving reporter is that Stevie Scott does not need to win this match tonight to send Juan Vasquez out of this company and rid this irritating thorn from our sides. He simply needs to retain the title. JD: Are you saying-?! ATTSBW: What I'm saying is that there is a reason the championship advantage is so very important. Keep that in mind, Dane. [Scott chuckles as well at this point and Dane turns the mic in his direction.] JD: You find this amusing? [Scott shakes his head.] HSS: No. No, I don't. What I do find amusing though is Juan Vasquez' ill-conceived belief that he has ANY idea what it means to me to be the AWA National Champion. Juan Vasquez just told the entire world that he HAS to win this match. [Another shake of the head.] HSS: Juan Vasquez doesn't have the slightest clue about what it means to REALLY have to win a match. You see, Dane, despite my obvious edge in raw talent over Vasquez, we have had two truly different career paths. Juan Vasquez is the epitome of someone who has had a silver spoon shoved down their throat for their entire career, Dane. [Scott points a finger towards the camera.] HSS: He's a man who has been welcomed with open arms by fans and promoters alike wherever he's gone - Los Angeles, St. Louis, Canada - you name it, he's been a top star there. Me? I've bounced around from territory to territory, getting the occasional cup of coffee in the big leagues to make the idiots laugh at the bottom of the card. Until now. [Scott nods his head.] HSS: When I came to the AWA, I was still treated as a joke. They wanted me to do funny little interviews. They wanted me to make the people laugh. Fine. I played my part. I did the interviews. I carried a Russian flag around and pretended I didn't understand why the people were booing me. Do I strike you as an idiot, Dane? [Dane shakes his head.] HSS: I knew exactly why they were booing me... and it was at the exact moment, in the worst night of my life in that double cage in Laredo, Texas, that I knew what had to be done. I saw it, Dane. I saw my ticket to not being a laughing stock anymore. I saw the way to the big paydays, the fancy cars, the beautiful women, the private jets, the watches, the diamonds, the thousand dollar suits, the things a CHAMPION should get! [He's getting a little worked up now.] HSS: I saw what had to be done... and I did it. I led that pathetic sap Sweet Daddy Williams down a primrose path... I made those fans give a damn about me, cheering and screaming their hearts out for me... and then I buried the knife in all of their hearts and took the National Title. I was big time. I was Main Event. I was the National Champion. I was the greatest wrestler in the world. I went from being a nobody to being THE man, Juan Vasquez. Everywhere you go... title or not... your name makes you the man. [He slaps the title belt.] HSS: Here... in the AWA... in the house the Hotshot built... this belt makes me the man. This belt means everything to me. It means my kids get to go to a private school instead of some hellhole where they get slapped around for their lunch money because their dad beat up the fans' favorite on TV Saturday Night. It means that I fly first class to the next show instead of driving fourteen hours in a rental car with four other guys. At the end of the day, it means I'm the best wrestler in the world, Vasquez... and you're not. No matter how much they tell you elsewhere that you are. No matter how many awards you win. No matter how much fan mail you open. I'm the best. Not you. You tell the world you HAVE to win tonight? [Scott shakes his head, holding the title belt up to the camera lens.] HSS: I NEED to win. And that's the biggest difference between us. [He pulls the belt back.] HSS: One year ago this started. Tonight, it ends. And it ends with me being exactly what I say I am... the AWA National Champion... and the best wrestler in the world... [Pause.] HSS: ...amigo. [And with that, the AWA National Champion walks out of frame, leaving Ben Waterson behind.] JD: You have something else to say to Juan Vasquez? [Waterson shakes his head.] ATTSBW: This one's for the AWA fans. Those kids with posters of Juan Vasquez on their wall. Those desperate women who hang around backstage after the shows hoping to land a hotel room key from the "big star." Tonight's the last night you'll ever see Juan Vasquez in an AWA ring. [A pause.] ATTSBW: Consider. Yourselves. Warned. [Waterson pats Dane on the shoulder before making his exit as well, leaving Jason Dane behind.] JD: It is without question the biggest match in AWA history, fans. And it's right now. Let's go back down to ringside because we've got one heck of a Main Event about to take place. [We crossfade to the ring where ring announcer Phil Watson is standing.] PW: DALLAS, TEXAS! [Big cheer!] PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a sixty minute time limit, is your MAIN EVENT of the evening, and is for the AWA NATIONAL TITLE! [DEAFENING ROAR!] PW: If Juan Vasquez fails to win the National Title here tonight... he will LEAVE the AWA forever! [The crowd jeers the announcement of the sobering stipulation.] PW: Introducing first... #It's alright...# #It's alright...# #It's alright... I'm just a little crazy# [The crowd EXPLODES as Fight's "Little Crazy" starts up.] PW: He is the special outside-the-ring enforcer for this championship match - ALEX MARRRRTINEZ! [The former World Champion walks into view, all seven feet of him towering in the aisleway as he stares out to the crowd. He's wearing a large striped referee's shirt and jeans as he strides down the aisle to the ring.] GM: There he is, Bucky... the man who has been tasked with keeping this thing under control tonight. The man who has been given the large responsibility of making sure there is a clearcut winner to this so important match here tonight in Dallas, Texas. BW: Well, I may not be a big Martinez fan but I think this is a job that even HE can't screw up, Gordo. Big seven footer should be able to keep the peace and make people listen to him. [Martinez reaches the ring, stepping over the ropes to more cheers as he settles back into the corner, shaking hands with AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly as his music fades. "They Reminisce Over You" by Pete Rock & C.L. Smooth begins to play over the PA system to a DEAFENING ROAR from the crowd!] PW: He is the challenger... weighing in tonight at 238 pounds... from Los Angeles, California... he is the number one contender to the National Title... JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VASSSSSSSSSSQUEZ! [Plug your ears. The most popular man in the AWA bursts through the curtain to one of the loudest reactions in the history of the company. He's clad in the same white tracksuit we saw earlier. He pauses just beyond the entrance, looking out at the roaring crowd with a dopey grin on his face.] BW: Enjoy it, kid... this is the last time you'll ever hear it! GM: That remains to be seen, Bucky. [Vasquez breaks into a job, slapping the hands of the fans along the rope barricade, pausing to embrace a few as well. He's enjoying this walk, taking his time as he makes his way to the ring.] GM: It's a long, long walk to the ring knowing that this may be the final time you make it. Juan Vasquez has put EVERYTHING on the line here tonight as we've mentioned over and over. If he fails to win the National Title, he will walk away from the AWA forever. There are no higher stakes thatn this. [Vasquez finally reaches the ring, rolling under the ropes, and springing to his feet to more cheers. He quickly pulls off the tracksuit, tossing it to the ringside attendant as he stands in the corner, eyeing Alex Martinez warily. Martinez returns the stare, not backing down an inch from the Number One Contender.] GM: Some tension there between Vasquez and Martinez. Don't forget that it was just a few weeks ago now when Alex Martinez made his arrival here in the AWA and ended up delivering the Firebomb chokeslam to Vasquez. They appeared to bury the hatchet after that but... BW: But you never can tell how deep bad blood runs. Vasquez might waffle him with a tire iron in mid-match tonight just to take him out of the equation. I wouldn't blame him. GM: I highly doubt that. But you're right. He does have cause to be suspicious of the big man. [The music fades out to nothing for a moment... ...and then is replaced by the beautiful opening of Lynyrd Skynyrd's "Free Bird."] GM: New music for the champ. BW: It's glorious - just like him. [After a moment, the National Champion emerges from the locker room in a breathtaking white and silver robe that stretches all the way down to the floor. The robe is covered in feathers and sparkles under the arena lights.] BW: Look at that robe! I want that for Christmas, daddy! GM: The champion is going all out for SuperClash II! [The Hotshot walks a few feet from the aisle, spreading his arms wide and going into a full turn to reveal "HOTSHOT" written across the back in silver. As he slowly turns back around, a shower of golden sparks begin to fall from about ten feet above the entryway.] GM: The champion is REALLY going all out for SuperClash II! [The sparks fall for a few moments before a grinning Scott steps further down the aisle. "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson emerges from the locker room at this point, joining the National Champion as they walk down the aisle... ...but suddenly come to a stop.] GM: What's going on here? Scott and Waterson are conversing in the aisle and- [The camera zooms in just in time to hear the Hotshot say, "Stay back there tonight, Ben. I got this." Waterson's protests are unheard by the camera but he's obviously upset by this decision.] GM: It sounds like the National Champion wants to do this one alone, Bucky. BW: I can't say I agree with that. These two are a team, Gordo. Ben Waterson and Stevie Scott founded the Southern Syndicate in the summer of 2009 and have DOMINATED this sport since then... but they've always done it together! Why now? On the biggest night of his career, why would Stevie Scott want to do this one by himself? GM: Maybe the National Champion feels he's got something to prove. BW: I don't like this. [Neither does Waterson but eventually he's persuaded, angrily walking back towards the locker room as the Hotshot slowly makes his way down the aisle, jerking his arms out of reach of the fans.] GM: The champion's on his way to the ring perhaps for the final time carrying that belt that means so much to him... it means EVERYTHING to him as we just heard him say. [Scott reaches the ring, slowly striding up the ringsteps before stepping through the ropes. He does a full spin, showing off the robe to the popping flashbulbs in the building before he removes it, folding it once before handing it over the ropes to the ringside attendant. He slowly turns, staring across the ring at Juan Vasquez who is shifting his weight from foot to foot, clenching and unclenching his fists.] GM: It's a tale of two competitors right there. Stevie Scott, the champion, cool, calm, collected, and ready for anything. Juan Vasquez, the challenger, a fiery ball of energy ready to explode. Two very different approaches to a wrestling match, Bucky. BW: Scott has to keep that in mind, Gordo. Vasquez is going to be aggressive - very aggressive. He needs to learn from the Blonde Bombers' mistake and not allow that aggressiveness to overwhelm him. We saw earlier that a title match can be over in a minute or less so the Hotshot needs to remember that. Absorb the early flurry and find a way to stop the momentum. [Senior Official Michael Meekly calls the two men together, pointing to the floor where Alex Martinez has taken up a position.] GM: Michael Meekly reminding both champion and challenger that Alex Martinez is a licensed official for this match. He has been empowered to count pinfalls, check for submissions, disqualify - anything power that an official would typically have, Martinez has got it here tonight. Jim Watkins wanted him to be ready for anything. [The referee stands by the two men, giving final instructions... ...and then spins to signal for the bell. HUGE ROAR!] GM: Here we go! The Main Event of SuperClash II and you can feel the excitement in the air from this crowd, Bucky! Just how long have they been waiting for this? BW: One whole year. Like Vasquez said earlier, it's been one year since he was on the verge of becoming the National Champion when Raphael Rhodes interfered and cost him everything. [Champion and challenger stand toe to toe in the middle of the ring, the crowd buzzing as Scott fires words like a machine gun aimed squarely at the chest of his number one contender.] GM: Wouldn't you love to be able to read lips right now? What could he possibly be saying to him? [Vasquez absorbs all the verbal blows, not responding once, simply glaring a hole straight through his hated rival... ...until he suddenly surges forward, lashing out with his skull into the forehead of the National Champion, sending him stumbling backwards into the corner!] GM: Ohh! Headbutt! BW: One of the top weapons in the arsenal of Juan Vasquez. He strikes early, he strikes quick, and he strikes damn hard. That headbutt has the champion on Dream Street already. [Approaching the corner where Scott backed into, Vasquez winds up and throws a skin-blistering chop across the chest!] GM: Big knife-edge chop by Vasquez! [The crowd roars as Scott recoiling from the chop, reaching up to grab the rapidly-reddening welt on his chest. But Vasquez is having none of the champion covering up, throwing the Hotshot's arms off his chest and firing another knife edge blow across the pectorals.] GM: Another one! Good grief! BW: Vasquez isn't pulling any punches tonight, Gordo. He's hitting harder than I've ever seen him hit before! [A few more chops follow before Vasquez grabs the wrist of the National Champion, flinging him from corner to corner...] GM: The challenger sends his foe across the ring... [Vasquez backs into the corner before sprinting across as Scott hits the far buckles... ...and connects with a big running clothesline!] GM: BIIIIIG CLOTHESLINE BY THE CHALLENGER!! BW: And the champ needs to be careful, Gordo. These two men have met in a singles match four times now and every single time, this is how Vasquez starts the match. A big flurry of offense that has the champion backpedaling from the opening bell. Stevie Scott can NOT let that happen here tonight. He needs to establish early that he's in control of this match and make Vasquez play his game. [Grabbing Scott by the arm, Vasquez fires him from corner to corner again, sending him smashing into the buckles.] GM: Here he comes again! [A second running clothesline connects but Vasquez stays on him, not letting Scott crumple from the corner. He pushes the Hotshot back against the buckles, throwing big fists to the skull to the roars of the crowd!] GM: Look at Vasquez! He is a man posessed! BW: Posessed with the desire to save his AWA career and become the greatest professional wrestler in the world, Gordo! Juan Vasquez wants to be the National Champion so badly... there's no telling what he'll do to get it! [The barrage of blows in the corner is interrupted first by the protests of the official who try to get Vasquez to back off but when he refuses, Michael Meekly physically intervenes, dragging Vasquez out of the corner!] GM: Whoa! Whoa! He should NOT be doing that! BW: Juan Vasquez was NOT respecting the referee's authority right there. Would you prefer he disqualify the challenger? GM: Absolutely not. I want to see a clear winner in this one along with every single fan in this building and watching at home on WKIK! BW: Then you have to give the officials the leeway to do what needs to be done to keep this match under control, Gordo. [An angry Vasquez pushes past the official, grabbing Scott by the wrist again to fire him across the ring.] GM: Another whip! [Vasquez backs to the corner, barking at the official the whole time. He's still arguing with the referee as he charges across... ...and EATS a superkick on the chin!] GM: OH MY STARS!! BW: HEATSEEKER!! COVER HIM, CHAMP!! GM: Stevie Scott with the Heatseeker out of nowhere! Juan Vasquez was distracted by the official and he ran right into the Heatseeker! [The Hotshot seems about to go for a lateral press when Vasquez wisely manages to roll under the ropes, dropping down to the barely-padded concrete floor.] GM: And look at Juan Vasquez... he knew he was in trouble there. He knew he was in BIG trouble but he had the presence of mind - the ring generalship if you will - to get out of that ring to the safety of the floor. BW: I don't know how safe the floor is with someone like Stevie Scott but you've got a point, Gordo. He may have just saved his AWA career right there because if Stevie had gotten the cover, he'd be packing his bags to head back to Canada right now! [Shaking the cobwebs, Stevie Scott steps out to the apron, dropping down to the arena floor. He quickly pulls Vasquez up by the hair, shoving him under the ropes into the ring. He lunges through the top and middle ropes, applying a cover... ...and strategically placing his feet on the middle rope for leverage!] GM: Not like this, no! [The referee dives to the mat, slapping the canvas once... twice... but a quick-moving Alex Martinez shoves Scott's feet from off the rope before the three count, breaking the pin attempt.] GM: Alex Martinez makes the save! He just saved Juan Vasquez' career! Stevie Scott just tried to cheat his way to victory and our ringside enforcer just made sure that didn't happen! BW: This all seems too familiar to me, Gordo. I seem to remember back in March at The Main Event when Ron Houston was the guest enforcer, he did the exact same thing to Stevie Scott! GM: And we all remember how that ended - it ended with Juan Vasquez as the National Champion! BW: History ain't repeating tonight, Gordo. Not on Stevie Scott's watch! [An angry National Champion pops up to his feet, screaming in the direction of Alex Martinez who calmly walks away, leaving "Hotshot" Stevie Scott to his personal temper tantrum. Scott delivers a hard kick to the ribs of the downed Juan Vasquez before reaching down to drag him up, shoving him back into the corner.] GM: Now it's the Hotshot's turn... [Winding up, the National Champion splashes a knife-edge chop across the chest of his challenger.] GM: Chop by the champ... BW: And while Stevie may not hit as hard as Juan Vasquez, you know that was a damn painful thing to get hit with. Vasquez is wincing and grimacing off that one. [Stevie squares up, throwing a boot to the midsection instead. He grabs Vasquez by the hair, throwing him backwards into the buckles.] GM: Ohh! A whiplash-like effect off a move like that and Juan Vasquez is down, seated on the mat... [Stevie throws a few more kicks to the body of the seated Vasquez, teeing off on the ribs and chest before reaching down to haul him off the canvas... ...and gets pulled down in a small package!] GM: CRADLE!! ONE!! TWO!!! TH- [The crowd buzzes with disappointment as the National Champion kicks out just before the three count.] GM: So close! Juan Vasquez caught the champion by surprise and he almost won this thing, Bucky. BW: Sure did. Stevie needs to keep his focus. This is the perfect example of where not having Ben Waterson at ringside hurts him. Ben wouldn't have let that happen. [Scrambling to their feet, Scott catches Vasquez with a boot to the gut again to cut him off. He grabs a handful of hair, smashing the challenger's face into the buckles before he spins him around in the corner, pushing him back.] GM: Back in the corner again... look out here... [Leaning over, Scott grabs the middle rope, lunging forward to drive his shoulder into the ribcage of the Number One Contender.] GM: He slams his shoulder to the body... maybe going after those ribs... [Still holding the middle rope, Scott lunges forward again, smashing his shoulder into the ribcage. The referee orders him to back off but the Hotshot delivers three more shoulder drives to the body before he steps away, getting verbally dressed down by the official.] GM: The challenger's hanging onto the ropes, trying to stay on his feet. He's breathing very heavily though, Bucky. BW: Shots to the ribs do more damage than you'd think. You start having trouble breathing after enough of them and that's an awful thing to try and wrestle with. [Moving back in, Scott shoves Vasquez' upper body back, stretching him out and driving a knee up into the ribs. Holding him in place, Scott continues to throw knees to the ribs, drawing the jeers of the fans and the ire of the official who steps in, pushing the champion back... ...but he pushes his way right back in, grabbing the challenger around the head and under the arm, throwing him out of the corner with a big hiptoss!] GM: Ohh! He threw him halfway across the ring, Bucky! BW: Right down on the back... and landing on the back like that won't help the ribs at all. When those ribs get hurt, every jolt to the torso hurts like someone's stabbing you. Juan Vasquez has got to be in a lot of pain right now. GM: Scott's measuring him... [The challenger pushes up to all fours... ...which is exactly where the champion wants him, rushing forward and delivering a punt kick to the ribcage! The crowd groans as Vasquez rolls to his back, clutching his ribs, promptly rolling away to try to get some breathing room.] GM: Juan Vasquez' ribcage is taking a pounding in the early goings of this one and now he's trying to get to his feet in the corner... [But just as he does, the National Champion moves in, shoving his upper body back to expose the ribs for more knee lifts to the torso.] GM: Another knee! And another! There's a third! He's just brutalizing the ribs right now, Bucky! BW: Maybe the champ had a better gameplan than we thought, Gordo. Even without Ben Waterson out here, he's in total control of this one. He cut off Vasquez' momentum first and now he's laying in the blows to the body. [The Hotshot grabs his foe by the arm, launching him across the ring where he smashes into the turnbuckles, stumbling out... ...and getting sent skyhigh, up and over to the canvas with a big backdrop!] GM: Ohhh! He hit the mat hard! [Vasquez rolls around on the mat, clutching his ribs as Scott stands over him, arrogantly smirking. He leans down, grabbing the challenger by the hair and hauling him to his feet...] GM: He brings Juan back up... uh oh! [The crowd begins to loudly buzz as Scott pulls Vasquez into a standing headscissors.] GM: He's going for the piledriver! He's wants to spike him on his skull! BW: If he hits this, it's hit the road, Juan! [The Hotshot wraps his arms around Vasquez' torso, looking to pick him up off the mat... ...but Vasquez jerks Scott's legs out from under him, holding on as he flips forward!] GM: CRADLE!! ONE!! TWO!! [But the Hotshot kicks out at two, causing the crowd to buzz with frustration.] GM: Scott out at two but Vasquez avoids the piledriver and that's more important at this point, Bucky. BW: He HAS to avoid the piledriver. It's the most dangerous move in this business! No one has ever gotten out of the piledriver. In fact, we've had people laid out for MONTHS when they get hit with it! If Scott uses it on Vasquez, you know his night - and his AWA career - is over. [The two competitors scramble to their feet, looking to get an edge. Scott throws a wild haymaker that Vasquez ducks, wrapping his arms around the midsection of Scott. He rushes forward with the Hotshot in front of him, bouncing off the ropes... ...and rolling back into a rolling reverse cradle!] GM: ROLLING CRADLE!! [The referee dives to the mat, slapping the canvas once... twice... and almost a third time before Scott fires a shoulder off the mat.] GM: Another two count for Juan Vasquez! BW: From the looks of that cradle, the Assassin's Spike ain't the only thing Adam Rogers taught Juan Vasquez! GM: And you can see an urgency in Juan Vasquez here tonight. He has no desire to hurt, to punish - he needs to win and he needs that title belt around his waist. BW: Oh, there's a desire to hurt. Make no mistake, Juan Vasquez and Stevie Scott DESPISE each other and would like nothing more than to bleed each other dry here in Dallas, Texas but that's not what this is about. This is about the biggest prize in our sport and a man's career in this company! [Scott quickly gets to his feet, backpedaling as Juan Vasquez comes towards him, throwing a right hand to the jaw that sends the Hotshot falling back to the buckles.] GM: Vasquez has got him in the corner! [A wild-eyed Vasquez batters Scott with forearms to the jaw, knocking him down to a knee where he continues to throw big pounding forearms to the head and neck... ...but the official steps in again, trying to push Vasquez away...] GM: Come on, ref! Let 'em fight! [Reaching over the official's turned back, Scott jabs a thumb into the eye of Vasquez, drawing boos from the crowd and causing Vasquez to stagger away, trying to wipe his vision clear.] GM: Right to the eyes! A cheap shot by Scott... [Stepping up behind Vasquez, he threads his right leg through the challenger's legs, snapping him back down to the mat.] GM: Ohh! Side Russian legsweep! [Scott quickly rolls over, taking a mount position where he grabs Vasquez by the hair, pounding his skull over and over and over.] GM: Stevie's beating the heck out of him on the mat! [The National Champion continues to pummel despite the referee's cries to stop. After a few more shots, he grabs Vasquez by the face and SLAMS the back of his skull into the mat!] GM: Ohh! [Scott spins out of the mount into a lateral press, barking "COUNT HIM!" at the ref.] GM: We've got one! We've got two! We've got- no, just a two count there. BW: Stevie needs to go back to the ribs. He was having a lot of luck at working the ribcage a few moments ago. I'd go right back to it now that you've got Vasquez down. [Scott angrily pulls Vasquez to his feet, tugging him right into a front facelock. He slings Vasquez' arm over his neck, powering him up and down with a quick vertical suplex.] GM: Nicely executed suplex by the champion... [With Vasquez down on the mat, Scott gets back up and immediately drives the flat of his foot down onto the injured ribs.] GM: He's stomping the ribs of the challenger! Over and over again! He seems to be following your strategy, Bucky. BW: As any smart man who wants to keep his belt tonight would do. [He uses his foot to shove Vasquez flat on the canvas before leaping up, dropping his knee squarely into the ribcage of the Number One Contender.] GM: Ohh! That'll do some damage... and another cover by Scott for one! Two! Just two again. [An angry Scott pushes up to his knees and drives a hammerfist blow down on the ribs. Vasquez cries out as Scott delivers punch after punch into the ribcage, working the challenger's torso with great ferocity.] GM: The champion's all over the ribcage! He's trying to pick apart that injured bodypart and soften up Juan Vasquez for the heavy artillery. "TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!! TEN MINUTES!" GM: You can hear the voice of Phil Watson declaring ten minutes have gone by in this match. That means we've got fifty minutes left in the time limit for our Main Event. BW: For the sake of those re-runs of Alf, we better not get there. GM: Seemingly as always, we want to thank WKIK for their support in allowing us to go beyond our scheduled time here tonight to bring you this Main Event of SuperClash II in its entirety. [Pulling Vasquez off the mat, he tugs him into another front facelock.] GM: Uh oh... another suplex on the way? [It certainly appears that way as Scott hoists Vasquez up off the mat, holding him horizontal for a half second, and then DROPS him facefirst on the canvas!] GM: GOURDBUSTER! BW: And it was a beauty! This might be it, Gordo! GM: Another cover by Scott - one! TWO! [But Vasquez again slips a shoulder out at two. An angry Stevie Scott glares at the official, holding up three fingers but the AWA's Senior Official waves him off.] GM: Michael Meekly says it was only a two count. BW: Looked like a slow count to me, Gordo. GM: I'm sure it did to your Stevie Scott-colored glasses. BW: What the heck is that supposed to mean? [Climbing to his feet now, Scott approaches Meekly, barking in his direction.] GM: Leave Michael Meekly alone! He's done a fine job so far in this one and- [The crowd gasps as Scott shoves Meekly hard with both hands squarely in the chest, knocking him a couple steps back... ...and then shouts, "COME ON! DISQUALIFY ME, YOU PIECE OF TRASH!"] GM: Look at this! Scott's asking him to disqualify him! Practically begging him to disqualify him! Ben Waterson made it clear - the contract says that Juan Vasquez must win the National Title here tonight to avoid being sent out of the AWA. If Scott gets disqualifed, that's not happening! BW: It was an egregious offense! Do your job, ref! Ring the bell! GM: He's trying to sucker Michael Meekly into ending this match in his favor and- [In response, Meekly musters up some courage and throws a big push of his own, sending Scott falling back into a schoolboy rollup from Juan Vasquez!] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [The crowd deflates as a desperate Stevie Scott fires a shoulder off the mat just before the three count comes down.] GM: He almost got him! BW: How DARE Michael Meekly lay his hands on Stevie Scott? That man is the AWA National Champion! No GM: And Michael Meekly is the AWA's Senior Official! Scott had no right to touch him either, Bucky! [A furious Stevie Scott gets up to his feet, fist clenched, and throws said fist right at the head of Michael Meekly who was expecting it, ducking just barely in time... ...and SHOVES the Hotshot in the back, sending him falling into Juan Vasquez who pulls him down in another small package!] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THR- [Scott kicks out again, just narrowly saving the title. He swiftly rolls under the ropes, slamming both arms down on the apron as he shouts at Michael Meekly... ...and catches both of Juan Vasquez' feet in the face courtesy of a baseball slide!] GM: Ohh! Juan caught him in the face with both feet! [Joining his rival on the floor, Vasquez hauls the National Champion to his feet, grabbing him by the arm... ...and HURLS him spinefirst into the ring apron!] GM: OHHH! SCOTT'S BACK HITS THE HARDEST PART OF THE RING!! [The champion grabs the bottom rope, trying to keep himself on his feet but Vasquez is on the attack, grabbing the arm again... ...and HURLS him spinefirst into the barricade!] GM: Good grief, Bucky! From the apron to the steel! BW: Vasquez is trying to put something together here. It seems like his strategy for a quick start went nowhere and now he's trying to rally from behind. Can he do it? We're about to find out, I think. [With Scott sprawling back, his arms over the steel barricade to try to stay on his feet, Vasquez sprints towards him... ...and connects with a running clothesline that takes them both over the barricade and into the crowd!] GM: OHHHH! INTO THE FRONT ROW HERE IN DALLAS, TEXAS! THE NATIONAL TITLE MATCH HAS SPILLED INTO THE CROWD IF YOU CAN BELIEVE IT, BUCKY WILDE! BW: Oh, I can believe it. I'm not even sure this building can hold this rivalry, Gordo! [The cameraman rushes to the railing, focusing down to show Vasquez sprawled out on the concrete floor, both hands wrapped around his midsection as he grimaces in pain. Stevie Scott is laid out a couple feet away, barely moving on the floor as the AWA fans all around them roar their approval for the big move!] GM: Both of these men are laid out in the crowd and - oh no! [The crowd begins to boo wildly as AWA Senior Official Michael Meekly begins counting from inside the ring.] GM: Michael Meekly just started a double count on these men! BW: That's his job, Gordo. What did you expect him to do? GM: This place might riot if Meekly counts them both out! Don't let this match end like this - please don't let this happen! Come on, Juan! Get back in there! BW: Yeah, Juan. Get back in there and leave Stevie in the front row! Hahaha! GM: You're right! It can't be just Juan Vasquez to get back inside that ring! He's gotta get Stevie Scott back in there as well! You've got to be kidding me! BW: This is it, Gordo! Say goodbye to Juan Vasquez' AWA career! It's over, daddy! GM: Come on, Juan! Get up! And get that other son of a- BW: Easy there, cowboy! [At the count of five, Juan Vasquez pushes himself back to his feet, grabbing his ribs as he gets there. He looks to the ring, moving in that direction... ...and then spots a grinning Stevie Scott simply sitting on the concrete floor staring up at him.] GM: Get up from there, you coward! Get back in the ring and fight like man - like a champion! BW: What's in it for him? GM: The chance to win or lose like a man! BW: Hrm. Is there a cash bonus with that? [Vasquez quickly moves to Scott, grabbing him by the hair, dragging him off the floor... ...but Stevie buries a short right hand in the ribs of Vasquez, breaking his grip. He turns to get away when Juan grabs him by the hair again, literally dragging Stevie over the railing, and just narrowly throwing him under the ropes before the ten count.] GM: Whew. That was too close. We almost had a double countout and not only does the title not change hands on a countout but Juan Vasquez would have lost his AWA career! [Vasquez crawls on top of Scott, grabbing the hair and delivering big punch after big punch to the temple to the roars of the crowd. The referee reprimands him, forcing him to break the beating on the canvas. He slowly rises, throwing his head back and letting loose an anguished howl. The crowd roars in response as Vasquez heads to the ropes, stepping through to the apron, and starts climbing the ropes.] GM: Uh oh... Juan Vasquez is heading up top, fans. BW: The man is an idiot! His ribs could be cracked, bruised, broken - who knows? And he's going to try to come off the top? Are you kidding me? [Vasquez steps up to the second rope, wincing with each step. He steps one foot onto the top rope, waiting for the Hotshot to rise and as he does...] GM: VASQUEZ OFF THE TOP!!! [In the move that cost him the National Title back in April, Vasquez connects squarely on the chest of the champion with a high cross body... ...but just like in April, Scott rolls through the move, grabbing a handful of tights just out of the official's view as he dives to the mat to count.] GM: THIS IS HOW HE LOST THE TITLE!! BW: COUNT! COUNT! GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [But loud shouts from a desperate Alex Martinez outside the ring grabs the referee's attention... ...and at Martinez' urging, he spots the hooked tights and waves off the pin count, shouting at Stevie Scott!] GM: Yeah! Martinez saw the tights being pulled and he made sure that Michael Meekly saw it too! Stevie Scott's not gonna pull a fast one to win this one, Bucky! BW: That Martinez better watch where he sticks his seven foot nose or Stevie might just kick it square off his face! GM: Stevie Scott had the trunks hooked - just how he won the National Title for the second time back in April - but Alex Martinez got the referee to stop counting - oh, and Stevie's hot! [The pissed-off National Champion approaches the ropes near Martinez, leaning over to scream and shout at him... ...and a well-placed high knee to the back by Vasquez sends the Hotshot tumbling over the ropes to the floor!] GM: OUT TO THE FLOOR AGAIN!! [Vasquez backs off to the far ropes, waving an arm - a sign for Stevie Scott to get to his feet and an equal sign for the crowd to go crazy. As the National Champion staggers up, Vasquez propels himself across the ring at top speed... ...and TORPEDOES himself between the top and middle rope, diving atop a stunned Stevie Scott! HUUUUUGE ROAR!] GM: WHAT A DIVE!! ONE HELL OF A DIVE BY JUAN VASQUEZ TO THE FLOOR! "FIFTEEN MINUTES! FIFTEEN MINUTES! FIFTEEN MINUTES GONE BY!" GM: You heard Phil Watson right there. Fifteen minutes gone in this one... a whopping forty-five minutes left in the time limit but I don't think there's any possible way these two men will make it that far, Bucky. BW: Not with moves like we just saw. Vasquez put it ALL on the line right there. If he'd missed that, this thing would be over right now but he hit it, he hit it big, and Stevie Scott got wiped out by a Juan Vasquez-sized cruise missile! [Vasquez slowly gets to his feet, again throwing his arms back with a roar to the crowd. He leans down, dragging the Hotshot back to his feet, pulling him towards the timekeeper's table... ...and SMASHES Scott's face into the wooden table!] GM: OHHH! FACEFIRST TO THE TABLE!! [Vasquez seems about to put the Hotshot back into the ring when inspiration appears to strike him. He pulls Scott towards him, ducking down to hoist the Hotshot up on his shoulders...] GM: We've seen this before, Bucky! BW: Yeah, but it's usually Stevie doing it! GM: He's got Stevie Scott across his shoulders... standing over the wooden table and- "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The crowd's reaction comes as Vasquez shrugs off Scott, dropping him facefirst on the table!] GM: Good grief, Bucky! Facefirst on that table! [Pulling Scott up, Vasquez fires him under the ropes. He rolls in as well, throwing an arm across the chest.] GM: Cover! He's got one! He's got two! [But Scott fires a shoulder off the mat in plenty of time. A frustrated Juan Vasquez kneels, hands on hips for a moment, before climbing to his feet. He leans down, dragging Scott to his feet again...] GM: SCOOP! [The crowd cheers as Vasquez slams him down with authority near the middle of the ring... ...and then ROARS as the challenger points to the corner turnbuckles!] GM: Are you kidding me? BW: What an idiot! He already blew it once coming off the top! Why would you try it again? GM: Juan Vasquez is heading for the corner... he's heading for the top rope... [Vasquez again exits the ring, heading to the corner where he puts a foot on the second rope, pausing for a moment before stepping up to put a foot on the top rope...] GM: What does he have in mind here, Bucky? Scott's still down! [The challenger steps up, both feet on the top rope now. He pauses for a moment... ...and then hurls himself into the air, tucking his arms and legs once...] GM: FROG SPLASH!! [The crowd EXPLODES as Vasquez crashes down... ...on completely empty canvas as the wily Hotshot just narrowly rolled out of the way in time!] GM: HE MISSED! HE MISSED THE FROG SPLASH!! BW: What a stupid move to attempt right there. Why would you risk that with the injured ribs? Even if you hit it, you might do as much damage to yourself as your opponent! GM: I think Juan Vasquez was running on instinct there, Bucky. He may not have even realized what he was doing... [And a weary Stevie Scott crawls back towards Vasquez, shoving him onto his back before collapsing across him in a pin attempt.] GM: That's a cover! ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [The crowd ERUPTS as a defiant Juan Vasquez throws a shoulder off the mat before the three count comes down.] GM: No! No! Vasquez gets the shoulder up! Juan Vasquez will not go down! [Shaking his head in disbelief, Scott pushes up to his knees. He glares at the official who holds up two fingers. The National Champion climbs to his feet, reaching down to haul Vasquez up by the hair.] GM: Big right hand by the champ! BW: Look at this - he's holding Vasquez up so he doesn't fall down. Scott's trying to punish him a little right here... GM: Another right hand! [And as the Hotshot winds up for the third punch, Vasquez ducks underneath it as Scott's momentum spins him around... ...and the challenger hooks him around the neck with his left arm, jamming his right thumb into the side of the throat!] GM: SPIKE! THE ASSASSIN'S SPIKE IS ON!! [The crowd erupts at the sight of the hold that has defeated Stevie Scott on two occasions being applied. Vasquez grits his teeth, pushing hard on the thumb as Scott struggles against the hold, his arms pumping and flailing as he tries to find his way free.] GM: He's got him trapped in the Assassin's Spike! Can he hold on to it? BW: Get to the ropes, champ! Get out of it! GM: And once again, you have to wonder about the decision to send Ben Waterson away from ringside. If Waterson was here, he'd almost certainly try to get this hold broken by hook or by crook! [Scott moves slowly step by step across the ring... ...and wraps his arms around the top rope, screaming for a break.] GM: He made it to the ropes! BW: Vasquez isn't breaking it! Get him off the champ, ref! [The referee tries to do exactly that, screaming at Vasquez to back off - counting up to four and then simply grabbing Vasquez by the arms, trying to break his grip... ...which allows a desperate (but brilliant) Stevie Scott to lash out backwards with a mulekick to the groin!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: LOW BLOW!! STEVIE GOES LOW ON VASQUEZ!! BW: You're damn right he did! GM: What?! BW: He didn't have a choice! Vasquez had him trapped in that damn Spike - that thing should be illegal! It should be banned! And Stevie made it to the ropes. He should have broken it and he didn't so what choice did Stevie Scott have?! [Outside the ring, Alex Martinez loudly protests, explaining to Michael Meekly exactly what happened but Meekly shakes it off.] GM: The referee says he can't do anything since he didn't see it. Alex Martinez is insisting to him what happened but Michael Meekly won't- [The National Champion spins around, rubbing his neck, trying to shake off the effects of the Spike. He grabs the doubled-up Vasquez in a double under hook, hoisting him into the air... ...and drops him down across a bent knee!] GM: BACKBREAKER!! BW: He calls that the Spinal Tap! GM: That might do it and... wait a second... [The Hotshot climbs to his feet... ...and points to the corner with a shout of "STEVIESAULT!"] GM: He just called for it, Bucky! He just called for the Steviesault! BW: This could be real, real bad. One year ago, he wanted to do this and got talked down by his corner... but now there's no one here. There's no one to stop him, Gordo! GM: There's certainly not! [Before heading to the corner, he pulls Vasquez up off the mat, ducking down to scoop him up... ...and gets pulled down in an inside cradle!] GM: THIS IS HOW VASQUEZ WON THE TITLE!! [The referee dives to the canvas, slapping his arm down once... twice...] GM: THRE- OHHHH! SHOULDER UP!! STEVIE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!! BW: Whew. That was too close. GM: Juan Vasquez was a half a count away from becoming the National Champion for the second time! [The two men scramble, each trying to reach their feet first...] GM: Who can get there first? Who can get to- "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The crowd ERUPTS as Vasquez reaches his feet and UNCORKS a right cross to the jaw that snaps Scott's head back, sending him falling back onto his rear in the corner.] GM: Down goes the champ! The champion got rocked with that right and he's down in the corner! [A fired-up Vasquez approaches the corner, lifting his boot to place it against the face of the Hotshot... ...and rakes the leather of his boot across the face!] GM: OHHHH! BW: That's illegal too! This Vasquez is the worst cheater I've ever seen! GM: Another one! He's ripping the skin right off Stevie Scott's face with those. [Vasquez scrapes his boot across the face of the Hotshot over and over again, ripping into the flesh of Stevie Scott. With the National Champion dazed and in agony in the corner, Vasquez backs off across the ring... ...and points right at the waiting Scott with both hands before breaking into a full sprint!] GM: HERE! HE! COMES! [At the "COMES!", Vasquez launches himself into the air, DRIVING both feet squarely into the face of his rival!] GM: OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HE DROVE HIS FEET INTO THE FACE OF THE CHAMPION!!! [Vasquez rolls to his feet, leaning down to drag his opponent a few feet out of the corner. He quickly steps to the bottom rope, leaping backwards with a quick moonsault!] GM: Ohh! Bottom rope backflip! [The Number One Contender grabs his ribs, wincing as he gets to his feet. Shaking off the pain, he steps up to the middle rope, leaping backwards again... ...and crashing down across the chest of his rival!] GM: That's two! [Vasquez slowly pulls himself to his feet using the ropes. He points to the crowd who roar as he steps up to the second rope, visibly in pain as he places a foot on the top rope... ...and springs off, backflipping onto the Hotshot's chest!] GM: BACKFLIP OFF THE TOP!! HE GOT IT ALL!! [The challenger pops up off the moonsault, grabbing his ribs with both arms, and then lunges forward to apply a lateral press.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [HUUUUGE ROAR OF SHOCK!] GM: MY STARS, HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP! HE GOT HIS SHOULDER UP! [A frustrated Vasquez pushes up to his knees, shaking his head back and forth. He shouts at the official who holds up two fingers. Vasquez again shakes his head as he climbs to his feet, watching Stevie Scott roll under the ropes to the floor... ...where he grabs his title belt off the timekeeper's table, throwing it over his shoulder and heading towards the aisle.] GM: Wait a second! BW: Yeah! Great idea! Get out of here, champ! GM: Stevie Scott's trying to walk out on this match! He's trying to take the easy way out and STILL get rid of Juan Vasquez forever! Somebody stop this guy! [Vasquez steps out to the apron, dropping down to the floor. He walks up, grabbing Scott from behind and spinning him around... ...apparently exactly what Scott was expecting as he buries a thumb into the eye!] GM: Oh, come on! To the eyes again?! Scott's turning into Calisto Dufresne in front of our very eyes, Bucky! [Dropping the title belt, Scott grabs Vasquez by the back of the hair...] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [...and SLAMS him facefirst into the steel ringpost, causing him to crumple in a heap on the floor!] GM: VASQUEZ GETS PUT INTO THE POST!! [And that gives the Hotshot the chance to pick up the title belt, walking back down the aisle towards the locker room.] GM: He's leaving! Stevie Scott is leaving! BW: And there's no one to stop him now! See ya, Vasquez! Don't let the door hit you on the tail on the way out, daddy! GM: This can't happen. This can not happen like this, Bucky! BW: It's happening! Keep your eyes open and see the end of Juan Vasquez in the AWA! [The cameraman jogging down the aisle to catch up with Stevie Scott gets a few feet behind him, following his path... ...and as the crowd starts to buzz, Stevie Scott stops still in his tracks.] GM: He stopped! Stevie Scott just stopped in the aisle! BW: Why?! Get out of here, champ! Get the heck back to the limo and- [And as Stevie Scott backpedals a few feet, we see exactly why he stopped... ...and the crowd ERUPTS in cheers!] GM: SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS! SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS IS IN THE AISLE BLOCKING HIS PATH! [The crowd's roars grow louder as the trash-talking fan favorite slowly backs Stevie Scott back down the aisle. Not wanting to tangle with his former best friend, the Hotshot retreats, heading back towards the ring... ...where Juan Vasquez spins him around in the aisle, dropping him with a big right hand!] GM: Oh yeah! This one's not over yet, Bucky! BW: That guy... get him out of here! Who the hell - where did he come from?! I thought he was done! GM: You HOPED he was done! But Sweet Daddy Williams is back here in Dallas, Texas, and Stevie Scott looks like he's seen a ghost! [Vasquez pulls Scott off the floor, firing him back under the ropes into the ring. The Number One Contender points in tribute to Sweet Daddy Williams who gives a quick nod, returning the point as Vasquez rolls back into the ring as well.] GM: Both men are back in - and Sweet Daddy Williams has taken a seat at ringside! He wants to make sure this goes down the right way! He wants to make sure his friend Juan Vasquez gets a fair shot at the National Title! [The challenger pulls his opponent to his feet, delivering a thunderous headbutt that knocks Scott back into the buckles.] GM: Back into the corner goes the champ... [A fired-up Vasquez quickly approaches, grabbing the champ by the side of the head with his left hand, throwing a big forearm to the jaw.] GM: Ohh! What a shot! [The crowd roars as Vasquez continues to throw forearms to the jaw, battering the National Champion in the corner, chopping him all the way down to a seated position in the corner...] GM: VASQUEZ IS PUMMELING THE CHAMPION!! [Grabbing the top rope, Vasquez lunges forward to slam a knee into the face of his rival.] GM: Big knee to the face! BW: Ref, get in there! [Michael Meekly is on the scene, shouting at Vasquez to back off as he repeatedly lunges in to drive knee after knee to the face before finally breaking away, shoving the official aside.] GM: Whoa! Vasquez needs to watch himself! BW: Ring the bell! DQ him, ref! [The challenger spins around, charging back in... ...and SMASHES his knee into the face with a running knee!] GM: OHHHHHHH! [Grabbing Scott by the foot, Vasquez yanks him out of the corner and collapses on top of him in a cover.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: MY STARS!! I thought he had him! He thought he had him! The whole world thought he had him! I thought we had a new National Champion, Bucky Wilde! BW: But we don't! You, these idiots in the crowd, and that moron Vasquez were all wrong! Stevie Scott is still alive and that National Title is still around his waist! GM: But for how long? Juan Vasquez can't believe it! [Vasquez kneels in the middle of the ring, head buried in his hands as he pulls at his own hair. He shakes his head back and forth as the crowd roars, encouraging him to keep going. After a few moments, he slowly gets to his feet, again grabbing his injured ribs as he leans down to drag a dazed Stevie Scott to his feet.] GM: Juan Vasquez smells blood in the water. He knows that the right move here could put him over the top. He knows he may be moments away from becoming the AWA National Champion! "THIRTY MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!! THIRTY MINUTES REMAIN!" GM: We're at the halfway point in the time limit! We're over a half hour into this match and these two men are giving the entire world everything they've got because the greatest prize in our industry is on the line - the AWA National Title! [Vasquez shoves Scott facefirst into the closest set of buckles. Slowly approaching, he wraps his arms around the Hotshot's waist, powering him into the air with great effort and then setting him down on the top turnbuckle.] GM: Vasquez puts him down on the top rope... I don't know what he's got in mind here... [The fan favorite from Los Angeles takes a few steps back, grabbing his ribs. He shakes it off, heading towards the corner where he steps up onto the second rope, wrapping his arms around the waist of the Hotshot...] GM: Are you kidding me? BW: He's trying to take him off the top! He's going for a superplex! [Vasquez braces himself, trying to lift Scott into the air again but after a bit of a struggle, he sets him back down, clutching his midsection... ...and getting a hard back elbow to the bridge of the nose, sending him sailing off the ropes, crashing down in a heap on the canvas!] GM: Ohh! He floors Vasquez and- [Without a second of pause, Scott steps up to the top rope... ...and leaps backwards, flipping through the air and CRASHING down across the torso of a stunned Vasquez!] BW: STEVIESAULT!! HE NAILED HIM!! [Scott reaches back, hooking both legs with his arms.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEEEE- NO! NO! NO!! [The crowd ERUPTS with relief as the referee springs to his feet, holding up two fingers.] GM: It's only a two count! Stevie Scott hit the Steviesault but he only gets a two count for it! I don't know how... I don't know how in the world Juan Vasquez got his shoulder off the mat in time! BW: This should be over, damn it! That idiot Meekly can't count to save his life! GM: That looked like a perfectly fine count to me, Bucky! Michael Meekly is doing a good job of officiating this match no matter what you and Stevie Scott think! [Speaking of which, the National Champion is throwing quite the temper tantrum in the ring, shouting at the official, kicking the ropes, threatening to backhand the referee. Instead, he spins away, pulling the challenger off the mat, scooping him into the air... ...and SLAMS him down to the mat!] GM: Big slam by the champ... [The Southern Syndicate member backs to the ropes, pointing a finger at the official. He runs towards the downed challenger, leaping into the air and dropping all his weight backfirst down on Vasquez' chest!] GM: Ohh! Backsplash! BW: SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS! [Scott pops back to his feet, hitting the far ropes, and dropping all his weight down across the chest again!] GM: Another big backsplash! [The Hotshot rolls to his feet again, spitting on the downed Vasquez... ...and then leaps into the air one more time, dropping a third senton down across the chest!] GM: THREE BACKSPLASHES!! [Scott rolls over into a lateral press, reaching back to hook a leg.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THRE- [The crowd ERUPTS at a big kickout by Vasquez!] BW: WHAT THE-?! [As Scott rolls to his feet, Vasquez lunges forward, taking the Hotshot's legs out from under him!] GM: TAKEDOWN!! [With the Hotshot down, Vasquez takes the mount and starts throwing heavy right hands down on him to the roar of the crowd!] GM: I think Stevie Scott might have gotten under Vasquez' skin with those backsplashes - one of the trademark moves of the Number One Contender! [The Hotshot gets battered with right hand after right hand after right hand until the protesting Michael Meekly physically grabs Vasquez around the arm, dragging him off the downed National Champion.] GM: The referee pulled him off! He pulled Vasquez off the downed Scott and- [With Vasquez backed away, the National Champion rolls towards the ropes, looking for an escape... ...and finds Alex Martinez staring right at him, arms crossed. BIG CHEER!] GM: MARTINEZ WON'T LET HIM OUT! BW: Wait! Wait! What business is it of Alex Martinez if Stevie Scott wants to get out of the ring to regroup?! This is a plot by the Championship Committee to take that title off Stevie Scott! How obvious can it be, Gordo? GM: I don't know what you're talking about. [An angry Scott gets to his feet, waving off Martinez as he turns to exit the other side of the ring... ...and finds Sweet Daddy Williams staring dead at him.] GM: He can't get out there either! Martinez on one side! Williams on the other! Stevie Scott is- [The angry National Champion turns again... ...and finds himself being hiptossed through the air by Juan Vasquez!] GM: HIPTOSS!! [Vasquez falls back to the ropes, bouncing off with a charge and leaping into the air, dropping his weight down across the chest of a stunned Stevie Scott!] GM: Now THAT'S Shades of Tommy Stephens! [The challenger rolls to his side, applying a lateral press on the dazed champion.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEE- NO! NO!! BW: HELL NO! STEVIE GOT A SHOULDER UP! [The crowd jeers wildly at what appeared to be a slightly off count. Juan Vasquez is quickly to his feet, backing the official down to the corner with some harsh words.] BW: And it looks like Vasquez isn't pleased with the officiating either, Gordo! GM: Apparently not. That count looked... well, it looked a little off. Maybe fatigue on the part of Michael Meekly? It's been a long night for everyone. [With Vasquez shouting at the referee, Stevie Scott rolls to all fours, dipping his hand down into the front of his trunks.] GM: What in the world is he...? [After a moment, he pulls out a silver chain that is easily visible to the camera as he wraps it around his right hand, clenching his fist as he hides it under his body.] GM: He's got a chain! Stevie Scott's got a chain! BW: And Vasquez didn't see it, Gordo! He's too busy yelling at Meekly - he totally missed all of that! GM: I'm not sure anyone saw it except our cameras. Excellent camerawork, guys, to catch that. [Vasquez finally peels away from Meekly, moving over to the downed Hotshot and pulling his head up... ...and EATING a chain-wrapped fist to the jaw!] GM: OHHHH! DOWN GOES VASQUEZ!! [Scott hides his chain-wrapped hand as he dives into a lateral press.] GM: We've got a cover! ONE!! TWO!!! THRE- [HUUUUUUUGE ROAR!] BW: That fat goof Williams just put Vasquez' foot on the bottom rope! He broke the pin! GM: He... well, he certainly did that. I saw it, I have to admit. [Scott pushes up to his knees, looking outside the ring in shock at Sweet Daddy Williams who waggles a finger Dikembe Mutombo style at Stevie Scott and shouts, "Not like that! Not tonight!"] GM: Sweet Daddy Williams was not about to let things go down like that! He wants to see a decisive win in this one as much as we do. Whether it's Vasquez or Scott winning, we want a winner! [The National Champion slowly climbs to his feet, glaring at Sweet Daddy Williams who is getting a warning from Alex Martinez out on the floor... ...and LASHES OUT with a Heatseeker under the chin of Michael Meekly, knocking him flat!] "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" GM: HE SUPERKICKED THE REF! THAT SON OF A- [Scott smirks as the crowd jeers wildly at his actions.] GM: He did that intentionally - a blatant assault on an official! This guy wants to be disqualified! He knows the title is in jeopardy and he wants out, Bucky! BW: Intentional or not - this match is over. Ring the bell and pack Vasquez' bags... don't forget his passport. [The crowd roars as Alex Martinez pulls himself up on the apron, stepping over the ropes into the ring... ...and points right at Stevie Scott who grins in response. Martinez lifts an arm, ready to call for the bell.] GM: No... no, don't do it, Alex. Not like this. Don't let this guy out of this match like this - and more importantly, don't take Juan Vasquez away from the AWA like this! [Martinez pauses for a moment, listening to the crowd before calling for the bell... ...and then looks down as someone grabs his leg.] GM: Vasquez! Juan Vasquez is- what's he doing, Bucky? BW: I have no idea. [Vasquez pushes himself up to his knees, looking up at Martinez.] GM: He's... my stars, he's begging Alex Martinez! He's begging Alex Martinez not to call for the bell! He's begging him not to disqualify Stevie Scott! [The Hotshot glares at Vasquez and then turns his gaze to Martinez.] "DON'T LISTEN TO HIM! DO YOU JOB, MARTINEZ!" [The seven footer stares at the Hotshot for a moment... then out to the roaring crowd... then down to Vasquez... ...and then waves his arms, calling for the match to continue!] GM: YES! YES! YES! BW: He can't do that! What kind of a crooked decision is that?! [A furious Stevie Scott spins away, slamming his arms into the top rope as Vasquez pulls himself up using the ropes across the ring. Scott spins around, lashing out with another Heatseeker... ...this one aimed for Alex Martinez!] GM: HEATSEEK- [But at the last possible moment, Vasquez shoves Martinez aside, allowing Scott to airball on the superkick.] GM: HE MISSED! HE MISSED! [HUUUUUGE CHEER!] GM: SPIKE! VASQUEZ HOOKS THE SPIKE!! [The National Champion struggles against the dangerous hold again, trying to escape as Alex Martinez leans in, asking for the submission.] GM: Stevie Scott's fighting it! Stevie Scott's trying to hang on to the National Title but he's gotta feel it slipping away from him at this point. Can he escape the Spike? Can he- [And a desperate Scott simply reaches out, jamming his thumb into the eye of Alex Martinez!] GM: Ohh! He raked the eyes of the referee! BW: That man is NOT the referee! GM: With Michael Meekly laid out thanks to Stevie Scott, he most certainly is! [With Martinez blinded and Vasquez stunned, Scott lunges bacwards, smashing the Number One Contender into the corner!] GM: Ohh! He DRIVES him back to the corner! [Vasquez is pressed against the buckles, trying to keep the hold on as Scott slams back elbow after elbow to the face, breaking the Assassin's Spike!] GM: He breaks free! He's free of the Spike and- [Spinning around, Scott grabs Vasquez by the arm and FIRES him across the ring, knocking him into a blinded Alex Martinez, a blow that knocks the seven footer down to a knee. Vasquez hits the mat to a knee as well... ...and Stevie Scott starts waving his arms like a wildman.] GM: What in the... [The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Ben Waterson comes charging down the aisle to the ring... ...carrying a very familiar steel briefcase.] GM: What the HELL is he doing out here?! BW: I knew it! I knew these two would have a plan! I knew Ben Waterson and Stevie Scott weren't going down without a plan! [Waterson swiftly gets up on the apron, case in hand. A grinning Stevie Scott nods, lifting his hands to receive it...] GM: I can't believe this! The officials are down... Waterson's here... not again! This son of a- they're going to steal Juan Vasquez' career from him, damn it! [Waterson tosses the steel case into the air towards Stevie Scott whose hands are raised to catch it... ...but he watches helplessly as the case sails over him, landing in the waiting hands of Juan Vasquez.] GM: WHAT?! [Scott's eyes go wide as Vasquez stands before him with the briefcase. The National Champion turns around, looking at Ben Waterson who smirks... ...and nods.] GM: NO! "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The metal briefcase is SMASHED down over the skull of a shocked Stevie Scott, a blow that knocks the National Champion flat on his back. Vasquez quickly tosses the briefcase back to Waterson who drops down to the floor, hiding below the level of the squared circle as a still-hurting Martinez drops down on all fours to count.] GM: ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!!! "DING! DING! DING!" [The crowd responds with a major mixed reaction as Juan Vasquez pops to his knees, head bowed as he throws his arms into the air in triumph.] GM: Juan Vasquez... my god, Juan Vasquez is the AWA National Champion but... but what did we just see? BW: I have no idea! GM: Ben Waterson came out here... it looked like... well, we all thought he was going to throw that case to Stevie Scott to finish off Juan Vasquez but he threw it OVER him, Bucky. BW: It looked like he threw it RIGHT to Juan Vasquez but that can't be... that couldn't have happened, right? GM: I... in all honesty, Bucky, I don't know what to think right now. [The referee grabs the title belt from ringside.] PW: Here is your winner... ...and NEW AWA NATIONAL CHAMPION... JUAAAAAAAAAAAAAN VASSSSSQUEZ! [The belt is handed over to Vasquez who clutches it, hugging it tightly to his chest as he kneels on the canvas. After a moment, Ben Waterson climbs into the ring, steel briefcase in hand and moves to stand next to Vasquez.] GM: He's... he's standing next to him. Ben Waterson is standing alongside Juan Vasquez and I don't- what in the world is happening here, Bucky? I feel like this is some kind of a Bizarro world! [Vasquez slowly climbs to his feet, nodding his head to the crowd that is split between cheering and jeering him. He takes the title belt, slinging it over his shoulder as he stands in the middle of the ring, newly crowned as the AWA National Champion... ...and soon finds himself face to face with Sweet Daddy Williams.] GM: Uh oh. BW: I feel like I've seen this before, Gordo. [Williams shakes his head, pointing at Waterson. He jabs a finger into Juan Vasquez' chest, then points at Waterson again.] GM: Sweet Daddy Williams is in shock! Could this have happened to him again? Could he have been betrayed for the second time in two years - both times engineered by Ben Waterson? BW: Wait... are we really saying that Waterson and Vasquez are working together? Is that what we're saying? GM: What else can we say, Bucky? Look at them standing side by side! [Waterson pats Vasquez on the shoulder with a big grin on his face, shouting something in the direction of Williams.] GM: He wants Vasquez to waffle him with that case - just like Stevie Scott did when he joined up with Waterson! He wants him to- [Vasquez takes the case from Waterson, clutching it in both hands as he glares at a shocked Sweet Daddy Williams who is slowly shaking his head in disbelief.] GM: What in the world is going to happen here? What is Juan Vasquez - what's going through his mind right now? What's- [And suddenly, Vasquez wheels around... ...and BASHES Ben Waterson over the head with the briefcase!] GM: OHHHHHHH! HE HIT WATERSON! HE HIT BEN WATERSON!! [The crowd ERUPTS in cheers as Vasquez throws the case aside, grinning widely and falling into an embrace with Sweet Daddy Williams who hoists his arm into the air in victory.] GM: Juan Vasquez has done it! Juan Vasquez is the new National Champion! And I don't know what happened with Waterson but it's very clear that Juan Vasquez and Ben Waterson are NOT allies! They're not- "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [The crowd reacts strongly as a rising Stevie Scott grabs the discarded briefcase and SMASHES Sweet Daddy Williams in the back of the head with it before spinning...] "WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!" "OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" [...and drilling Juan Vasquez with it as well, laying him out!] GM: STEVIE SCOTT JUST NAILED THEM BOTH WITH THE CASE!! [A furious Scott throws the case down right on the back of a downed Ben Waterson. He marches back to Vasquez, pulling him off the mat... ...and into a standing headscissors!] GM: No, no! You've gotta be kidding me! BW: Stevie's not done! You want his belt? You may have to kill him to keep it! GM: He's going for the piledriver! He's gonna try to cripple the new champ! [But before he can lift Vasquez off the mat, he finds himself with a hand wrapped around his throat courtesy of Alex Martinez. A gasping Scott releases Vasquez... ...and finds himself hoisted into the air by the throat before being brutally powerbombed down to the canvas!] GM: FIREBOMB!! FIREBOMB!! [The crowd roars for Martinez as he smirks at the downed Hotshot before turning away, stepping over the ropes and making his exit back up the aisle.] GM: Martinez is leaving! Stevie Scott is down! Ben Waterson is... well, I don't know what! And Juan Vasquez is the new National Champion! My god, what a night, Bucky! BW: I've never seen anything like it. GM: We're waaaaay out of time! We've gotta go! For Jon Stegglet, Todd Michaelson, Bucky Wilde, and all the rest of our team, I'm Gordon Myers wishing you good night from Dallas, Texas where SuperClash II is- [Myers is interrupted by the sight of Juan Vasquez suddenly back on his feet... ...and pulling Stevie Scott back to his.] GM: It looks like the new champion is not done with Stevie Scott yet! [With Scott back to his feet, Vasquez pulls him into a standing headscissors to a roar from the crowd.] GM: Oh no. BW: No, no! Stop him! Somebody stop him! GM: Think of all the people we've seen Stevie Scott do this to! Think of all the times he threatened to do this to Juan Vasquez! Think of the careers he's shortened and- [Vasquez hoists Scott off the mat, holding him upside down in his arms... ...and then leaps up, DRIVING the Hotshot's skull into the canvas to the roar of the crowd!] GM: PILEDRIVER! HE DELIVERED THE PILEDRIVER ON STEVIE SCOTT! [The crowd is deafening for Vasquez as he slowly gets to his feet, retrieving his title belt from the canvas. He looks down at the motionless Stevie Scott, nodding his head... ...and slowly raises the AWA National Title belt over his head, soaking up the roar from the AWA faithful as we fade to black.]