**********************************************************
**********************************************************
********************************************************** 
                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                February 26th, 2011
**********************************************************
**********************************************************
**********************************************************

[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "TWO WEEKS AGO" where a triumphant Juan Vasquez is standing on
the middle rope, holding the National Title high in the air to celebrate
his victory over Sweet Daddy Williams when suddenly...]

BW:  HERE COMES TROUBLE!

[The crowd roars in boos, trying to warn Vasquez about the incoming
giant.]

GM:  Mizusawa!  Mizusawa's coming out here and I'm not sure Vasquez even
knows it yet!

[The giant swings a leg over the ropes, striding into the ring.  He
approaches Vasquez from the blind side, grabbing his hair with both
hands.]

GM:  He's got him!  The giant's got the champion!

[With a loud bellow, Mizusawa delivers a crushing headbutt to the back
of the skull!]

GM:  A headbutt by the giant!

[Still holding the hair, Mizusawa nods as Matsui screams, "AGAIN! 
AGAIN!" from the floor and the giant obliges, smashing home a second
massive headbutt to the skull!]

GM:  Mizusawa with a second headbutt!  Vasquez is out on his feet!

[Spinning him around, the giant grabs Vasquez by the throat.  With a
roar, he hoists him high into the air, holding him there for the entire
world to see...

...and DRIVES him down to the mat with a thunderous chokeslam!]

GM:  Chokeslam!  Mizusawa just chokeslammed the National Champion!

[Vasquez is motionless on the canvas, lying flat on his back as Louis
Matsui steps into the ring...

...and picks up the National Title belt off the canvas.]

GM:  Hey!  Put that down!  That's not yours!

BW:  Not yet!

[With a wide grin, Matsui presents the title belt to Mizusawa who takes
it...

...and lets loose a loud roar as he hoists the title belt high
overhead!]

GM:  Mizusawa's got the belt!  And this could be... it could be a
preview of what we'll see in six weeks' time!

BW:  Get used to this, you idiots.  Because after The Main Event, you're
going to be seeing a lot of this.  MAMMOTH Mizusawa... the AWA National
Champion!

GM:  We're out of time!  We've gotta go!  We'll see you next time, fans!

[The shot holds on Mizusawa, still holding the title belt high overhead
as the fans shower him with boos... and garbage.  The giant stands over
the motionless Vasquez, an image that will be burned into the minds of
AWA fans for six weeks...

...as we fade to black and fade to the sounds of Lynyrd Skynyrd's
"Saturday Night Special"

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

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

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

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

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

A long elevated entrance ramp runs from the entryway to the ring.  On
either side of the ramp stand two elevated platforms to be used for
interviews.  One of these platforms is the home of Todd Michaelson's
Money Pit, a "set" with fake walls and bags of money that is supposed to
look like everyone's vision of the inside of a bank vault.

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

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

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome once again to another edition of AWA
Saturday Night Wrestling where you will see all the stars of the
American Wrestling Alliance, THE Major League of Professional Wrestling 
I'm Gordon Myers and by my side, as always, is-

BW:  Say it, daddy, say it!

[Gordon audibly sighs.  Bucky's rockin' a eyeball-bursting orange jacket
and green dress shirt... and looks damn proud of that fact as he raises
a metal briefcase covered with silver glitter that reads "BIG BUCKS" on
the side.]

GM:  I most certainly will not, Bucky.  Fans, as you know, there have
been many rumors on the Internet this week about the results of the 2010
Year End Awards but we will not comment on those rumors.  What we WILL
say is that in just two weeks, we'll be having a representative from the
Just The Facts! website here in the Crockett Coliseum for Awards Night! 
The music industry has their Grammy Night, the movie industry has their
Oscar Night, and in just two weeks' time, it'll be Awards Night here in
the AWA and I can't wait for that!

BW:  You're no fun, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure.  But as excited as we are about Awards Night in two weeks
time and as excited as we are about The Main Event in just under a
month, we've got one heck of a night here in Dallas TONIGHT!

BW:  You know what I'm lookin' forward to?

GM:  What's that?

BW:  That punk Supernova finally getting what he's got comin' to him!

GM:  Supernova has been forced into a match here tonight against his
friend, Kolya Sudakov, at the order of Ivan Kostovich... but will that
match happen?  Will these two friends face off here tonight?  That
remains to be seen.  Plus, we're going to see The First Family take on
The Aces in tag team action!

BW:  If the Aces thought they were flying high before, just watch how
high Brother Cain sends 'em.

GM:  We've got The Money Pit with Rough N Ready who will find out
tonight who they will be defending the National Tag Team Titles against
in just under a month!  All of that plus much, much more here tonigh-

["They Reminisce over You" by Pete Rock and CL Smooth begins to play as
the crowd erupts into massive cheers!]

GM:  And we knew this was coming.  The AWA National Champion, Juan
Vasquez, as you saw at the top of the show, did not have the best night
two weeks ago after defeating Sweet Daddy Williams.  He was assaulted by
MAMMOTH Mizusawa and-

BW:  Assaulted?  He got left laid out, daddy!  We got a sneak preview of
what it's going to be like in just about a month at The Main Event when
those two meet for the National Title... and when the giant walks out
with the title around his big ol' waist, Gordo!

GM:  We'll see about that, Bucky.

[Emerging from behind the curtains is the AWA National champion, Juan
Vasquez, with microphone in hand. Dressed in a black hoodie and a "Sam
Willis is my Homeboy" t-shirt, the champion looks to be all business
tonight, ignoring the fans and making his way straight to the ring.] 

GM:  Juan Vasquez looks to be on a mission here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  He'd better tread lightly in there 'cause the giant's in the house!

[As he reaches the ring, Vasquez waits for the cheering to die down,
before beginning to speak.]

JV: I ain't gonna' drag this out, 'cause you all already know why I'm
out here. You all saw what that overgrown bastard did to me...

[He points to the bruises on his face.]

JV: ...so, I'm gonna' cut right to the chase.

[Juan's attention turns up towards the entranceway, as a hardened look
forms on his face. He calmly says a name, but the anger, intensity, and
rage that he puts in those six syllables speak volumes.]

JV: MAMMOTH Mizusawa.

[The crowd comes to life, booing loudly at the mention of the Japanese
giant.]

JV: Get your sorry butt down here.

[Pop!]

JV: I'm standing right here ready and waiting, amigo! So why don't you
drag your knuckles down this aisle and step into this ring to face me
like a man?

[If this were Vegas, Tomoyasu Hotei's "Battle Without Honor or Humanity"
might cause the crowd to break into a chorus of cheers. But in the AWA,
the jeers are deafening as a bespectacled Louis Matsui emerges from the
entranceway, dressed in a dark-blue suit, with a microphone in hand. Not
far behind him is the massive figure of MAMMOTH Mizusawa, clad in a
black suit, no tie, and a pair of sunglasses. Without breaking their
strides, Matsui signals to the sound guy to cut the music. The crowd,
however, does not seem to want to quiet down.]

LM: Shut up! Your hero calls us out here and this is the reception we
get? SHUT UP!

[Louis Matsui is met with even louder booing.]

LM: Vasquez!

[Face pop!]

LM: We heard you loud and clear, John-boy!

[Matsui is interrupted as a fan in the crowd loudly screams, "HIS NAME
IS JUAN!" The manager rolls his eyes and continues on.]

LM: In fact, all we've heard these past couple of weeks is how my client
launched yet another cowardly attack on AWA's golden boy. He'd just had
a hell of a match against Sweet Daddy Williams, these idiots say...

[More boos from the antagonized audience.]

LM: We've had Gordon Myers crying about how my client struck you from
behind. And the widdle boys and girls crying about how you didn't see it
coming... Waaa! Waaa! Waaa!

[A shot of a young Vasquez fan making his displeasure audibly known.]

LM: But you saw it, didn't you? Sure, the first shot to the back of your
head you felt before your eyes teared. And the second shot might have
blurred your vision, but you've taken worse. No, Vasquez, you know and I
know that for that one moment, that one moment when my client had his
hand wrapped around your turkey neck, you had your one moment of
clarity. You stared into the eyes of MAMMOTH Mizusawa and you saw
clearly what would happen when you step into the ring against him at the
Main Event. You saw, as clear as night and day, that there is nothing...
NOTHING you can do against a force as powerful as this.

[By now, Mizusawa and Matsui have reached the ringside area. MAMMOTH
steps towards the apron and grabs the top rope with his right hand. 
Vasquez makes a step towards him, but Matsui yells out towards him.]

LM: Whoa! Whoa! Hold on, Vasquez, you're going to like what I have to
say, I assure you...

[Louis Matsui joins his client on the apron, as Vasquez stares a hole
right through them.]

LM: We know the third anniversary show's almost a month away and you
want your payback right now; that's why you called us out, right?  Well,
you're going to get it... Hold on!

[Matsui waves the agitated Vasquez back, as the giant removes his
sunglasses and hands them over to his manager. Mizusawa then removes his
suit jacket and drops it on the apron.]

LM: Hold on, Vasquez, you'll get your payback; just let my client step
into the ring, alright?

[MAMMOTH steps over the top rope into the ring and takes a couple of
steps towards Vasquez, his eyes locked on the champion's. The giant
stares down at the shorter National champion, but Vasquez doesn't back
down, looking up at the taller man and meeting his gaze.]

LM: Go ahead, Vasquez, do to MAMMOTH Mizusawa what he did to you two
weeks ago; headbutt him! Chokeslam him... If you can... 

[Matsui smirks at Vasquez shaking his head in annoyance.]

GM:  Oh, come on.  

BW:  What?

GM:  He knows Vasquez can't chokeslam the giant!

[Matsui enjoys the jeers of the crowd before holding up a hand in the
National Champion's direction.]

LM:  Wait! Wait!  Let's make it fair for you; how about we get my client
down to your level, huh? 

[Vasquez looks puzzled at the irritating manager.]

LM:  Go ahead, Mizusawa-san, on your knee so Johnny Vasquez there
doesn't strain himself trying to get a good shot in!

[Vasquez looks a little unsure as the seven-footer lowers himself onto
one knee. The fans, on the other hand, are rabid and egging Vasquez on.]

JV: Are you kidding me? What the hell are you trying to pull, Matsui!?

[Matsui seems to be enjoying himself.]

LM: What are you waiting for, Vasquez? You called him out; now you've
got him, so give him your best shot! Do it, Vasquez! Look the monster in
the eye and DO IT!

[Juan gives Matsui an incredulous look, before turning to the kneeling
Mizusawa and then staring out to the roaring crowd.]

GM:  Is he gonna do it?  Is the champion gonna take a free shot on the
#1 contender to his crown?!

BW:  The man's kneeling in front of him and he's still as tall as
Vasquez!

[Not quite as Juan Vasquez looks down and shakes his head slowly in
disbelief, mouthing the words, "Crazy bastard", before turning his
attention back to the giant...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[...and hitting Mizusawa with a massive right cross!]

GM: OHHH! What a right hand from Juan Vasquez!

BW: But he's still up!  Mizusawa does not go down from the right hand!

[The force of the blow knocks Mizusawa snaps the giant's head back, as
he appears dazed for a moment, trying to maintain his balance. Vasquez
watches as the Japanese giant teeters...

...and shakes off the effects of the punch with a smile! Shocked pop!]

BW:  Mizusawa took it with a smile! The same punch that knocked out
Sweet Daddy Williams barely had any effect!

GM: Oh my stars!  Completely unbelievable!

[A somewhat startled Juan Vasquez looks around in shock, before trying
to uncork another right cross. However, this time he finds his fist
caught, enveloped by Mizusawa's gigantic left palm! Before the crowd can
even express their shock, MAMMOTH shoots out his right hand, goozling
the National champion!]

GM: He's got him by the throat! Mizusawa's going to chokeslam him!

[The giant quickly gets to his feet, glaring down at the struggling
Vasquez.]

GM:  He's got him hooked!  Juan Vasquez has no way out of this!  He
can't get free!

[The champion struggles to free himself, smashing his arm against the
giant's a few times...

...before Mizusawa simply shoves him away, sending him back into the
corner.]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  He let him go!

[The shove doesn't floor Vasquez, simply firing him up more as he
prepares to launch himself at Mizusawa again, but Louis Matsui steps in
front of his charge, waving a warning finger at Vasquez.]

GM:  Can you believe it, Bucky? The giant is backing away!

BW:  He's backing down, Gordo... but not from this fight!  He had
Vasquez right where he wanted him and he let him go!  He could've put
the champion through the mat again but for some reason, he chose not to!
 He just had him dead to rites and he just let him go...

[With his eyes still locked on a somewhat confused Vasquez, MAMMOTH
Mizusawa steps over the top rope and heads back up the entrance ramp
towards the locker room.  Matsui scrambles out of the ring quickly after
his charge.]

GM:  What kind of mindgame is this, Bucky?

BW:  I think MAMMOTH Mizusawa just showed the entire world that he can
take out Juan Vasquez whenever he wants!  He just showed the entire
world that in one month's time, the National Title is coming home to the
Matsui Corporation, daddy!

[Still glaring in at the surprised champion, Mizusawa lets out a loud
bellow and mimes the title around his waist before we cut to
commercial...

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 Jason Dane backstage
standing in front of a closed door.]

JD: Hello, AWA fans, Jason Dane here. We are outside the locker room of
of "Gentleman" Jack Holland. For weeks we haven't been able to talk to
Mr. Holland. This week we had an interview scheduled for earlier in the
night but Mr. Holland didn't make it, so we have been given
authorization to see if he's inside.

[Dane knocks loudly on the door several times, waits, then opens the
door and heads inside. The camera follows.]

MALE VOICE: Yeah, but--  Okay, I understand that, but--  Now COME ON!

[Dane seems hesitant to intrude, creeping forward slowly. The camera is
blocked at first by protruding lockers but eventually clears to show
some of the center locker room space itself. Jack Holland is inside
pacing to and fro, a cellphone slammed agains this ear.]

GJH: I need TIME, Harry, you can't... it's my DAMN mother, you hear me?
My GOD... I ain't getting smart with you, no... DAMMIT HARRY DON'T
YOU... Jesus Christ.

[Numbly, Holland drops the phone to clatter on the ground. Holland takes
a seat and buries his face in his hands. Dane slowly edges out of his
hiding place.]

JD: Er... Mr. Holland?

GJH: What in the...?

[Holland looks up as if Dane is a stranger. That blank expression is
rapidly twisted to anger.]

GJH: Who let you in here!?

[Holland springs to his feet, reaches down and snatches up the cell
phone. He wings it at Dane, who barely ducks out of the way as the phone
ricochets off the lockers.]

GJH: GET OUTTA MY LOCKER ROOM YOU--

JD: GO! GO!

[The cameraman and Dane make their hasty exit, letting the door of the
locker room swing shut as we abruptly cut to the podgy Playboy himself,
Johnny Casanova, who is pacing back and forth backstage as Big Mama
tries to get him to slow down and Mark Stegglet aims to corner him for
long enough for an interview.]

MS: Mr Casanova...

JC: It's me, it's me, it's Johnny C! Did ya see it, Steggles? Did ya see
me take down Eric Preston two weeks ago just like I told ya!

MS: I remember it well. Possibly better than you do, given your
condition at the end of the match.

[Casanova nods.]

JC: I gotta hand it to him, Steggles. Eric Preston may not have the best
win-loss record around, but he showed guts in there. I can almos see why
they kept giving him those shots at big names like me. But ya know
something, Steg? He gave it his all, he threw everything he had at me -
and I still beat him! Even when I was running on adrenaline, I got the
win. Cause I got something that Preston, as good as he may be, just
can't buy.

Ring smarts! See, Steg. Guys like Preston, like Scotty Mayhem, God rest
his soul...

MS: Ummm... I don't think Mayhem is dead, Mr Casanova.

[Cas shrugs.]

JC: But his career sure as heck is. Anyway, these newcomers, they can
burn bright for a few months, sure. But me? I'm the Playboy, Stegs! I'm
a 14 year veteran who's forgotten more than they'll ever know, and I
always, ALWAYS find a way to get a victory!

[In the background, Big Mama nods approvingly.]

MS: What next for you?

[Casanova holds his hands out wide.]

JC: Truth, Steg? I gotta say, I don't have a clue. I scared Scotty
Mayhem outta town. I racked up win after win after win. Sure, I went on
holiday for a little bit longer than I arranged, but if the guys in
charge could just see Big Mama in a bikini they'd understand why it took
me some time to tear myself away...

But I'm back now! I'm ready to carry on my rise through the rankings,
take on whoever gets in my way, and Playboy Plunge them right outta
existence. And with my sweet little pumpkin here cheering me on, ain't
nothing Johnny C can't do!

[And with that, we crossfade to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Portland, Maine... Chris Choisnet!

[The crowd gives a mild cheer for the former University of Maine
standout, who looks ready for just about anything.]

MC: And his opponent...

[The opening strains of Nonpoint's "Miracle" begins.  After a moment,
"The Bull" Bruno Dawson emerges from the entrance portal where a red
towel hangs from his neck loosely.]

MC: ... hailing from Huntington Beach, California... weighing in tonight
at three hundred-and-eleven pounds...

[Raising one huge hand, Bruno Dawson begins his walk to the ring, slowly
moving to let his opponent see exactly what he's stepping in the ring
with.  Reaching the apron, Bruno Dawson pauses to wipe his feet off,
then enters the ring through the top and middle ropes.  From there, "The
Bull" ascends the ropes, standing on the middle rope with one leg and on
the top with the other, and raises his hand once more, this time with
the towel around his neck in his hand.]

MC: ... "THE BULL" BRUNO DAWWWWWWWWSON!

[Bruno stares at the towel, and you can see the rage building within
him.  He drops from the top, and spins around to face his opponent. 
With a flick of the wrist, Bruno tosses the towel from the ring, and
points at his opponent...

... before sliding his thumb across his throat.]

GM:  "The Bull" Bruno Dawson is one of the hot young talents here in the
AWA who is looking to build a reputation for himself here in the
Crockett Coliseum tonight.  

["The Bull" Bruno Dawson is ready, and the crowd can feel his
overwhelming 
presence even from their seats.  Time to evolve, AWA.]

GM: Chris Choisnet is a great amateur wrestler, and has proven to be
quite 
technically gifted in this ring, but "The Bull" has shown that he's on
another level.

BW: Really, Gordo? Bruno Dawson has almost a hundred pounds on Choisnet,
and will be using every ounce of that to pummel this kid into paste.

[The bell rings, and Bruno reaches out a hand. Chris shakes it, and the
two men begin to circle, looking for an opening.]

GM: Great show of sportsmanship there by both men.

BW: Bruno better watch it, as sportsmanship around here will get your
head  kicked in.

[Shooting in and taking a leg, Chris Choisnet surprises Dawson with a
takedown, then spins into a north-south sprawl. Working from the bottom,
Bruno slips his arm through Choisnet's arm, and spins, putting Chris on
his back in an armbar. Choisnet quickly scampers to the ropes for the
break.]

GM: Some very good ground work from both men in the opening moments of
this one.

[Using the ropes to get up, Chris does not at all expect it when Bruno
rushes forward with a BIG knee to the side, physically lifting Choisnet
into the air before gravity, and the lack of air in his lungs, drops
Choisnet to the mat.]

BW: There ya go! That's how you get ahead in this company, by taking
every  advantage you can get!

[Yanking the still recovering Choisnet off the mat, "The Bull" lifts him
up and TOSSES him into the corner, before meeting him with several big
shoulder blocks right to the gut.]

GM: Bruno Dawson has picked his target, and is systematically taking
apart Chris Choisnet's mid-section.

BW: If you can't breathe, you can't wrestle, Gordo! Less handshaking and
more of this, and I'll be as big a fan of this man as the basement
dwellers are.

GM: Basement dwellers?

BW: The less you know about that disgusting sub-culture, the better off
you'll be, Gordo.

[An Irish whip to the far corner sends Choisnet into it hard, but he's
able to avoid the charging knee, take Bruno Dawson's back, and lift him
up... but he can't get him all the way over for the German! He tries
again, and this time is met by a back elbow from the big man. Another
back elbow forces the break and knocks Chris back a step...

...and deadleaps into the air, lashing out with an enzugiri!]

GM: OHHHHH!  BIG KICK TO THE BACK OF THE SKULL!!!

BW: That is one big boy springing up and kicking Choisnet in the head!
He'll be feeling that for a few weeks.

[Yanking Choisnet back up, Bruno again tosses him into the corner,
delivers a HARD side kick right to the chest, then Irish whips him hard
into the far 
corner. Bruno raises a fist, gets a head of steam...]

_THHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHWACK!_

[... and CONNECTS with the leaping knee into the corner.]

GM: Big knee might have knocked Chris Choisnet out on his feet!

BW: Uh oh, Gordo. He just stumbled out into "The Bull's" arms...

[And gets tossed overhead with a textbook Exploder Suplex.  Dawson
springs to his feet to the cheers of the crowd as he stalks his prey.]

GM: Big overhead throw by Dawson!  Chris Choisnet just got dumped right
on the back of his head and neck!

BW: The big man ain't done!

[With a grab and a lift, Bruno Dawson hoists Choisnet over his shoulder
and promptly swings him down into a standing spinebuster slam... 

...and without hesitation, he grabs the leg, spinning him around with a
toehold, drops all of his weight down, and crossfaces Chris Choisnet
right in the center of the ring.]

GM: Submission hold applied!  Chris Choisnet is struggling, but he's
trapped in the middle of the ring. "The Bull" has just been unrelenting
all match long.

BW: Give it up, kid, and live another day!

[But Chris Choisnet refuses to give it up, and after struggling long and
hard, he makes the ropes to force the break.]

BW: Stupid move, kid! You just made "The Bull" mad!

[Not waiting for Choisnet to get up on his own, Bruno pulls him up from
behind by his tights, into a rear waistlock... GERMAN SUPLEX!]

GM:  Right DOWN on the back of the head!  That might be it.

BW: "The Bull" is going to break this kid in half!

[Releasing before the referee can even get a one count, Bruno Dawson
shakes his head, and yanks the near unconscious body of Chris Choisnet
up to his feet. He yanks him into position, then pauses to let the crowd
soak it in.]

GM: We've seen this before!

BW: Goodbye, Chris Choisnet. It was nice knowing ya.

[Sit-out Uranage slam... into an Anaconda vice!]

GM: He calls that the Red Cape Diver, Bucky!

BW: I call it painful to even look at, Gordo!

[The referee doesn't even bother lifting the arm more than once, letting
it drop and immediately calling for the bell as Chris Choisnet isn't
responding.]

MC: Your winner of this match by way of submission... "THE BULL" BRUNO
DAWSON!

[After getting his arm raised, Bruno Dawson stands over the body of
Chris  Choisnet, looking down at him. He reaches down... and shakes his
unconscious hand. He then rolls from the ring, and approaches the
announce position, handed his red towel by the ring attendant on his
way.]

GM: I'm being joined at this time by the man who just made short work of
Chris Choisnet, "The Bull" Bruno Dawson. That was quite the spectacular
win, Bruno.

[Wiping the sweat from his face, Bruno takes a second, then answers.]

BD: I told the AWA to put me in there with better competition, or men
would be hurt. While I agree that Chris Choisnet is certainly "better",
it's just not good enough. Dozens of amateur wrestlers stepped into the
dojo where I trained for mixed martial arts. Those amateurs learned just
like Chris Choisnet did, that all of the amateur wrestling in the world
means nothing against a man like me. So I'll say it again... whose next,
AWA? Who wants to step up and try evolving?

GM: You speak a lot of evolution, and evolving the sport. What exactly
do you mean by that?

BD: It's simple, Gordon. Professional wrestling for too long has been a
whole lot of flash, but very little sizzle. Men who couldn't lace up my
boots becoming champion because they talk a big game. Slowly, mixed
martial arts has taken the ratings, and the interest, away from
pro-wrestling. What I bring is the evolution that is needed to save this
company from being irrelevant in a few years. Whether the others follow
my lead, or are left behind in the dust, is ultimately up to them.

GM: Well, what is your next step?

BD: That's up to the AWA, isn't it? I asked for more competition, they
gave me Chris Choisnet. I've seen this company chew up and spit out too
many men who had stars in their eyes. I'm letting the AWA dictate how
quickly I rise up the ranks. Hopefully with the support of these fans...

[Bruno nods to the crowd, who let out a "HE'S TALKING ABOUT US!" pop.]

BD: ... the AWA will realize what it is they have in me, and will push
me up the ranks sooner, rather than later.

GM: Ladies and gentlemen, "The Bull" Bruno Dawson! A new and most
devastating addition to the AWA roster!  Let's go backstage where Mark
Stegglet is standing by.  Mark?

[We cut to backstage where we find Mark Stegglet standing next to
Supernova, who has his face painted as usual and is dressed in his
wrestling attire. He still has that cast on his right hand as well.]

MS: Supernova, tonight you will face your friend Koyla Sudakov in a
match that Ivan Kostovich demanded take place. I notice you still have
your hand in a cast... have you even been given clearance from the
doctor to wrestle?

S: Mark, last week, when I set out to get my hands on Sultan Azam
Sharif, I didn't even have clearance from the doctors to get involved in
any altercation.

[A slight smile.]

S: But then, I've never been one to listen to what a doctor tells me to
do.

MS: Still, you are going into this match with Sudakov at less than 100
percent.

S: Mark, first of all, I'm never one to back down from any match I'm
signed to... and I'm sure Koyla understands that. But more importantly,
this isn't about a match I've been signed to as it is Kostovich and
Adrian Bathwaite trying to keep me from getting my hands on Sharif! But
rather than allow that to happen, Kostovich thinks he'll just send Koyla
Sudakov against me, thinking he'll have no choice but to do their dirty
work for them!

MS: So how do you prepare to face somebody you consider to be a friend,
even after all he's been put through?

S: I don't like what they are doing to Koyla... I don't like the
situation they've put him in... the situation that put me in... but I'm
not backing out of a match, even if I know this wasn't a match I
specifically requested. If Kostovich and Bathwaite actually had spines,
they'd do what they know they should be doing, and that's getting me
signed to a match against Sultan Azam Sharif!

[He shakes his head.]

S: But I suspect there's something bigger afoot... so that's why I made
sure I have some backup tonight.

MS: You mean that individual who came out last week with the baseball
bat.

[Supernova hesitates... as if he doesn't want to talk about that
individual.]

S: I'll say it again, Mark... I made sure I have some backup tonight...
and not because I don't trust Koyla... but because I don't trust the men
who are putting him through all of this.

[With that, Supernova walks off as the shot fades out to commercial.

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 the interview stage where Jason Dane is standing,
flanked on either side by the Aces.  Dane is wearing the same thing from
earlier in the show.  The Aces are decked out in their wrestling gear. 
To Dane's left is "Sweet" Stevie Childes and on the right side of Dane
is "Delicious" Danny Tyler.]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and joining me
right now are the Aces, "Sweet" Stevie and "Delicious" Danny.  

[Dane looks over at Childes.]

JD:  The two of you were absent on the last SNW.  I take it you saw the
Rockstar Express defeat the Black Demons.

[Childes nods his head.]

JD:  You heard their comments after the match.  They challenged the Aces
to another match.  What are your thoughts, Stevie?

[Childes can't help but grin.]

SC:  Scotty Storm knew the answer to his challenge before it even came
out of his mouth, Jay.  The answer is... YES!

[Big cheer from the crowd.]

SC:  Don't think for a minute the Aces won't lock horns with the
Rockstar Express for another chance at bringing these fans to their feet
and the roof down around our ears.

[Childes points out to the crowd.]

SC:  Who loves ya, baby?

JD:  After Marty Morgan implied you were responsible for the First
Family's interference in your last match, why the week of silence?

SC:  The Aces needed to take a step back for a minute, Jay.  We needed
to re-evaluate the situation with the Rockstar Express.  It went from
friendly, to competitive, to almost bad.  

[Tyler grabs the mic, pulling it towards him.]

DT:  I needed to get my head in the game, Jason.  I was letting Marty's
comments get to me and losing sight of why I come out here and wrestle
every single night of the week:  the great fans in Dallas, Texas.

[Another big cheer.]

DT:  In Marty's heart of hearts, he knows I wouldn't stoop so low to get
someone else to help me beat him.  I DON'T need anyone else's help to
pin his shoulders to the mat for the one, two, three.  When the Aces and
the Rockstar Express meet again, I'm going to prove it to him.

[Tyler looks at the camera.]

DT:  Storm?  Morgan?  The great fans of the AWA are gearing up for the
Anniversary show coming up in about a month.  I've got one heck of an
idea.  I want the two of you to show up that night.  I want the two of
you in your wrestling gear.  I want the two of you staring at me from
across that ring.

[Another big cheer as Tyler points towards the ring.]

JD:  What about the First Family?  The Aces have to contend with them
tonight.  Let's not forget the First Family stuck their nose into your
match with the Rockstar Express.

DT:  It's hard to forget a team when they leave you laying on the mat. 
Their interference proves one thing to me, Jason. 

JD:  What's that?

DT:  They don't believe the smear campaign they're talking.  They stuck
their nose in our match with the Rockstar Express because they're afraid
of the Aces and the Rockstar Express.

[Big cheer from the crowd.  Childes can't help but grin wider at the
comment from his partner.]

DT:  And they have every right to be.  How do you compete with two teams
who can tear the roof off of any building they step into when they
compete?

JD:  You attack them from behind?

[Childes grabs the mic and pulls it towards him.]

SC:  The answer to the question doesn't matter, Jay.  They talk about
repentance and sin.  You know their greatest sin?

JD:  Attacking the Aces during their match?

[Childes shakes his head.]

SC:  No way, daddy.  Their greatest sin is having such a fine woman
accompany them to the ring.  Eve, go ahead and hide those Justin Bieber
Tiger Beat magazines, baby.  Ol' Sweetness is going to give you a
ring-a-ling after tonight.

[Tyler pulls the mic back to himself.]

DT:  Adam and Brother Cain, bring your entire arsenal tonight.  It won't
be enough to stop the Aces getting our hand raised in victory tonight.

[The Aces walk off the interview stage to the sounds of "Airplanes" by
B.O.B.]

JD:  The Aces are prepared for their match tonight and they're heading
to the ring!  It's all yours, Melissa!

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

MC:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first, on their way down the
aisle...from Jacksonville, Florida and weighing in at a total combined
weight of four-hundred and fifteen pounds.  Here are "Sweet" Stevie
Childes and "Delicious" Danny Tyler... 

THE ACES!

[Childes and Tyler are nearly to the ring at this point, raising their
arms to the cheers of the crowd.  Grabbing the top rope, the two men
slingshot over the ropes in unison, heading to adjacent corners to climb
to the midbuckle, soaking up the cheers of the fans.]

GM:  The Aces are one of the most exciting, most popular tag teams in
the entire AWA!

[The music starts to fade as it's replaced by "John the Revelator" by
Curtis Stigers and the Forest Rangers.]

MC:  And their opponents... hailing from the Garden of Eden... they are
accompanied to the ring by Eve and weigh in tonight at a combined 511
pounds... Adam and Brother Cain...

THE FIRST FAAAAAAMILY!

[The jeers intensify as the dastardly trio makes their way into view. 
Adam pauses beyond the curtain, looking out over the hostile crowd as
Eve shouts "REPENT!  REPENT!" at the ringside fans.  Shaking his head,
Adam continues to walk down the ramp as the massive masked monster known
as Brother Cain strides into sight.]

GM:  Look at the size of that big man, Bucky.

BW:  6'8... 280 pounds...

GM:  At least.  What a beast he is.

[The camera zooms in on the big man, a heavily muscled behemoth with a
body chiseled to perfection.  He raises a tattoo-covered left arm,
pointing to the ring before reaching up to tug his white executioner's
hood off his head, tossing it aside to reveal a black spandex mask with
a white cross spread across the eyes and down the bridge of the nose. 
The trio walks down the aisle in unison towards the ring.]

GM:  Here they come... and this should be something else, fans.

[As the First Family approaches the squared circle, the venom spewed in
their direction by the fans draws more harsh...

...which serves as a perfect distraction for Stevie Childes who promptly
scales the buckles, throwing an arm in the air to the roar of the crowd,
and HURLS himself off the top rope, sailing through the air, and
crashing onto a stunned Adam out on the ramp!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[A shocked Brother Cain looks down, trying to help his partner up to his
feet as Danny Tyler approaches, the bell ringing in the background to
start the match.]

GM:  Brother Cain's helping Adam up off the ramp and-

[A fired-up Stevie Childes grabs the top rope, slingshotting his partner
over the ropes into a clothesline on an off-balance Adam, knocking him
into Cain which sends them both toppling down to the wooden ramp again! 
Big cheer!]

GM:  The Aces wipe 'em both out!

[With a big nod to the cheering crowd, "Delicious" Danny Tyler pulls
Adam off the ramp, flinging him over the ropes into the ring as Stevie
Childes steps in after him.]

GM:  Childes is back in the ring, dragging Adam to his feet...

[A quick knife-edge chop across the chest sends Adam staggering
backwards into the corner.  Stevie is all grins as he approaches,
throwing a second chop to the pectorals before grabbing his foe by the
wrist.]

GM:  Big whip by Childes...

[With Adam back in the corner, Childes sprints across the ring, turning
at the last possible moment to SMASH his elbow up under the chin of the
self-proclaimed First Man of Wrestling!]

GM:  Ohhh!  He may need to check his teeth after that one!

BW:  I think I might be able to check the couple that just landed on our
table.

[Grabbing the arm again, Childes fires Adam from corner to corner,
dashing in behind him...]

GM:  He leaps up!  Monkey flip!

[The crowd cheers as Adam goes flopping head over heels into the middle
of the ring.  Childes pops up to his feet, grabbing Adam by the foot to
drag him to the corner where he slaps the hand of Danny Tyler.]

GM:  Tag!

[Childes holds the foot, keeping Adam on the mat as Tyler leaps into the
air, dropping the point of the elbow down into the throat.  Tyler
promptly rolls into a cover, gaining a two count before Adam fires a
shoulder off the mat.]

GM:  Adam's out at two.

BW:  It'll take more than that to put the First Man of Wrestling down.

GM:  First Man of Wrestling... give me a break...

[Tyler drags Adam back to his feet, pulling him right into a front
facelock.  He slings Adam's arm over his neck, powering him up, and
dropping him down in a suplex!]

GM:  He brings Adam down hard with the suplex... 

[Tyler promptly gets to his feet, slapping the hand of Stevie Childes. 
Childes grabs the top rope as Tyler slingshots him over the top,
bringing Stevie down in a senton on the chest of Adam!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Nice doubleteam by the Aces!

[Childes crawls across, making a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But Adam kicks out at two again, avoiding the pinfall.]

GM:  Adam's being rocked with these doubleteam moves.  Childes pulls him
up and- ohh!  European uppercut to the chin!

[Adam staggers backwards, falling into the buckles.  Raising a fist,
Stevie charges the corner, leaping up for another monkey flip...

...but as Eve grabs her charge's foot, it causes Childes to sail
backwards, crashing down on the back of his head!]

GM:  Ohh!  Cheap shot!

BW:  I didn't see anything.

GM:  You didn't see Eve grab his foot?!

BW:  Must've been blocked on that one.  

[A stunned Adam staggers to the corner, slapping the hand of Brother
Cain.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[Stepping into the ring, Cain quickly grabs the downed Childes by the
throat...

...and deadlifts him straight up to his feet!]

GM:  Whoa!  Did you see that, Bucky?!

[Spinning around, Brother Cain hurls him into the nearest set of
turnbuckles.  Balling up his fists, he approaches, throwing a hooking
punch to the left side of the ribcage.  As Childes curls to protect
himself, Cain throws a second blow, this one to the right side of the
body.  Grabbing Childes by the hair, he rocks the smaller man with an
uppercut on the chin.]

GM:  Get him out of there, ref!  Open up those hands!

[At much screaming from the official, Brother Cain backs off, showing
empty hands to the referee...

...and charges in, connecting with a thunderous clothesline in the
corner!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Cain steps aside, hurling Childes down out of the corner, crashing
facefirst to the canvas.  Childes immediately tries to crawl across the
ring to where his partner's outstretched hand awaits.]

GM:  He wants the tag!  He needs the tag!

[But as the big man stalks him, he reaches down to haul Stevie Childes
to his feet by the back of the trunks, promptly hooking in a full
nelson.]

GM:  A full nelson applied by Brother Cain and-

[The crowd roars as the big masked man powers Childes up into the air,
DRIVING the air out of him with a slam!]

GM:  Full nelson slam by Brother Cain!  Good grief!

[Stepping to the corner, Cain slaps the hand of his partner who slips
through the ropes, promptly laying the boots in on the downed Childes
before dropping down to both knees, wrapping his hands around the throat
of Stevie Childes!]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking the life out of Stevie Childes!

[The referee's count reaches four before Adam breaks the choke, raising
his hands.  He climbs to his feet, burying a boot in the ribs of
Childes, a blow that rolls him to his chest...

...and then leaps up, dropping an elbow on the back of the neck before
rolling Childes back into a lateral press.]

GM:  Adam's in there!  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[But Childes fires a shoulder up, breaking the pin attempt.]

GM:  Adam drags him up by the hair...

[And promptly rakes his fingernails down the back of Stevie Childes!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, ref!

[The referee warns Adam who ignores him, repeating the action.]

GM:  He's trying to rip the skin right off Stevie Childes' back!

[Grabbing the arm, Adam hurls Childes into the First Family's corner. 
The referee backs him off...

...which allows Brother Cain to hook a muscular arm around the throat,
strangling the life out of him.]

GM:  He's choking him behind the referee's back!

["Delicious" Danny Tyler tries to get in to break up the attack but the
official holds him at bay...

...which allows Adam to run in, leaping up to drive a knee into the
sternum of the trapped Childes!]

GM:  Cain lets him out of the corner... wait a second here...

[The crowd buzzes as Adam hooks a front facelock, looking to take
Childes over...

...but somehow Childes manages to land on his feet after the suplex!]

GM:  Did he- did you SEE that?!

[Blindly reaching backwards, Childes hooks Adam around the head and
neck, leaping into the air and DRIVING Adam's face down into the mat!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a move by Stevie Childes!

[Who promptly pushes up to a knee, breathing heavily on the canvas...

...and drops into a front roll, popping up to slap the waiting hand of
Danny Tyler to a big cheer!]

GM:  In comes Tyler!

[Danny Tyler rushes in, drilling Adam with a right hand to take him down
to the mat...

...and keeps on running to drill Brother Cain with a right hand as
well!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big haymaker on Cain!

[Grabbing the masked man by the back of the head, Tyler drops down to a
seated position, snapping Brother Cain's throat down on the top rope!]  

GM:  Brother Cain's staggered out on the apron!

[Tyler promptly dashes to the adjacent buckles, leaping up to the middle
rope...

...and springing backwards, catching a stunned Brother Cain on the
button with a back elbow!]

GM:  Tyler's got him rocked!  Brother Cain can barely stand!

[The big man hangs on to the top rope, trying to stay on his feet...

...which allows Adam to charge the blind side, burying a knee into the
kidneys.  He shoves Tyler towards the ropes where Cain leans over,
scooping him off the mat, and SLAMMING him down on the ramp!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  That'll knock the wind out of someone's sails!

[With Tyler dazed and Brother Cain standing over him, Stevie Childes
dashes across the ring, leaping over the ropes, and jumping up on the
back of Brother Cain!]

GM:  He's got- a sleeper?!

[The crowd roars at the sight of Brother Cain trapped in a sleeper from
the man hanging from his back...]

GM:  The Aces are trying to take this big monster down!

[Adam steps out to the ramp, pulling Childes down and drilling him with
a right hand to the jaw.  Swinging him around, he hurls him in the
direct of Brother Cain...

...who FLIPS Childes inside out with a big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF!!

[Brother Cain stands over the downed Childes, glaring at his motionless
form as Adam smirks confidently, taunting the ringside fans.]

GM:  The First Family has just laid out both members of the Aces out on
the entrance ramp!  The bodyslam on the wooden ramp to Danny Tyler and
the big boot to Stevie Childes!  Brother Cain is a monster!

[The arrogant Adam drags Danny Tyler off the mat, hurling him through
the ropes into the ring.  The First Man of Wrestling steps through the
ropes, delivering a trio of stomps to the chest before applying a
lateral press, ordering the referee to count.]

GM:  Mickey Meekly down to count - ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The shoulder flies off the canvas before the three count to the cheers
of the fans.  An angry Adam climbs to his feet, barking protests at
Meekly as he leans down to drag Tyler off the mat.]

GM:  Front facelock... he's got 'im hooked...

[And Adam hoists Tyler off the mat, snapping him over in a suplex!]

GM:  Good execution on the snap suplex!

[Adam floats over into another press, shouting at the referee.]

GM:  Another cover for one!  For two!  For- no!  The shoulder's up
again!

[An angry Adam pushes up to his knees, hands on hips.  A shout brings
Brother Cain into the ring much to the protests of the referee as he
approaches.  Cain drags a weary Tyler off the mat, hoisting him over his
head...

...and presses him sky high, showing him off to the entire crowd!]

GM:  He's got him high!  He's got Tyler way up in-

[The crowd ERUPTS as Stevie Childes takes flight, springing off the top
rope, catching Brother Cain squarely on the chin, knocking the masked
man backwards, sending Tyler crashing down hard across the chest of
Brother Cain!]

GM:  OHHH!  HE CAUGHT HIM!!

[The crowd roars for Stevie Childes as he slowly gets up, ducking a wild
right hand from Adam...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  SUPERKICK!!  SUPERKICK ON THE CHIN!!

[The thrust kick knocks Adam flat, sending him rolling from the ring to
the floor as Childes helps Tyler off the mat.  A quick word gets them on
the same page as Tyler turns away from the downed Brother Cain, hoisting
Childes up...]

GM:  What the-

[The atomic drop lift pauses a moment before Tyler turns back around and
drops Childes down with a double legdrop on the prone Brother Cain!]

GM:  OH YEAH!!  What a move!

[With a wave of his arm, Danny Tyler rallies the crowd to their feet as
he heads towards the corner.  Childes stays down on Brother Cain,
throwing big right hands to the jaw as Tyler scales the buckles...]

GM:  Tyler's heading for the high rent district!  And Stevie Childes is
heading over to him!  Brother Cain's down and he's in some serious
trouble here!  Serious trouble!

[Childes reaches up, grabbing his partner...

...and HURLS him off the top, sending Tyler crashing down across the
chest of the downed Brother Cain!]

GM:  ROCKET LAUNCHER!!

[Tyler reaches back, hooking the massive leg.]

GM:  Wait a second!

[The crowd breaks out in jeers as Eve leaps up on the apron, distracting
the official.]

GM:  The referee's got his back turned!  Count the man down, ref!

[Mickey Meekly argues with the official as Adam slips into the ring...

...and DRIVES his arm up into the groin of Stevie Childes!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH!

[With Childes stunned, Adam quickly secures a double underhook and
SPIKES Childes skullfirst into the canvas!]

GM:  OHH!  DDT!

[Pulling Childes off the mat, Adam HURLS him over the ropes to the
floor!]

GM:  Good grief, Bucky!  This guy's snapped!

[Danny Tyler gets up off the downed Brother Cain, turning his attention
to Adam and pops him under the chin with a European uppercut, sending
Adam falling back to the corner.]

GM:  Danny Tyler had this match won, damn it!

[Tyler throws chop after chop after chop to the chest of Adam in the
corner.  Grabbing him by the arm, he slings him hard across the ring and
into the buckles.]

GM:  He hit the corner hard!

[Adam stumbles out, throwing a sloppy right hand that comes up empty and
allows Tyler to leap up, reaching behind him to SNAP Adam down in a
leaping neckbreaker!]

GM:  RAZZLE DAZZLE!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[Tyler flips over, climbing to his feet...]

GM:  CAUGHT!

[The crowd jeers like crazy as Brother Cain wraps his hand around the
throat of Danny Tyler, holding the smaller man at bay...

...but a screaming, protesting Mickey Meekly intervenes!]

GM:  The referee's holding the arm!  The referee won't let him do it!

BW:  What the heck is going on around here, Gordo?!

GM:  I think- the referee is saying Brother Cain's not the legal man!

BW:  Who cares?!

[Cain backs off at the threat of disqualification, shoving Tyler
forward...

...where a dazed Adam pulls him down in a schoolboy!]

BW:  CRADLE!  CRADLE!  

GM:  Ref!  Ref!  He's got the trunks!

[The referee rushes forward, diving to the mat.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  I can't believe it!  He had ahold of the man's trunks!

BW:  I didn't see any such thing, Gordo.

GM:  Are you kidding me?  It was as plain as day!

BW:  I didn't see it and more importantly, the referee didn't see it
either!

[The booing crowd suddenly erupts in cheers as Marty Morgan and Scotty
Storm, the Rockstar Express, come charging down the ramp to the ring. 
Morgan is in the lead, immediately grabbing the referee.]

BW:  What are these two goofs doing out here?!

GM:  I don't- Marty Morgan's talking to the official... he's- I think
he's telling him what just happened!

[The referee listens intently to the passionate Morgan screaming and
pointing...

...and then waves his arms, shouting for the ring announcer.]

GM:  What's he...?

[The audience buzzes as the official leans down to talk to Melissa
Cannon.]

MC:  Ladies and gentlemen... the referee has RESTARTED this match!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The Rockstars got him to restart the match! 

[The Rockstars exit the ring, pleased with their work as an angry Danny
Tyler shouts for the dazed Adam to get back into the ring.  Brother Cain
and Adam are both out on the floor, trying to figure out their next
move...

...when suddenly Childes and Tyler sprint across the ring, hurling
themselves through the ropes with stereo missile dives, and wiping out
both members of the First Family!]

GM:  OHHHHHHH MY STARS!!!

[With the crowd in a roar, Danny Tyler pulls Adam up off the floor,
hurling him back under the ropes into the ring.  Stevie Childes promptly
climbs the steps, scaling the ropes to the top...]

GM:  He's up top!  Stevie Childes is up top!

["Sweet" Stevie leaps backwards, flipping through the air...

...and CRASHES down solidly on the chest of Adam with a Shooting Star
Press!]

GM:  HOOOOOOOOO MYYYYYY!

[Childes reaches back, tightly hooking the legs.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here are your winners... THE AAAAAAACES!

[Danny Tyler slides headfirst into the ring, yanking his partner off the
downed Adam and into a big embrace.  Outside the ring, the camera
catches a shot of a grinning Marty Morgan sharing a high five with
Scotty Storm as the fans go nuts for what they just saw.]

GM:  The Aces have done it!  The Aces put down the First Family and what
a win that is for them!  A big win here tonight in Dallas on Saturday
Night Wrestling and perhaps a little bit of payback for both of these
teams for what the First Family did to them several weeks ago!

BW:  What business did the Rockstars have out here?  Tell me that,
Gordo!  They stuck their nose into a matter that don't concern them -
that's what they did!  And if I'm Adam, I sic that big monster Cain on
'em and let him knock their noses clear off their faces, daddy!

GM:  The Aces defeat The First Family with an assist from the Rockstar
Express and this night is just getting started!  Let's go backstage to
some words we caught earlier today!

[We fade to the backstage area where in some random room, a large man
occupies every inch of an unfolded steel chair.  He is dressed simply,
as always, but his scarred visage and seven foot frame reveal his
identity louder than any scrap of clothing could -- this is Robert
Donovan.  He reaches up to scratch his chin, covered in a beard with
more grey than not nowadays, then looks up at the camera.]

RD:  I'm sure y'all thought I was done after I managed to not bring home
the Longhorn Heritage belt...

[Donovan chuckles wryly.]

RD:  Tell ya the truth, so did I.  Didn't think about anything else but
bringin' that sucker home, havin' my hand raised at the end of that
tournament.  Wish I could say I got beat by a better man to get bounced
out of it, but while we're bein' honest, there's no way in hell I'd call
Nenshou the better man.  Not while he's got that useless lil' rat
followin' him around, anyhow.

[Donovan leans back in his chair, almost shrugging.]

RD:  But, like I said, we're bein' honest, and while I'll never call
Nenshou a better man, he is the better athlete.  Realizin' that got me
to thinkin' -- maybe he was right, an' this game has passed me by.  I've
been at this a damned long time, even considerin' all the breaks I've
taken, and I haven't exactly wrestled in a way that most people would
consider safe.

[Suddenly, a heretofore unseen gleam comes into the big man's eye.]

RD:  Then it hit me.  Feel free to make a joke about how any number o'
things have hit me durin' my career, I ain't gonna object. Thing is,
Nenshou, I shoulda been way more mad than I was when you made that lil'
speech runnin' down the LWC -- should've been angry, angry at you for
runnin' your mouth, via proxy or no, an' after I shoulda been angry at
me for not rippin' you apart and leavin' you for dead in the middle o'
that ring, along with that little -  

[Donovan bites his words, shaking his head.]  

RD: - holdin' yer leash.

[The big man abruptly stands up.]

RD:  But I wasn't.  I shrugged it off, chalkin' it up to just another
small man shootin' his mouth off, tryin' to get under the skin of
someone they're maybe just a little bit afraid of.  That wasn't it at
all though, you meant every word o' what you said.  You don't give a
damn about Longhorn Heritage, you wanted the belt so you could spit in
the eye o' everybody who came from that place, everyone who bled an'
fought for it, every fan who filled those little sweatbox arenas
cheerin' 'em on.

[Donovan takes a deep breath.]

RD:  See, how I'm feelin' now is how I shoulda felt the first time you
ever ran your mouth, an' I wasn't sure why I didn't.  Now, though...now
I realize it's because I didn't really reach back an' put a finger on
what I had when I was workin' those little border towns.  Couldn't quite
channel the Rob Donovan of old, the man who didn't give a damn about his
health or safety, the guy who could take a glass bottle gettin' broke
over his ear an' keep comin' back despite bleedin' like a stuck pig and
bein' so dizzy he could hardly stand.

While we're still bein' honest, don't know if I can bring that man back.
 I got a family, I got obligations.  People are countin' on me to not
wind up spendin' months in the hospital because of some damn stupid
grudge.

[Donovan pauses, then laughs.]

RD:  Too damn bad for them, an' for you.  They can forgive this old man
one last bout o' stupidity, one more shot at collectin' some glory
before I have to hang 'em up for good.  I ain't sure if I can be that
man again, Nenshou, but for a scumbag like you, I'm for damn sure
willin' to try it.  I ain't promisin' to be the one who takes that belt
off you, either, Nenshou -- you an' your pet are sneaky enough to make
sure that don't happen if you really put your minds to it.  I am,
however, damn sure o' one thing -- you may never respect the Longhorn
Wrestling Council or the few of us still left who came out of it, but I
will personally see to it that, for at least one night, one match, that
you know what it was like for us, that you bleed and sweat and endure
all the misery that we gladly put ourselves through for tiny crowds in
even tinier facilities.

[Donovan sits back down, eyes still blazing.]

RD:  If I can't beat respect for that heritage into you, Nenshou, that's
fine.  I'm at the point where I'll be satisfied --

[Donovan slams his fist into an open palm, creating an
unpleasant-sounding smack.]

RD:  -- just plain beatin' ya.

[The camera holds on a determined Donovan as it slowly fades to black.

The black screen is filled with white text that reads "THREE YEARS
AGO!"]

"They said it couldn't work."

[The words fade out and are then replaced with "TWO YEARS AGO!"]

"They said it wouldn't last."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "ONE YEAR AGO!"]

"They're too old fashioned.  They can't keep up with the times.  Nobody
wants to watch that stuff."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "THEY WERE WRONG!"  The text
fades again and comes back to reveal, "March 26th, 2011 - The Main Event
- The Third Anniversary Show."

And then fades back out to black before returning to live action in the
locker room area where Jason Dane is looking somewhat uncomfortable as
he stands in the shadow of Brother Cain. The masked man is wringing his
hands and clenching his fists. Eve is pacing back and forth behind them.
Her platinum blonde hair, usually tied up into a tight bun, is hanging
from her head in wild strands and her face is a grimace of anger.

Adam, though, remains unfazed. The smile on his face seems serene and he
carefully runs a hand through his hair to restore it to its sculpted
looks. If it weren't for the sweat on his torso you could not tell that
he had just wrestled and lost a match.]

JD: Adam, we just saw a match you had thought to have won for the First
Family being restarted due to the Rockstar Express pointing out your '
uh '

[He casts a nervous glance up at Brother Cain. The moment of hesitation
is enough for Eve to walk up to Dane and snatch away the microphone.]

E: Point out our _what_, Jason Dane? What is it you want to say? Are you
on the side of those heathens? That victory was _ours_! The Rockstar
Express will pay for their interference! PAY!

[She hands the mic to Adam, utters a shriek of rage and resumes pacing
behind the men again.]

A: The Book of Job says in 1:21 "The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh
away".

But our victory today was ripped from our grasp not by His will but by
Scott Storm and Martin Morgan. They defied not only us but His plans for
the night. But, we will not bow down to these infernal machinations. We
will not hang our heads, waver in our convictions or be shaken our
faith.

For, in the end, the good and the righteous will be rewarded and the
wicked shall be punished.

Rockstar Express ' Aces ' there will be a reckoning ' there will be a
judgment ' and you will answer for your sins ' and suffer the Fall!

E: AMEN!

[Cut back to the announcing table.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and the First Family seems less than pleased
about what just went down before the break.  If you missed it, the Aces
defeated the First Family after the Rockstar Express were able to get
that match restarted.

BW:  Would you want to make Brother Cain mad, Gordo?

GM:  Not in the slightest.  

BW:  Good.  You're not as dumb as those four are.  

GM:  Let's go up to Melissa...

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa Cannon, Marty Meekly, and a
familiar-looking young blond wrestler are standing and waiting.]

MC:  The following match is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. In the ring now, weighing in at 230 pounds and fighting out of
DALLAS, TEXAS...

[Already the crowd gives yells of support. The wrestler grins and nods
his head.]

MC: KENDALL STANTON!
 
[Stanton surges forward, throwing his fist high for a HUGE hometown pop!
Stanton bounces his chest against the ropes and gives them a fiery "COME
ON!"]

GM: Kendall Stanton making his AWA return here in the arena tonight and
these fans want him to bring a win home for the home town!

BW: Cheap! It's cheap and these people are idiots, daddy. Lotsa people
are from Dallas, nobody's cheerin' them on all the time!

GM: Anyway, Stanton's come a long way since his early days here in the
AWA a couple of years ago, moving up the ranks here tonight to provide
some tough competition...

["Dead Flowers" by Townes Van Zandt twangs over the speakers, bringing
the audience's attention back to the ramp.]

GM: ... for this man!

[Just then, Jack Holland slowly emerges from the curtain. He takes his
time heading down to the ring. On his way down he removes his sunglasses
and looks up bleary-eyed at his opponent.]

MC: Now making his way to the ring, he weighs in at 264 pounds and comes
to us from Elizabeth, Colorado! He is the

"GENTLEMAN" JACK HOLLAND!

[Holland shrugs his jacket off his shoulders and pitches it and his
sunglasses under the nearest corner. He briskly climbs the ring steps
and walks along the apron. Stanton limbers up and keeps a fair
distance.]

GM: Jack Holland has not been the same person since he left for some
emergency several weeks ago and WHOA HERE WE GO!

[As soon as both of Holland's feet were in the ring he lunged at
Stanton, clobbering him in the face with a sledgehammer smash. Stanton
collapses backwards into the ropes immediately but rose comes back out
just as quickly.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

GM: Holland, in another uncharacteristic move, Pearl Harboring his
opponent tonight-

BW: You call it uncharacteristic, I call it effective.

GM: I'll give you that.

[Holland rockets off right hands at Stanton's head, backing the Texan
into the ropes with every one. He whips Stanton off the ropes but
Stanton reverses the momentum! Holland's back hits the ropes and he
rebounds, storming back at a leaping Kendall Stanton!]

GM: BEAUTIFUL leaping dropkick from Kendall Stanton, Bucky, and listen
to that crowd!

BW: Yeah, and it makes me sick!

[Indeed, the crowd are on their feet and cheering, not expecting such an
early advantage. Stanton takes a breath for a moment and then scrambles
to finish the match.]

GM: We've got a cover, Bucky! One! Two! NO, Holland with his shoulder
off the mat!

BW: Are you... did these people... really? Beat Jack Holland!?

[Stanton seems undaunted by the kickout. He's already up, pulling
Holland up by his ears. Stanton lays in a few rights to Holland's
noggin, staggering the Coloradan. Stanton then cinches in a front
chancery and slowly twists around, keeping the back of Holland's neck
against his shoulder...

... Holland boxes Stanton's ears!]

GM: Stanton just got his bell rung! Holland got him around the waist
and--

BW: That's what I'm talking about!

GM: Stanton CHEST FIRST into the buckles and he's got to have all of his
wind driven right out of him!

BW: Hurt him baaad, Jack!

[Holland applies pressure via forearm shots ladled out in heavy doses to
the back of Stanton's neck and across his shoulders. Stanton bears every
blow without crying out, but he's obviously in pain. Holland grabs
Stanton by the shoulder and yanks him out of the corner, turns him
around and pushes him back against the turnbuckles.]

BW: And look at this!

[The crowd roars as Holland splashes a chop across the chest of
Stanton.]

BW: Chop suey!

[A second chop has just as much impact, snapping Stanton's head back.]

GM: Jack Holland just HACKING AWAY at Kendall Stanton's chest here!

[The third chop causes Stanton to cling to the top rope, trying to stay
on his feet.]

GM: There's nowhere for Stanton to go!

[The barrage of chops continue on target.]

BW: Holland's got all the bases covered, daddy!

[As Stanton tries to get out of the corner, Holland grabs his upper body
and shoves him back into the buckles as he throws another brutal chop to
the chest.]

GM:  An absolutely savage assault in the corner by Jack Holland!

[Stanton is dazed and weathered by that carefully measured out assault.
Holland turns and hooks back over his shoulder. He misses Stanton on the
first try.  Luckily, Stanton is dazed enough that he gets a second shot
and on this one he snares Stanton and whips him over with a snap mare.]

BW: Clear the pool, it's NECK SPLASH TIME!

GM: This right here could be the end of Kendall Stanton and... I hope he
isn't!

BW: He is!

[Holland, after measuring the seated Stanton up, has backed into the
corner. He plants his hands atop the top ropes and helps himself up
until he's seated on the top turnbuckle, feet perched on the middle
ropes.]

GM: SECOND ROPE NECK SPLASH!

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM: KENDALL STANTON! INCREDIBLE INSTINCT! Rolls back and gets the KNEES
up just in time!

[The crowd is going mad at the turn of fortune. Holland crawls towards
the ropes, clutching his ribs and suffering terribly. Stanton is
sprawled out against the bottom rope in the corner.]

BW: The kid just got a lucky break!

GM: You're very possibly right, Bucky! You gotta think that the neck
splash would have put Stanton away, but Holland gave him the time by
going to the middle rope, here we are, and it still looks like anybody's
match!

[Both Holland and Stanton take their time getting to their feet. Holland
is there first, leaning against the ropes in wait for Stanton. Once
Stanton is on two feet, Holland strikes, but Stanton lands a left-hand
jab! Then a right hand!]

GM: Stanton taking control!

[Holland is rocked by a few more rights before he retaliates with a knee
lift that takes Stanton off his feet briefly. Stanton clutches his guts
for lack of air. Holland supports himself on the ropes and allows
Stanton to stagger away, but once he sees he's got enough distance,
Gentleman Jack rushes forward...

... and SNAPS Stanton to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker!]

BW: VELOCITY, daddy! That's how you do it! Get 'im, Jack!

GM: Holland's got the leg, and here's the count! Two! ... not just yet!

BW: Every second it gets closer, daddy, every little bit brings Jack
Holland one step nearer the victory that's rightfully his!

[Holland stares a hole in the referee as he solemnly pulls Stanton back
up by his long blond hair. Stanton swings wildly at Holland's ribs, but
Holland puts a stop to that with an overhand shot. Furiously, Holland
backs Stanton against the ropes.]

GM:  More brutal chops from Holland here and Stanton's chest is turning
red as a McIntosh apple! And there's a big tomahawk to the kid's
forehead!

BW: Stanton's walleyed now, Gordo!

[Stanton hangs on the middle rope and gropes groggily at the vacant air.
Holland keeps a hold on top of Stanton's head and buries his fist into
the blond's forehead repeatedly. Quick as lightning, Holland pulls
Stanton up by his long hair and snap mares him over. The Colorado Cowboy
is up to his feet and higher, turning horizontally and crashing down
belly first onto the back of Stanton's neck!]

GM: GOT THE NECK SPLASH! The cover!

BW: Say goodnight, Stanton!

GM: ONE!!  TWO!!  THR- FOOT ON THE ROPES!!

[The referee points wildly at Kendall Stanton's boot which is laid
across the bottom strand.]

GM: Kendall Stanton has got his boot on the rope! The hometown kid is
still in this fight!

BW: A slip on Holland's part!

GM: I certainly agree!

BW: A _minor_ slip, daddy, inconsequential!

GM: Holland pulling Stanton away from the ropes and here's another
cover! One! Twoooooo aaaaaand NO! Stanton with the shoulder up! 

[Holland, sitting up on his knees, scrubs his face in frustration.
Kendall Stanton is on his side desperately drawing breath.]

BW: This is not a problem, this ain't nothing! Holland shoulda had this
match won, Gordo, he had Stanton beat!

GM: If Stanton hadn't been so close to the ropes, maybe, but rules are
rules! Holland has got to get his focus back on the game if he's going
to come out of this one with his hand raised!

[Holland slowly rises to his feet and takes the time to stand up
straight, hands on his hips, regaining some energy. He then tends to
Stanton, getting a fistful of the inexperienced wrestler's hair and
drawing him to his feet. In the same instant that Stanton gets his legs
beneath him he hooks onto Holland's neck and pulls him down...

... but Holland keeps his balance! Holland shoves Stanton to the mat and
stumbles backwards, shaking his head.]

GM: Very nearly got caught in the inside cradle there!

BW: C'mon, Jack! Get him!

[Holland storms right back in with a scowl on his face. Holland reaches
down for Stanton, but Stanton grabs him and rolls him up!]

GM: INSIDE CRADLE! ONE! TWO! THREE!


"DING! DING! DING!"


BW: WHAT!?

[The crowd ERUPTS in applause and yells of support for Kendall Stanton
who, knowing something about wrestlers' dispositions, smartly bailed out
of the ring and to the floor. Jack Holland sits up in the ring staring
at his hands like a poleaxed donkey. Stanton happily slaps hands with
the fans, celebrating with his people over his Saturday Night Wrestling
victory.]

MC: Here is your winner...

KENNNNNDALLLLL STAAAAANTON!
   

BW: WHAT!?

GM: You already said that!  And we just saw a HUGE upset here tonight as
Kendall Stanton breaks the winning ways of "Gentleman" Jack Holland!

BW: By hook AND by crook!

GM: Bucky, you know as well as I do that Stanton did NOT cheat in this
match tonight! He got that win fair and square and now we're going to
Mark Stegglet for more words with the upset kid!  Mark?

[Kendall Stanton stands at the foot of the entrance ramp with Mark
Stegglett.]

MS: Kendall, a big win you just had against Jack Holland there, he had
you against the ropes but you persevered and you got the pinfall. Your
thoughts?

KS:  I think... man, I don't know what to think, Mark!  I just wanted to
come back here to the AWA to do what I love to do in front of all these
great fans!

[Big cheer!]

KS:  And to get the chance to face someone like Mr. Holland... I knew I
had my work cut out for me but... well, you put it just right there,
didn't ya?  I perservered.  I took everything he had and kept on
fightin'... and sooner or later, if you do that, you get a break.  I got
a break tonight and... man, this feels great.

[Stanton is beaming as the fans cheer.]

MS:  What's next for you?

[Stanton shakes his head.]

KS:  I don't know, Mark... just let me... yeah, just let me enjoy this
one, okay?

[Stanton claps Stegglet on the shoulder before walking out of sight to
the cheers of the crowd.]

KS: Mark, you know, well, heh, you put it just right there, didn't ya?
Persevered, pinfall, that's exactly right. I know a lot of people were
doubtin' me when they saw my name against Jack Holland's but I proved
that I got the perseverence to survive anything! This is just the
beginning, Mark!

[The camera follows Kendall Stanton walking back up the ramp, slapping
hands with the ringside fans as he heads towards the locker room.  Soon,
it cuts back to the ring where Holland is leaning into the corner,
shaking his head in confusion.]

GM:  Wow.  What a win for young Kendall Stanton, Bucky!

BW:  It's a fluke!  A joke!  A fraud!  A sham!  And speaking of which, I
hear that Eric Preston's got something to say.

GM:  Very funny.  Fans, right now we're in the midst of an interesting
situation. Over the past few months and weeks, we've seen what appears
to be the decline of Eric Preston. Once thought to be a rising star in
the AWA, one of the first graduates of the Combat Corner to look like he
had star potential, Preston just has not been getting the job done,
Bucky.

BW: I almost feel bad for the guy, Gordo. He's a second generation
wrestler, his old man was around the business forever and still is, but
Preston just ain't got the right stuff, daddy. And that ain't no
judgment on him as a person, that's just the way it is. This ain't for
everyone.

GM: What we're about to show you is actually a taped interview that Eric
Preston paid to have done. Apparently there's been mix ups in the office
as far as getting camera men to interview people, and Eric was one of
those who got caught up in that.

BW: (off handedly to himself) ...there ain't no mix up there.

GM: Whatever the case may be, this tape was sent to us to us to show
you, and was actually taped at the Crockett Coliseum. Here's Eric
Preston...

[The scene cuts away from Bucky and Gordon, to the shot of Jason Dane,
standing in his AWA polo shirt with a blue blazer over top and khaki
pants. He's standing in the middle of an empty ring, looking slightly
unsure of how to act, as he begins to talk.]

JD: Hello fans, Jason Dane here at the Crockett Coliseum just days
before the next Saturday Night Wrestling event. I'm standing here with
Eric Preston, who's still looking for that elusive victory as he squares
off with Johnny Sone this week. But Eric, I think the bigger story is...

[Dane just shrugs his shoulders, and then tilts the mic towards
Preston.]

JD: ...it's just, I think- Eric, the floor is yours.

[Preston, in worn down blue jeans and a plain black shirt, leans in.
He's wearing a worn in denim vest as well. His face is clean shaven,
hair is short and kept up with, but his eyes have dark circles under
them, and his overall expression is that of tiredness met with
frustration.]

EP: Thanks for being here, Jason. Thanks for coming out today. Y'know,
it's no secret that lately I've hit a bump in the road. Well... more
than a bump in the road. I've hit a pretty major slump. And try as I
might, I can't get out of it. I can't seem to shake whatever it is
that's got such a hold on me.

And, it's- it's kind of embarrasing. I thought maybe if I just fought
through it, and kept working, i thought maybe something would go my way.
And I still think that, but it's, ahh- obviously other people are
starting to notice. I'm not laying any blame here, or accusing people of
anything, but it seems like I have not been scheduled for any interview
time recently. Not on the last Saturday Night wrestling, and not on this
one. And, y'know, that's tough for me to take, that's a bitter pill to
swallow. I pride myself on my connection with the fans of the AWA, and,
y'know, that's been taken from me.

[Preston runs a hand through his hair and looks at the camera, somewhere
between insulted and hurt.]

EP: And I understand why. This is a competitive sport, this is a
business and I'm not getting it done. And I don't know what's going on,
I don't know why I've got the damn yips or whatever you want to call it,
and frankly I'm tired of thinking about it. But I just want the fans to
know, and the people who I respect know, that the day I stop fighting is
the day I stop wrestling here. I'm going to fight and scratch and claw
to the bitter end, and I'm going to bust out of this slump.

And when I do, you can look back on this little interview as the turning
point. Things are darkest before the dawn, Jason, and professionally I
can't imagine them ever being darker than now.

But I'm not going to give up, I'm not going to stop believing in myself
and I'm going to get myself out of this rut, one way or the other.

[Preston nods, convincing himself.]

JD: And if you don't?

[The Carolina native exhales dejectedly, knowing the real answer.]

EP: Then I guess I'll keep paying for these interviews until I disappear
entirely.

[The camera holds on a solemn Preston for several moments before fading
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!"

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

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

[A shot of Stevie Scott holding the belt high in the air.]

"And now, it can be yours!"

[A final shot of Juan Vasquez, battered yet triumphant with the gold
belt held in both hands 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 footage marked "MOMENTS AGO" of the
backstage area where standing by Jason Dane, wearing his ring gear, is
Johnny Sone.]

JD: Johnny Sone, last time we saw you in the ring, you were as close as
can be to capturing the Longhorn Heritage Title. Is that still stuck in
your mind, the way that match ended?

[Sone, tight lipped, nods.]

JS: Very much, Jason. VERY MUCH! I'd be lying to you if I said it didn't
bother me. I had Nenshou, about to drop him with the same move my father
put so many opponents away with on both sides of the globe... And had it
all taken away from me. All because the champion couldn't beat me in a
fair fight, couldn't overcome my fighting spirit in the right way. So he
had to have his manager come in and help him cheat to retain the title.

[Sone shakes his head, still disappointed.]

JS: I could be standing here taking to you now, Jason, with the Longhorn
Heritage Title. I could be about to go to ring for my first title
defense...

[Sone pauses, sighs.]

JS: But I'm not... And no matter how Nenshou stole that victory from me,
I have to keep going. I have to keep marching forward and giving my best
in the ring. I have to prove to the Championship Committee all over
again that I deserve another shot. And trust me on this, Jason: Nenshou
WON'T be so fortunate when I get that chance!

JD: Later tonight, you have the first step to getting that chance when
you face off against Eric Preston. What are your thoughts now for your
match?

JS: Jason, I don't know Eric on a personal level. But I do know him on a
professional level. I've seen his matches. I've seen what he can do in
the ring. And I know I have my work cut out for me tonight.

JD: Some are saying that Eric Preston might not... Have the desire to be
in the ring anymore. That it's not bad l-

[Sone waves off Dane.]

JS: Jason, no. No! Eric Preston's just going through a losing streak. I
know from the stories my father would tell of his career that just cause
a man might have lost some matches doesn't mean he doesn't care. I know
Eric still has a great desire to be something special in this sport. And
I know for SURE, Jason, that he's going to bring everything he's got
tonight.

[Sone nods.]

JS: We're both fighting for something tonight, Jason, and I just hope
that I can come out the better man. So I've got to be ready and bring my
A-game to match!

[With that, Johnny pats Jason Dane on the back and exits the scene as we
crossfade to the ring.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Greenville, South Carolina... Eric Preston!

[Preston raises an arm to a healthy amount of cheers from the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... also in the ring at this time... from Los
Angeles, California... Johnny Sone!

[Another healthy amount of cheers from the AWA faithful!]

GM:  Two of the brightest young talents in the entire AWA squaring off
here tonight.

BW:  They're so bright, I gotta wear shades, daddy.

GM:  You're a real riot tonight.

BW:  Oh, come on, Gordo.  You're trying to sell these people a bridge in
Brooklyn by tellin' 'em these kids are the next big things.  The AWA
obviously thinks so much of them, they both had to walk out here during
the commercial break!  And Preston?  Preston has to beg someone to come
out to interview him and try to make TV.  These two ain't got nothin'
I'm here to see!

GM:  I beg to differ, Bucky.  I, and the entire AWA, believe in these
two young men even if you don't.

[The bell sounds just as the two men trade a handshake in the middle of
the ring to more cheers from the crowd.  Preston claps his hands
together and begins circling his opponent.]

GM:  A nice show of sportsmanship there.

BW:  And just where has it gotten them, Gordo?

GM:  It got Johnny Sone a heartbeat away from the Longhorn Heritage
Title!

BW:  Did he win the title?

GM:  Obviously not.

BW:  Then does it really matter how close he got?

[The two men come together in the middle of the ring in a collar and
elbow tieup, the two warriors struggling against each other.  Preston
immediately backs the smaller man down into the corner where referee
Mickey Meekly steps in to call for a break...]

GM:  The referee asks for a clean break... and he gets one.

BW:  Of course he does.  Preston needs to channel some of Michaelson's
dirty tricks if he wants to break out of this slump.  Waffle the kid on
the break!

GM:  I'm sure Todd Michaelson is very proud of the way Eric Preston
conducts himself inside the ring.

BW:  He has a funny way of showing it, Gordo.

[They meet in the middle again, tangling up before Sone grabs Preston by
the wrist, twisting the arm into an armwrench...

...and then sidesteps, throwing a hooking kick to the upper body that
takes Preston off his feet.]

GM:  Nice kick there by Johnny Sone!

BW:  Preston gets knocked flat.  No surprise there.

[Preston looks a little fired-up as he gets up to his feet, shaking his
arm as he glares at Sone.  Sone extends the hand again...

...and again there's a brief handshake.]

GM:  Another show of respect there.

[As they tie up again, Preston goes behind into a rear waistlock.  He
holds for a moment, blocking Sone's attempts to escape, before powering
Sone off the mat and taking him down to the mat, holding the waistlock.]

GM:  Big powerful takedown by Preston, hanging on here...

[Down on a knee, Sone grabs the wrists of Preston, trying to pry his way
free...

...and twists the arm behind Preston, forcing him chestfirst to the mat,
holding a hammerlock behind him.]

GM:  Nice counter by Sone...

[Giving up on the hammerlock, Sone spins out into a front facelock where
Preston is quickly able to get back to his feet, still trapped in the
facelock.  Preston backs him down, heading straight back into the
turnbuckles.]

GM:  Another call for the break...

BW:  Come on, kid.

[Suddenly, Preston grabs the middle rope, lunging forward to drive his
shoulder into the midsection.]

GM:  Ohh!  Preston with a shoulder drive!  

[Two more big shoulders to the gut land.  Preston straightens up,
grabbing Sone by the wrist and firing him across the ring...

...where Sone leaps up to the midbuckle, blindly leaping backwards and
catching a charging Preston on the chin with a back elbow!]

GM:  Big counter by Sone!  Preston got caught with that elbow!

[And Preston immediately rolls out to the floor, grabbing his chin.  He
slams an arm into the canvas in frustration, pacing away to circle the
ring a bit.]

GM:  Eric Preston's taking a breather... trying to regroup a bit...

BW:  This kid's head is all messed up, Gordo.  He doesn't know where he
is or what he's doing.

GM:  He's trying to sort that stuff out and get back on track here
tonight against the third-generation competitor.  A match like this
really shows the AWA's respect for the history of this business as we've
got a second-generation star taking on a third-generation star.  Nowhere
else in the business will you see that, fans.

[Sone stays in the middle of the ring, waving for Preston to rejoin him
inside the squared circle.  After a few more moments, Preston grabs the
ropes to pull himself up on the apron, ducking through the ropes into
the ring.]

GM:  Both men back in now... and back to the collar and elbow...

[Preston muscles him back into the ropes as the referee steps in to call
for a break...

...and Preston steps back, throwing a right hand to the jaw!]

BW:  Yeah!  That's more like it!

GM:  Big right hand from Preston stuns Sone...

[Grabbing the arm, Preston fires him into the ropes.]

GM:  Irish whip...

[Preston deadleaps, leapfrogging over the charging Johnny Sone who hits
the far ropes as Preston attempts to do it again...]

GM:  Johnny Sone pulls up!

[Sone lashes out with a snapping kick to the upper thigh of Eric
Preston, stunning him from the blindside.  Sone connects with a second,
this one sweeping Preston's leg and putting him down on his backside...

...where Sone CREAMS him with a standing kick to the spine!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

BW:  Preston'll feel that one in the mornin'!

[Sone dances back, squaring up in a martial arts pose as Preston rolls
to a knee, grimacing as he climbs to his feet.  He nods his head as he
approaches, bull-rushing into a collar and elbow, forcing Sone back to
the ropes...

...and burying a knee into the gut.  He holds the upper body, throwing a
second knee into the midsection.]

GM:  Two well-placed knees to the body...

[Preston winds up with a shout and smashes a double axehandle across the
back of the head, knocking Sone down to a knee.  The Combat Corner
graduate takes aim again...

...and smashes Sone right across the face with the double axehandle,
knocking him flat on his back.]

GM:  Some hard shots there by Preston.

BW:  He's finally showing a little fight in there, Gordo.  Forget
shaking hands and all that.  If you lose the match, no one remembers the
rest.

[With Sone down, Preston backs away to the corner, using the ropes to
push himself up on the midbuckle.]

GM:  Preston's on the middle rope... measuring his man...

[The South Carolina native leaps from the middle rope, smashing a double
axehandle down on the back of the head again, knocking Sone to the mat. 
Preston drops to his knees, quickly applying a lateral press.]

GM:  One!  Two!  No... out at two.

[Preston springs up to his feet, delivering a pair of stomps to the ribs
of Sone that forces him under the ropes to the apron.]

GM:  Sone is driven to the apron... Preston leaning over the ropes...

[Sone reaches up, grabbing the wrist and drops off the apron, snapping
the arm down over the ropes!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a counter by Sone... using the ring to his advantage...
the sign of a veteran that has more years in this business than Johnny
Sone.

[Reaching under the ropes, Sone grabs Preston by the ankle, tugging him
under the ropes to the floor.  He grabs Preston under the arms, sitting
him up on the apron...

...and POPS him across the chest with a chop!]

GM:  Ohh!  Sone throwing a heavy blow there!

[Sone winds up to the cheers of the crowd, throwing another big chop
across the chest, following through in a martial arts pose!]

BW:  Sone looks like the Karate Kid out there.  This is a pro wrestling
match, you buffoon!

[Sone turns to the fans, asking if they want one more but as he turns to
deliver it, Preston lashes out with his foot, catching Sone on the chin
and sending him falling backwards into the steel barricade.]

GM:  What a shot by Preston!

[Preston slips off the apron, moving in on the stunned Sone.  He grabs
the head, delivering a hard forearm shot to the jaw before hauling him
off the railing.  He grabs Sone by the wrist, attempting an Irish
whip...]

GM:  Look out!

[But as Sone approaches the ring, he drops into a baseball slide,
sliding beneath the ring apron and under the ring.]

GM:  Whoa!

BW:  Get him out of there!

[An angry Preston approaches the ring, flipping up the apron and looking
underneath...]

GM:  Where did he go?!

BW:  There!  There!

[The crowd roars as Sone comes out on an adjacent side of the ring,
scaling the steel steps to get on the ring apron and as soon as Preston
turns around, Sone sprints the distance, flinging himself off...

...and taking Preston down with a somersault dive off the apron!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHH!!

[With the crowd going nuts for him, Sone drags Preston off the thin mat,
rolling him under the ropes into the ring.]


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"


[The announcement of the halfway point seems to fire up Johnny Sone who
pulls himself up on the ring apron, pumping a fist to the cheering fans
as he heads towards the corner, scaling the buckles...]

GM:  Sone's heading up top!  Johnny Sone's heading for the rafters,
fans!

BW:  This could be a big mistake.

GM:  Sone to the second rope... now to the top...

[And as the third-generation star leaps from his perch, a tomahawk chop
aimed at the skull of Eric Preston...

...Preston leaves his feet, throwing both of his feet into the face of
his attacker, knocking him flat!]

GM:  DROPKICK!!  MY STARS, WHAT A COUNTER!!

[Preston crawls into a cover, throwing himself across Sone's chest!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!!  THRE- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  KICKOUT!!  HE KICKED OUT JUST IN TIME!!

BW:  Eric Preston was a half second away from breaking the losing
streak!

GM:  He came so close, Bucky!  He had Johnny Sone laid out with that
dropkick!

[A frustrated Preston slams his fist into the canvas as he glares at the
official who holds up two fingers.  With a nod, Preston approaches the
downed Sone, hauling him off the mat by the hair.  He grabs the arm,
flinging Sone into the ropes again.]

GM:  Off the ropes...

[The powerful Preston hoists Sone into the air with ease, spinning him
around, and smashing him down across a bent knee into a backbreaker!]

GM:  Good grief! 

[Preston throws himself into another lateral press, reaching back for a
leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE- again!  Again, he gets the shoulder up in time!

[Preston again slams an arm into the mat, showing further frustration as
he climbs to his feet.  He lets loose an anguished roar as he drags Sone
up and into a front facelock...]

GM:  He's calling for the Thunder!  The Greenville Thunder!

BW:  How long has it been since we've seen this, Gordo?

GM:  It seems like forever!  

[Preston slings Sone's arm over his neck, reaching back to hook the
leg.]

GM:  Here we go!

[The Combat Corner graduate powers Sone up for the fishermanbuster...

...but Sone uses his free leg to smash a knee into the skull of his
opponent, stunning Preston and forcing him to set Sone back down on the
mat.]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[A palm strike right on the chin seems to stun Preston, spinning him a
full circle around into a boot to the gut.  Sone promptly hooks a front
facelock, reaching back for a leg...

...and snaps Preston over, holding a bridging cradle suplex as the
referee dives to the mat!]

GM:  WARU QUAKE!!  WARU QUAKE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... JOHNNY SOOOOONE!

[Sone rolls out of the cradle suplex to his knees, throwing both arms up
in the air in triumph.]

GM:  Johnny Sone with a big win here tonight in Dallas, Bucky!

BW:  And I'm sure you're shocked that Eric Preston has lost... again.

GM:  It's unfortunate, for sure.  The young man put forth a tremendous
effort but in the end, he falls just a bit short once again.  I'm sure
Eric Preston will snap out of this at some point.  Sure of it.

BW:  And I've got one of those bridges in Brooklyn you might be
interested in.

GM:  Let's go backstage where Mark Stegglet is standing by!  Mark?

[We fade backstage where Mark Stegglet is standing outside a door that
says "MARK LANGSETH" on it.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon.  I'm back here, obviously, trying to get a word
with Hall of Famer Mark Langseth... so, here goes...

[Stegglet turns and knocks on the door.  He waits a moment before
lifting his arm to knock again when the door suddenly swings open to
reveal Mark Langseth with Joe Petrow standing nearby.]

MS: Mark Langseth... Mark, can you spare a moment for some questions?

[Mark looks over to his Respect Enhancement Manager, who looks on
angrily.  Petrow shoves Stegglet back a step or two as he exits the
locker room looking irritated.]

JP: Excuse me, but what do you think you're doing? Don't you know that
the ONLY person allowed to interview Mr. Langseth is THE award-winning
Announcer of the Year, Bucky Wilde? And last I looked, you are NO Bucky
Wilde!

[Langseth nods... but then waves Petrow down.]

ML: Alright, alright... Stegglet, you've got one question, so make it
good.

MS: Mark, what...

[Stegglet looks over at Petrow for a moment before turning back to
Langseth.]

MS: What happened here? Why have you gone off the deep end?

ML: Hold on, did I hear you correctly?

[Langseth looks incredulous.]

ML: "Gone off the deep end?"

MS: Well, you've refused to wrestle two shows ago, the video package,
and...

ML: AND?

MS: Uh... The attitude. It's almost as if you'd gone back a decade, back
to the person we all thought you grew past.

ML: Stegglet, I haven't changed! I'm still the same man I was when I
came into the AWA. I'm still the same man on a mission to reclaim MY
deserved glory! That's all I EVER wanted out of that ring out there!

[Petrow tries to pull Langseth away, but Mark waves him off for a
moment.]

ML: No, I need to right this little pathetic seed and everyone who
thinks like him! I'm not like the others here in AWA, still wrestling
for a paycheck or trying to build a career. I've made my coin and I've
built every damned skyscraper one can in the ring -

[Langseth pauses, considering that analogy, but continues on after a
moment.]

ML: I've been a multi-time WORLD Champion. I've been considered the best
in this sport, many times. I'm in the Hall of Fame, damnit! You name it,
I've accomplished it! And yet...

[Langseth takes in a deep breath.]

ML: When I come out of retirement and STILL show off my mastery in the
ring? When I DOMINATE my competition for a whole year? Do you know when
the last time someone pinned my shoulders to a mat, Stegglet?

MS: I, uh...

ML: YEARS, Dane! 

MS: Stegglet, Mar-

ML: YEARS! So long ago that no one can remember! And what do I get, huh?
What do I get when I step into that ring? When I walk around these
halls? When walk into that locker room?

[Mark pauses, almost waiting for Stegglet to answer.]

ML: I get insignificant pieces of trash, like you, questioning ME! So
why don't you learn this lesson right now - RESPECT ME or ELSE!

[Langseth threatens hit Stegglet with a backhand, but lowers it - just
giving a warning to the young announcer. Langseth grows a smile on his
face - happy he's dressed down Stegglet.]

JP: [snaps his fingers] Oh, and uh, speaking of respect Mr. Langseth, I
suggest you get comfortable in front of the monitor in the VIP lounge,
because I'm going out to get you some of that long overdue respect,
right now!
 
[Langseth smile widens as he says "Alright, you do that!", and the two
go their separate ways as the shot fades 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 up to live action where Joe Petrow is pacing about
the ring.  The cameras pick him up in mid-sentence as we return from
commercial.]

JP: ...don't care if this "my time", "My time" is whenever I say it is!
But I'm gonna wait to say my piece 'til we're back on the air so that
everyone can hear it!

[An agitated Joe Petrow, his suit jacket and tie draped over the ropes
behind him, paces with a live mic inside the ring. There appears to be
some commotion happening elsewhere.]

GM: Fans, we've had an incident during the commercial break, and I'm
being told that we have some footage of it to show you.

[The camera, apparently as unprepared for what's happening as anybody
else, shows shaky footage of Petrow in the middle of an attack of a
person from behind on the elevated rampway, finally setting into a
stable video.]

GM: Bobby Goode was on his way to ringside for his match, when he was
completely blindsided by Joe Petrow...and then, you see right here,
Petrow picks up Goode from behind and slams him in a seated position
spine first on that hard rampway!

BW: The Bare Essentials, Gordo! Bobby Goode felt that last month, and he
felt it even harder tonight!

GM: AWA staff are looking at Mr. Goode right now, but it doesn't appear
that he'll be able to wrestle tonight, or perhaps for a very long t-

JP: Are we back? We're back, aren't we!

[The camera cuts back to an angry Joe Petrow, still stalking the ring.]

JP: Two weeks ago I told all of you people that there would be
consequences, and that ham-and-egger over there [camera cuts back to
Goode, both arms around the shoulders of AWA staff, gingerly making his
way backstage] was the first one to experience them! There will be more!

Now, Juan Vasquez, I know you're busy back there looking at a mirror,
serenading yourself with your own name! Well don't you worry pal,
because the Hall of Fame Legend, Mark Langseth, will deal with you
_personally_ in due time! But this show isn't going anywhere, there
ain't nothing else that's going to happen tonight, until Alex Martinez
comes out here, steps into this ring, looks me in the eye like a man,
and listens long and hard to what I have to say!

[Boos from the crowd, as Petrow just stands there.]

JP: I mean it too. This ring is mine until that badboy gets out here!
I've got a lot of stories about him that I can fill two hours with if I
have to!

[More boos! A few people are also yelling "Go away!"]

JP: Oh, is that all you've got? Why don't you people make yourself
useful and do that chanty thing you do sometimes! You know,
[patronizing, nasal, sing-song voice] "MAR-TIN-EZ! MAR-TIN-EZ!" C'mon
people, get your hero out here!

[The people aren't biting. More boos.]

JP: C'mon Alex, this is the Eternal World Heavyweight Champion,
representing the AWA's _only_ Hall of Famer, ordering you to do what you
should have done months ago! You don't really want all of these twits
that you pander to to think that, not only are you rude and obnoxious,
but you're also a cowar-

#Its all right...#

[Those boos turn to cheers almost instantly.]

GM: You know that old saying about being careful what you wish for? I
think that Joe Petrow is about to become very familiar with it.

#Its all right...#

[And the big man emerges from the back.]

BW: Finally, that big idiot is going to be taught some respect.

#Its all right, I'm just...#

[And then the crowd gets...]

#A LITTLE CRAZY#

[Alex Martinez, all seven feet, three hundred and fifty pounds of him,
steps fully into view. He wears his usual black leather jacket, today
over a black t-shirt with the letters 'LAB' written in gold across the
chest. He's also wearing a pair of blue jeans and black leather boots.
As always, his eyes are covered by a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He
moves towards the ring at a deliberate pace, fans reaching out to slap
his chest or pat his back, as Martinez focuses in on the man in the
ring.]

BW:  You know what those letters stand for?

GM: Yes I do.  We all know exactly what they stand for. Something we're
not allowed to say on television.

BW: What, Los Angeles Badboy?

GM: Uh... yes, let's just leave it at that.

[Martinez stands on the apron, one leg going over the top rope, followed
by the other. He's acquired a microphone from somewhere during his trek
to the ring, and he moves forward, getting right in Petrow's face,
forcing him to back up a few steps. Mic raised, Martinez speaks.]

AM: Ya know normally, I wouldn't be out here, entertainin' whatever
delusions of importance ya got dancin' around in that little pinhead of
yours. But tonight, I'm gonna make an exception. Tonight, I'm gonna make
ya feel like ya matter Petrow.

So, ya got somethin' to say? Let's hear it.

[Petrow goes nose to...chest...with Martinez, before thinking better of
it.  He backs up to a corner and props himself onto the second rope.]

JP: I don't care if you are seven feet tall, _you_ will look up to _me_!

[Martinez rolls his eyes, looking slightly amused.]

JP: November 12th, 2010.  A day that will live in infamy.  On a day when
you _knew_ that the Hall of Fame Legend Mark Langseth was preoccupied
with thoughts of destroying Shane Destiny, you ambushed the man! 
Badgered him!  Threatened him!  And ultimately attempted to extort a
truce that gave _you_ the higher ground!

Well pal, I'm here to tell you that that check was never cashed!  I am
here now to take care of things like this and let Mr. Langseth do what
he does best:  everything that happens inside of this ring!

So you want a truce Mr. Badboy?  You want to make sure that you don't
have a "problem"?  Then you back that seven foot ass closer to the mat,
get down on your knees, apologize for your transgressions, and give Mr.
Langseth all of the glory and respect that he's earned _right now_!

[Throughout Petrow's tirade, Alex Martinez has seemed calmed, eerily so.
Especially given his usual volatile nature. But as he stares at Petrow,
the respect consultant's face reflected in the silvered lenses of
Martinez' glasses, the eeriness of his calm continues to pervade the
ring.]

GM:  Fans, we apologize for the language on display by Mr. Petr-

[The stern words of Alex Martinez interrupts Gordon.]

AM: You want an apology, is that right?

[Petrow gestures wildly at himself and then at Martinez as well.]

JP: I _demand_ an apology, right now!

[Martinez nods.]

AM: All right, you're gonna get one.

[The cameras cut to a young boy sitting in the audience, a comically
stunned expression on his face, while Petrow can be heard saying "damned
right I'm gonna get one!".]

AM: But first, you're gonna give me something. Right here, right now,
you're gonna produce my old friend, Mark Langseth.

[Petrow jumps off his perch, looking at Martinez from a safe distance,
taking in the look on his face.]

JP: You know, maybe there is an ounce of decency somewhere in there
after all.  You wanna apologize to Mr. Langseth in person?  You want to
make sure that he sees you clearly as you prostate yourself towards his
majesty!  Well yes, Martinez, I can allow that request!  Ladies and
gentlemen, please welcome, in person, the Hall of Fame Legend, Mark
Langseth!!

["Save Yourself" by Stabbing Westward plays.  Two men hurriedly lay a
red carpet down the rampway towards the ring, and a loud "LANGSETH!
LANGSETH!" chant is heard, obviously piped in through the sound system.

BW: Listen to this crowd, Gordo! They're ravenous! They're ecstatic!
They can't contain themselves for the man, the legend, th-

GM: Would you stop that? It's obvious from the real crowd that they're
not chanting.

BW: The people who know what's good for them are, I'll tell you that!

[The louder boo mixes in with the piped in sounds as the Hall of Famer
himself steps through the entrance, arms wide open to soak in the
hoped-for cheers. Langseth - dressed in a pair of black slacks, a fitted
red pinstriped dress shirt, and oxfords - looks around at the crowd as
he drops his arms, shaking his head a bit at the boos. As Langseth makes
his way down the red carpet, he holds up his right hand, displaying to
all the crowd the almost gaudy Hall of Fame ring adorning it. Once in
the ring, Langseth stands beside Petrow, making a couple comments to him
almost as if Martinez doesn't exist.  Still calm, Martinez faces his old
nemesis.]

AM: You're both here. That's good, 'cuz I hate havin' to repeat myself.
Now, you want your apology?

[Langseth stops his chat with Petrow for a moment to finally acknowledge
his one time arch-enemy.]

ML: Excuse me? Did you say something? Joe, did this...

[The Hall of Famer looks Martinez up and down with disgust.]

ML: Did this sad sack of a man just talk to ME like that?

[Martinez exhales, and takes his sunglasses off, and looks from Petrow
to Langseth.].

JP:  On your knees, Martinez!

[There's a flash in Martinez' eyes, and it looks like he might strike
Petrow.  But then, Martinez does the unthinkable, and drops to both
knees.]

ML: Ha-ha! That's right! That's right... You know, LITTLE MAN!

[Langseth cracks a grin, thoroughly enjoying seeing Martinez on his
knees.]

ML: Before you apologize, I wanted to make one thing clear! This isn't
just about the way you talked down to me like I'm some piece of AWA
trash. No, Martinez, this is also cause...

[The formal rival looks into Martinez's eyes and nods.]

ML: Cause I see that jealousy you have.

[Langseth rights himself away from Martinez.]

ML: You can't understand it, isn't that right? You just can't wrap your
pebble-sized brain around how I'm in the Hall and you're out here trying
to STILL cement your legacy. And I don't appreciate that, Martinez. I
DON'T!

[Mark - still just living up this chance - shoves his Hall of Fame ring
in the face of Martinez.]

ML: This is my GREATEST achievement, Martinez! This is everything I've
ever fought for, right here on my finger! It's definitive proof that I'M
better than YOU! And you...

[Langseth takes his hand away.]

ML: You need to stop looking at MY ring with envy and just accept that
you'll never be in my league! So... With that said...

[Langseth shines his ring up against his shirt, nonchalantly.]

ML: Please, go on... Give me the respect I'm DUE! Give me MY apology!

[Martinez, looking humble, brings the microphone up to his mouth.]

AM: All right. Here goes. Marky... I'm very, very sorry.

I'm sorry that you didn't take gettin' inducted into the Hall Of Fame as
your cue to pack your crap up and head off into obscurity with all the
other 'legends.'

[As the fans cheer, the camera cuts to the shocked boy from before, now
standing on his seat, applauding Martinez' 'apology.' Meanwhile, in the
ring, Langseth's eyes look like they're about to burst from his head.]

AM: I'm really sorry that after all these years, you still ain't learned
a damn thing. Especially about how dangerous it is to put yourself on my
radar.

And Marky? You can't imagine how sorry I am that you're stupid enough to
think that this walkin' piece of garbage over here is gonna get ya
respect. Makes me worry I might've really done some permanent mental
damage to ya in LA.

And you...

[Martinez turns to Petrow.]

AM: I'm very sorry that all those things I did to Deathbringer, and
Steve Kowalski and Dan Kauffman didn't make a big enough impression to
keep you outta Texas.

And I'm sorry that when we burned that hellhole of an arena down in
Portland, you managed to crawl out with the rest of the rats.  And for
as much as I hate that cesspit of a wrestlin' organization and everyone
who ever walked through its doors, I'm really and truly sorry that a
scumbag like you is who they got representin' them forever.

Not even that trash heap deserves that!

[Martinez gets to his feet, and advances on both men.]

AM:  Now I guess there's somethin' in the water, that makes people
forget who it is they're talkin' to.  So, I'm gonna take a page outta
our champion's book, and explain somethin' to ya.

My name is Alex Martinez!

[POP!]

AM:  And I don't apologize to no one for nothin'.  You feel
disrespected?  Well boys, disrespectin' idiots like you comes to me as
naturally as breathin'. And honestly? I'm damn sorry that you forgot
that.
 
[Martinez smirks as he watches Langseth and Petrow react angrily to his
'apology.'  An infuriated Langseth kicks the bottom rope and screams
towards to the crowd. Petrow gathers his bearings and whispers something
to Langseth, which appears to calm him slightly.  The two men stand
side-by-side as Petrow speaks.]

JP:  You're a real fool, Martinez... and since you _are_ such a fool,
I'll make things real simple for you.  By _your_ request, there are two
of us out here, and only one of you. 

[They are now right in front of Alex, as the camera zooms in on all
three faces.] 

JP:  So if the _two_ of us, decide that the _one_ of you, is going to
give us a sincere apology _right now_, then what are _you_ 

[Petrow jabs his finger into Martinez's chest for emphasis. Uh Oh!] 

JP:  -going to do abAAAAAHHHH!

[As quickly as Martinez can drop his microphone, he has both hands
wrapped around the necks of Petrow and Langseth!  It appears that he is
actually about to attempt a double Firebomb, but Langseth is able to
squirm away and roll out of the ring.]

GM:  Ohh!  Langseth slips out of there!

[Undeterred, Martinez cinches his grip on Petrow, points to Langseth on
the floor, yells out "I got your sincere apology right here Marky!", and
the roof comes off the building as...]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!!"


GM: FIREBOMB! FIREBOMB ON JOE PETROW! THANK YOU, ALEX MARTINEZ!  I'VE
WAITED A LONG TIME FOR THAT!

BW: HE CAN'T DO THAT! HE CAN'T DO THAT TO MY MEAL TIC- i mean, HE CAN'T
DO THAT TO THE ETERNAL WORLD'S CHAMPION!

[Martinez's music plays again as Petrow gingerly rolls under the ropes
and onto the ramp, as Langseth runs over to join him. The camera cuts
back to a triumphant but angry Martinez. Though he doesn't bother
picking up his mic, he screams towards Langseth "I know what you're up
to Marky! You won't get away with it!"]
 
BW: What does that big goof mean "I know what you're up to!?"
 
GM: I don't know Bucky, but I don't think that Mark Langseth will be
asking for anything more from Alex Martinez tonight!
 
[Cut back to Langseth, with mixed look of anger and confusion, and
Petrow, only just now making it to his hands and knees, for a few
seconds before fading to a commercial.

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

...and then back to live action up to the interview platform, where
stands the "Collector Of Oddities" Percy Childes alongside his retinue.

Nenshou, clad in a loose-fiiting black robe with dark purple, dark red,
and thin gold designs and kanji woven into it, stands to the left of the
screen. His face is obscured by a black hood, decorated with gold
patterns. He clutches his right wrist with his left hand, fingers
extended in a gesture that has meaning only to him. James Monosso's
tall, wide-shouldered frame fills the right of screen. The
stringy-haired wildman wears the usual "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL
INSTITUTION" cutoff T-Shirt over a black-and-silver one-strap singlet.
He is staring with an expression of fear and hate at... Childes'
crystal-tipped cane.

Childes himself is a short, fat, bald man with a black Van Dyke and
mustache. He wears a black dress shirt and black pants today. He bears
his cane in his left hand and the AWA Longhorn Heritage Championship in
his right hand. Over the boos of the fans, Jason Dane begins the
interview...]

JD: Percy Childes, tonight in mere moments, your man Nenshou is in
action defending his Longhorn Heritage Championship.  And I have to
admit, he is backing down from no one.

PC: Am I supposed to be flattered, Dane?  Of course not.  Nenshou has
never wilted from any challenge.  The man knows no fear; he SPREADS
fear.  The Longhorn Heritage Championship is defended each and every
week, because we are out to obliterate the history books.  We live in
the here and now, and certain individuals cannot deal with that.  And
I'm referring to you, Brian Von Braun!

[The crowd gets a rise out of that... one hated individual calling out
another.  Childes points threateningly at the camera.]

PC: You had your chance at Ron Houston.  You failed.  And yet you think
you had some sort of claim to end his career?  Unlike you, Von Braun,
the Unholy Alliance does not fail.  We said that we'd rid wrestling of
Vernon Riley, and behold!  Where is Vernon Riley, Dane?  Where is he?

JD: He's... on the shelf.  For now.

PC: For good.  We said we'd break Eric Preston.  Have you seen Eric
Preston lately, Dane?

JD: Yes, he's still here!  He pinned your man Monosso!

PC: At what cost?  He's broken, Dane!  Eric Preston has become a shell
of the great potential you thought he had.  Back when you dared to claim
that he, and not Nenshou, was the future of our business!  Well, so much
for that!  We said we'd ruin him, and he is definitifely and permanently
ruined.  And that brings us to today, where the poster-boy of
entitlement issues Von Braun is threatening to take my Longhorn Heritage
Title away from me!

[Percy clutches the title belt close to him as the crowd cheers the
prospect of somebody, anybody, taking the Longhorn Heritage Title away
from Nenshou.  He addresses the camera directly now.]

PC: Von Braun, you've wrestled all over the world.  You've won a share
of championships, you've been praised, you've exceeded the glory of your
family name.  But you have a notorious habit of leaving business
unfinished.  Just like with Ron Houston, Von Braun, you have a way of
just not _quite_ getting it done.  I'm sure Ben Waterson would agree
with me, wouldn't he, Von Braun?  But, you see, we don't have that
problem.  Anton Layton and myself have a clear understanding of the
difference between rhetoric and accomplishment.  You've once again set a
goal for yourself that you're incapable of reaching, Rocket City Badboy.
 And I know you can give my Nenshou a challenge.  It won't be the easy
pickings we've seen of late.  But nonetheless, the ultimate outcome
isn't in doubt.

Once upon a time, Brian Von Braun was the hottest new star in wrestling.
 They said he was a can't-miss world heavyweight champion.  They said he
was the future.  And he could have been.  But, as with everything else,
he fell short.  And now Nenshou is everything they always said that
Brian Von Braun would be, even though the pundits have overlooked him
because of their xenophobia.  You truly believe that we stole something
from you, Von Braun?  Truly?  For all of your immense talent, you
couldn't take your own wallet out of your pocket without dropping it on
the floor.  You didn't deserve to eliminate Ron Houston.  Those honors
go to the worthy.  And for all of your obsession with the man... all
your striving... all your dreams of finally conquering him... you tried
and tried and tried.  To you, it was an impossible dream.

To us, it was just another day.

[Childes chuckles darkly, clearly relishing the thought that he was
party to destroying someone's goals and hopes.  The fans have the
opposite reaction.]

JD: That was a sickening act which your men and Anton Layton, not to
mention Polemas, perpetrated.  And while that might be "just another
day" to you, I have to ask about a similar effort which your man, James
Monosso is undertaking.

[Percy's face grows dark.  Monosso steps forward.]

JM: You don't need to talk to Percy about that, Dane.  That's not his
business.  That's _my_ business.  Which means that it's none of _your_
business.

JD: Well, it certainly seemed like Mr. Childes' business when he pulled
you out of there last week with that cane.  Which reminds me... James
Monosso, you seem to have some kind of... strange reaction... to that
crystal-tipped cane of Per...

[Percy interrupts Jason by sticking the end of his cane underneath his
chin.  The boos intensify for the interviewer abuse.]

PC: Listen carefully, Dane.  Unlike Adrian Bathwaite, if I use this cane
on you, it will be an attempt to crush your trachea.  And as I've
already mentioned, we have an excellent track record on our "attempts"
lately.  That is the very last time you will mention anything like that.
 At all.  To anyone.

JD: I see.

PC: One command to Nenshou, and that can also be rectified.  Remember
that.

[At a slight signal from Childes, Nenshou makes a quick sweeping
gesture, and sprays a cloud of green mist straight up into the air. 
Jason gulps audibly, and steps back.]

PC: Now then.  We have business to attend to.  Regardless of your
opinions, we don't believe in resting on our laurels or not earning our
place.  Nenshou has a championship to defend.  And Brian Von Braun had
better pay very close attention; he's looking at his own future when he
sees how this turns out.

[Childes leads his troupe away, and we cut back to ringside.]

GM: Percy Childes is hiding something.  He didn't want to discuss James
Monosso or that cane of his at all!

BW: Ix-nay on the ane-cay!  I like breathin' an' seein', Gordo.  An' I'd
hope you'd be enamored with yer health enough ta follow suit.

GM: I believe Monosso is in the doghouse with Childes for pursuing his
business with the Dragon and Alex Martinez.  Nonetheless, Childes isn't
about to stop him.

BW: Monosso is arguably the most dangerous man in the AWA.  When ya get
a man like that in your stable, ya just gotta let him do what he does. 
Percy's probably just sore because he wanted a cut.

GM: Another reason to suspect that Dragon is NOT affiliated with Anton
Layton or his Master.  But in regards to Brian Von Braun, Childes had
much to say.  And I believe it is now inevitable that he will face
Nenshou for the Longhorn Heritage Championship, just as Von Braun
claimed that he wanted to do.

BW: Give the man credit.  BVB made th' challenge an' it was not ducked.

GM: No, but if Childes is going to be so dismissive of Von Braun's
chances, perhaps he isn't as familiar with BVB's track record as he
believes he is.  The man HAS ended careers, and storied ones, although I
hate to glorify that in any way.  He most certainly does not have the
stigma of failure that Childes would have us believe.

BW: Percy is sowing doubt, daddy.  make th' man question himself, an' ya
got him.  You watch, he knows what he's doin'.

GM:  We shall certainly see about that, Bucky.  We shall- huh?  What's
this all about?

[The crowd buzzes slightly as the camera cuts to the entrance portal,
from which emerges a skinny man dressed in a dark brown khaki shirt and
a matching pair of shorts.  In his hand is a sealed envelope.  The crowd
is confused as the man is wearing the universally-known outfit of a UPS
driver.  The man approaches Gordon and Bucky and speaks; his voice
picked up by our two announcers' microphones.]

UPS: Which one of you is...

[He looks down at the large envelope in his hand.]

UPS: ...Becky Wilde?

[Myers laughs heartily as Bucky can't believe what he just heard.]

BW: Did they find you on the side of an interstate exit ramp!?  I'm the
Announcer of the Year!  It's _Bucky_ Wilde, you idiot, now give me that!

UPS: But it says Bec-

[The man is cut off as Bucky snatches the envelope from him.  He shrugs
and turns away, walking back through the entrance portal.]

GM: What do you have there, Bec-errr, Bucky?

BW: Fan mail, most likely.

[Bucky rips the top of the envelope, reaching in and pulling out what
appears to be a postcard.  Bucky holds it up and reads it, nodding as he
does so.  The front of the postcard is decorated with a few
scantily-clad women and palm trees.]

GM: Well?  What does it say?

BW: It's no doubt that this fine competitor would come to me to break
this news after the travesty that occurred to him two weeks ago on The
Money Pit.

[The crowd begins to boo, knowing who it's from.]

GM: Calisto Dufresne sent you a postcard?  Is that why we haven't seen
him here at the Crockett Coliseum tonight?

BW: That he did.

GM: Well, what does it say!

BW: Ahem.  "Bucky... Congratulations on your award.  It was well-earned.
 When I get back to the States we'll have to go out and let women throw
themselves at my feet to celebrate.  I'll even bring my 'Biggest Fan
Favorite Award' that I got.  Anyway, I just wanted to say that I had
some business overseas, being the worldwide brand and icon that I am. 
Leaving on a jet plane and all that.  Not sure when I'll be back again. 
Anyway, tell Gordo to get a new tux for The Main Event.  That cheap
horse blanket he's been sporting for the past ten years is getting
stale.  I'll be sure to call and see how everything went.  Later. 
Calisto."

GM: Is Calisto Dufresne saying he won't be at The Main Event!?

[The crowd erupts with a heel pop at the sheer idea of it.]

BW: You heard the man; he's a worldwide icon and businessman!  Sometimes
duty calls elsewhere!

GM: Goodness gracious!  The Championship Committee is NOT going to be
happy about this!  Fans, we'll be right back with more Saturday Night
Wrestling!

[Fade to black.

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

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

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

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

JD:  Hello, Mr. iPhone.

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

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

JD:  Well, actually I did.

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

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

[Thankfully, a voiceover starts.]

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

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

[Fade back to black...

...and then back to live action where "Big" Jim Watkins has joined the
announce team at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... and welcome to ringside, Mr. Watkins!

[Jim trades a hearty handshake with Gordon.]

BJW:  Thanks, old friend.  It's good to be out here - I just wish it was
under better circumstances.

GM:  I'm guessing you heard what Bucky read before the break - that
postcard from Calisto Dufresne.

BJW:  I did.

GM:  And?

BJW:  And it's of no concern.

GM:  How so?  The man says he won't be at The Main Event!  He won't be
there for the steel cage match against City Jack!

BJW:  Oh, he'll be there, Gordon.

[Watkins cracks a grin.]

BJW:  In fact, he'll be here in two weeks' time... right back there on
The Money Pit... 

[Big cheer!]

BJW:  He'll be there... face to face with the man he'll face at The Main
Event inside the cage!  

[Another big cheer!]

BJW:  Calisto Dufresne's going to have to pay for his words inside that
cage.  And in two weeks, he's going to get one last chance to write a
check his body's gonna have to cash.

GM:  And if he doesn't show?

BJW:  By the power granted to me by the AWA's Championship Committee,
I've got a lifetime suspension from the AWA with his name on it.

[HUGE CHEER!]

BJW:  The choice is his.

GM:  Thanks for coming out here to let us-

BJW:  I've got one more thing, Gordon.

GM:  Oh?

BJW:  Earlier tonight, we saw a little interaction between the National
Champion, Juan Vasquez, and the #1 contender, MAMMOTH Mizusawa.  In two
weeks, we're going to up the stakes just two weeks before their title
match.

In two weeks, I'm going to allow those two men to select each other's
opponents.  

In fact, I had that discussion with both men moments ago.

[Watkins pauses for effect.]

BJW:  Louis Matsui made it very clear that he values loyalty... and few
can forget "Playboy" Johnny Casanova's role in helping Mizusawa win his
second straight Steal The Spotlight match.  Therefore, Juan Vasquez will
meet Johnny Casanova in two weeks' time.

[Big cheer!]

GM:  And the other match?  Who will face Mizusawa?

[Big Jim smiles.]

BJW:  Our National Champion has a special treat in store for his
challenger.  MAMMOTH Mizusawa will face the man who says that the giant
will win the title over his dead body... RAPHAEL RHODES!

[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  Oh my stars, Jim!  That's two HUGE matches for two weeks from
tonight!

BJW:  That's why I love this company so much, Gordo.  You just never
know what'll happen.

GM:  Amen to that... Jim, thanks for stopping by and- well, let's
welcome in our next guest here at ringside.  Joining us at this time to
sit in on  commentary for our next match is Brian Von Braun.  Brian,
welcome.

BVB:  Lemme say thanks fer havin' me down here, Gordon.  It'll be a good
chance fer tha Rocket City Badboy ta get a closer look at Neshou in
action without causing a fuss.

GM:  With that said, let's head up to the ring for the introductions!

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit and is for the AWA Longhorn Heritage Championship! 
Introducing first, already in the ring at this time... from Huntsville,
Alabama... Heath Thompson!

[Dig the mullet!  The long blond hair of Heath Thompson gets a few
squeals from the ladies in the crowd as he points to them.]

MC:  And his opponent...

[The lights dim and a light mist rolls out from the entryway as
"Raijin's Drums" by George Sakalis begins to play over the PA System.]

MC:  From the Land of the Rising Sun... he represents the Unholy
Alliance and is accompanied to the ring by his manager, Percy Childes...
he is the reigning Longhorn Heritage Champion...

NENNNNNNSHOU!

[After a moment, the mysterious Nenshou appears, wearing a long black
robe with the hood pulled down over his painted face.  Pausing at the
entrance, he begins to walk smoothly and unhurriedly down towards the
ring, his steely gaze locked on the squared circle.  Behind him comes
his manager Percy Childes... overweight and sweating, the piece of filth
is as loud as his charge is silent, jawing at fans and threating to
brain them with his crystal orb topped cane.]

GM:  Percy Childes leading his man to the ring... Brian, two weeks ago
you were out here at ringside and put... well, I'd say you put the fear
of God into Childes.

BVB:  Percy said tha Invader wouldn't be able ta take tha Longhorn
Heritage title unless it was over his an' Neshou's dead bodies.  He said
I ain't capable of doin' that.  Las' time, he ran 'cause he knew I was
capable and willing, Gordon.

GM:  He certainly has his eyes locked on you out here.  Both of them do
in fact.

BVB:  Good.

GM:  You have to wonder if that might have any effect on this matchup.

[Inside the ring, Nenshou foregoes his usual dramatic unveiling, simply
ripping off his cloth hood and throwing it to the floor.  He points a
tape-wrapped finger at Von Braun before dragging his thumb across his
throat.]

GM:  A very clear message being sent to you, Brian.

BVB:  Neshou needs ta keep his eye on tha prize tonight.  He don't need
ta worry 'bout me sittin' behind this table.  I ain't done nothin' yet. 
He don't wanna start nothin' tonight

BW:  What do you expect?  You chased Percy Childes out of the building
two weeks ago!

BVB:  I made a point, Bucky.  Both Percy an' Neshou got tha message.

GM:  We're about ready to start this one up and... there's the bell and
we are underway... and Heath Thompson ties up with Nenshou in the center
of the ring right off the bat...

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion wastes no time in immediately bringing a
knee up into the midsection.  He lifts his right arm slowly, driving it
down in an overhead chop across the back of the neck!]

GM:  Ohh!  Brutal chop by the champ!

BW:  Whaddya think of that, Von Braun?

BVB:  Impressive, Bucky.  That's what I think.  You've even claimed, I'm
"touched by God" so to speak.  How do ya prepare fer someone who's jus'
gonna keep comin' at ya ta take what means tha world to ya when ya took
from him?  Percy took from me, Bucky.  He's gonna pay what he owes.

[With Thompson down on all fours, Nenshou delivers a hard punt kick to
the ribcage, flipping him over to his back.  Childes shouts instructions
to his charge who leaps up, dropping a knee down across the sternum.  He
continues to kneel on the chest, reaching down to choke Thompson with
both hands.]

GM:  A blatant choke being put on by Nenshou!  Come on, referee!

[The referee's count reaches four before the champion releases the
choke, climbing to his feet... and again, points a finger at the seated
Invader.]

BW:  Still want some of Nenshou, daddy?

BVB:  Ask me that question again when tha hands of tha Rocket City
Badboy are around Neshou's throat... "daddy."

GM:  I know I'm excited to see what happens when you two collide in the
middle of the ring.  Any indication of when that might happen?

BVB:  Soon, Gordon.  I've already requested tha match from Jim Watkins
an' tha Championship Committee.

[Nenshou reaches down, dragging Thompson off the mat by the hair. 
Drawing back, he lashes out with a stiff-fingered thrust to the throat,
sending a gasping Thompson back into the corner.]

GM:  Another illegal move right there.  Nenshou will stoop to nothing to
win a match, Brian.

BVB:  Ask yerself, Gordon.  How do ya compete with someone who will
stoop lower than ya?  Neshou don't know tha meanin' of "cheat."  He
ain't be inside tha ring with me.  Like Pops use ta say, do what ya
will.  Jus' so long as yer hand is raised in victory.

[Grabbing Thompson, Nenshou throws the veteran's arms back over the
ropes to expose the chest and lights him up with a knife-edge chop to
the chest.]

GM:  Ohh!  The martial arts experience of Nenshou on display here...

[The Asian Assassin throws two more chops that crash across the chest of
Thompson, leaving rapidly-reddening welts behind.  Spinning around, the
champion leaves his feet, uncorking a leaping spinning back kick to the
chest that connects solidly on the chest, knocking Thompson down to a
seated position on the mat against the buckles.]

GM:  The educated feet of Nenshou being put to good use in this one.

[Going against the shouts of the official, Nenshou plants his foot on
the throat of Thompson, strangling him with his boot.]

GM:  Another choke in the corner... come on, referee!

BVB:  Watch, Gordon.  He breaks before five, but he don't reapply it. 
Keep chokin' him.  That's what he needs ta do.  Keep this Heath Thompson
cat from breathin'.

GM:  He finally breaks the choke, dragging Thompson to his feet...

[Pulling Thompson from the corner to the center of the ropes, Nenshou
fires him across the ring...]

GM:  Backdr-

[But Thompson pulls up, dropping to a knee and popping Nenshou on the
chin with a stiff uppercut that sends a loud "POP!" through the Crockett
Coliseum!]

GM:  Ohh!  Thompson caught him!  Nenshou might have set a moment too
early and Heath Thompson caught him on the chin!

BVB:  I wonder what Percy's gonna have ta say 'bout that.  Neshou's
intense, but he jus' made a basic mistake.

[Thompson pursues the stumbling Nenshou back into the ropes, grabbing
him by the arm.]

GM:  Irish whip... he goes low with a right hand to the breadbasket!

[And instantly dashes to the adjacent ropes, rebounding off, and snaps
Nenshou down to the mat with a swinging neckbreaker!]

GM:  Ohhh!  Heath Thompson strings together two big moves and these fans
are calling for an upset!

BVB:  Thompson better stay on him, if he wants ta head to tha pay
window.

[Pulling Nenshou to his feet, Thompson throws another big right hand,
this one toppling the Longhorn Heritage Champion back into the corner. 
With a whoop, Thompson hops up on the middle rope, balling up his right
hand...

...but Nenshou quickly slips out, grabbing the back of Thompson's trunks
and YANKING him down hard to the canvas where the back of his head
smashes into the mat!]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  And just like that... you watchin, Von Braun?  Just like that,
Nenshou can turn your lights out!

BVB:  Y'ain't never gonna see me climbin' a turnbuckle ta hit Neshou ten
times so tha fans can count along, Bucky.  I ain't never said Neshou
ain't good.  He jus' ain't had tha Devil chasin' him before.

GM:  Nenshou pulls him up...

[The Asian Assassin quickly hoists him up, dropping him down across a
bent knee in a backbreaker.  He pops back up, rapidly approaching the
corner where he steps to the middle rope, then to the top where he
promptly backflips off, floating through the air...

...and CRASHES down across the chest of the prone Thompson!]

GM:  OHHHH!!  WHAT A MANEUVER!!

[Nenshou keeps the press applied as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  There's one... there's two... and there's the three!

BVB:  Impressive moonsault, Gordon.  Lethal kicks.

BW:  Ain't that the truth, daddy?

BVB:  Yeah.  They only work if ya can walk, Bucky.

[An audible "clunk" is heard as we see BVB get up from the table and
make his way around the ring.  Percy Childes is in the ring, pushing
away the official and raises Nenshou's hand in victory.]

BW:  Where's he going?!

GM:  Brian Von Braun has left the announce desk and- uh oh!

[BVB slides into the ring under the bottom rope as the crowd cheers. 
BVB gets to his feet and drives the skull of his cane into Nenshou's
right knee.]

GM:  OHHHH!  He smacked him in the knee with the cane!

[Nenshou falls to the mat, clutching at his knee.  Childes pivots and
comes face-to-face with Von Braun.  Childes backpedals and quickly exits
the ring.  BVB points the cane at Childes menacingly and then brings it
crashing down on Nenshou's right knee a second time.]

GM:  He's wearing out the knee of Nenshou with that cane!  He said that
Nenshou's impressive offense only works if he can walk and it looks like
the Rocket City Badboy aims to change that!

[Standing over the downed Nenshou, Von Braun grabs his right leg and
flips the Longhorn Heritage Champion onto his back.  He holds onto the
ankle for a moment and then leaps over Nenshou bringing the leg with
him.]

GM:  He's going for the figure four - the Von Braun Lock!

BW:  Somebody stop him!  Get someone in there!

[BVB gets up and quickly applies a spinning toe-hold.  The crowd
continues to cheer.  BVB pauses for a moment confused before falling
back and locking in his pet figure-four leglock.]

GM:  He's got it locked in!  The Von Braun Lock is applied!

[BVB keeps the hold applied, grabbing Nenshou's left leg and pulling
back.]

GM:  The Von Braun Lock is in deep!  Nenshou's flailing about, trying to
free himself from it!

[Nenshou sits up, grabbing at his trapped knee as Von Braun sits up as
well...

...and spews a stream of green mist in the direction of Von Braun who
just narrowly avoids it, releasing the figure four and rolling out of
the way in time.  He scampers to his feet, grabbing his cane once more.]

GM:  Von Braun had to release the figure four!  He had to let it go and-

[Nenshou rolls to the floor, immediately being held back by Percy
Childes' cane.  Childes shouts orders in Japanese to the Asian Assassin
as Von Braun stands inside the ring, waving for Nenshou to get back into
the squared circle.]

GM:  Von Braun's not done with him!  He wants more!

[Childes points his own cane at Von Braun from outside the ring.  The
camera picks up Childes saying, "You just made the worst mistake of your
life, Von Braun."

And then suddenly gestures towards the locker room with his cane.]

GM:  Uh oh!

[The crowd ERUPTS in jeers as Anton Layton, James Monosso, and Polemos
come pouring out of the locker room, charging down the entrance ramp
towards the squared circle.]

GM:  Here comes the Unholy Alliance!

[Von Braun sizes up the odds, holding his cane at the ready for a
fight...

...but the Rocket City Badboy bails out before they arrive, choosing to
battle another day as the Unholy Alliance hits the ring filled with
rage!]

GM:  Von Braun's out of there... he's leaving through the crowd...

[Von Braun backs away through the crowd, smirking at the ranting and
raving Unholy Alliance who is shouting in his direction.  Anton Layton
reaches to the floor, snatching an offered mic.]

AL:  VON BRAUN!!  VON BRAUN!!

[Layton paces back and forth, shaking his head.  He smashes the mic into
his own forehead, uttering bizarre groans as he nears the ropes.]

AL:  The Unholy Alliance will not stand for this, Von Braun.  You think
you can assault one of our own and walk away?

[Layton throws his head back, cackling with a dark tone.]

AL:  Ehehehehehe.  I think the AWA has gone too long without seeing the
Unholy Alliance at our worst.  You forget what we are capable of... Von
Braun, you SAW what we are capable of and yet you forget...

[Layton shakes his head.]

AL:  No more, no more.  Soon, Von Braun, you will know the feel of the
Darkness as it envelops you, swallows you whole, and makes your throat
clench with it's shadowy fingers around it.

We are coming for you, Von Braun.

[Layton throws his head back again, cackling like a madman as the camera
cuts to show Von Braun still in the crowd...

...looking concerned?

Fade to black.

The black screen is filled with white text that reads "THREE YEARS
AGO!"]

"They said it couldn't work."

[The words fade out and are then replaced with "TWO YEARS AGO!"]

"They said it wouldn't last."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "ONE YEAR AGO!"]

"They're too old fashioned.  They can't keep up with the times.  Nobody
wants to watch that stuff."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "THEY WERE WRONG!"  The text
fades again and comes back to reveal, "March 26th, 2011 - The Main Event
- The Third Anniversary Show."

And then fades back out to black before returning to Gordon Myers,
standing with mic in hand and facing the newly arrived Corax.  The face
painted wrestler (we assume) stands calmly in his black trench coat,
silently regarding Myers while the raven from his opening promo sits on
his left shoulder, head moving to and fro as it took in its
surroundings.]

GM: Corax, I've got to say, you've got AWA buzzing with your arrival. 
First you send in an interview piece talking about 'restoring justice'
that you filmed outside of a prison, for goodness sake, and the next
thing we know, you're charging into the arena with a baseball bat in
hand and protecting Supernova from further injury.  What can you tell
our fans about your intentions?

[A squawk from the raven draws Gordon's attention, as well as a frown.]

GM: And what's with the bird?

[Corax looks quietly at Gordon, an almost smile playing on his
black-painted lips as he strokes the raven on his shoulder.  He replies,
speaking quietly...not bombast...no heat...just calm and cool.]

Corax: This?  This is Azrael.  He's here to watch...to listen....to
help.

GM: He's not gonna attack anyone, is he?

Corax: Unlikely, Gordon.  That's why I'm here, and Azrael would hate to
move into a job that's not in his nature.  You see, Gordon, being true
to your nature's very important...

GM: What are you talking about, Corax?  I wanted you to talk about
Supernova and your past relationship...not about the nature of ravens.

Corax: But its one and the same thing, Gordon.  A man needs to do what's
in his nature, same as Azrael here.  Some rant and rave and
scream...they make a spectacle of themselves.  I've found that if a
man's actions speak for him, there's no need to raise your voice.  Your
purpose and your desires come through loud and clear without it.

You're asking what my relationship is with Supernova?

GM: I already did, Corax.

[The face-painted grappler pauses, then smiles mirthlessly.]

Corax: I think I'll leave it to Supernova to give you that bit of
background, Gordon.  I'm not here for the past.

I'm here for AWA's future.

[Without another word, Corax turns and walks off camera, leaving Gordon
sputtering.]

GM: We have no more answers now than when the interview started, but it
appears that Corax has something planned.  What that is, he'll show us
in his own good time.  Now, let's go up to the ring for more action...

[Back to the ring.  There, standing in the corner, is a man dressed like
a military dictator.  He's got the beret, and the sunglasses, and the
green shirt with way too many gold medals on it.]

MC:  Introducing first, in the ring right now, from Nigeria, and
weighing in at two hundred and thirty five pounds, here is...

MISTER 419!!!

[Mister 419 steps to the center of the ring, arms held high above his
head, as boos rain down on him.]

BW:  That man right there is my new hero!

GM:  What are you talking about Bucky?

BW:  That man's gonna make me rich baby! Richer than the richest man
ever!

GM:  Oh, this I have to hear.

BW:  Well, you see, its sorta tragic.  But Mr. 419 represents a few
business men who lost their lives during the last regime in his country.
 But their bank accounts are still intact.  All I have to do is let him
deposit the money in my account, and I can keep twenty percent!   I'm
gonna be rich, rich I tell ya!

GM:   Good grief

BW:  What you don't believe me?  I'll show you the email after we go off
the air.

GM:  Bucky... I... never mind.

[Back to Melissa.]

MC:  And now, coming to the ring, he stands seven feet tall, and hails
from Los Angeles, California, and weighs in tonight at three hundred and
fifty pounds.  Here is the one, the only...

AAAAAAAAALEX MAAAAAAAAARTINEZ!!!!

#Its all right...#

[There's no build this time, as Alex Martinez emerges from the back, and
takes off at fully sprint towards the ring.]

#Its all right...#

[Missing tonight are the usual accoutrements, he's not wearing his
sunglasses, his leather jacket has been left in the back.  He's just
wearing his ring gear, moving at a speed that makes him a seven foot
tall blur.]

#Its all right, I'm just...#

[Martinez hits the ring, and surges forward.  Mr. 419 is talking to the
referee about something, maybe about bank accounts, who knows.  Martinez
hits the ring, grabs him by the shoulder and spins him around, launching
his fist at 419's face.  And when that fist connects, the audience
gets...]

#A LITTLE CRAZY#

GM:  Alex Martinez showing that he doesn't get paid by the hour!  He's
starting things off fast and furious tonight.

BW:  That big idiot is going to ruin all my chances to get paid!  He
already put his hands on Joe Petrow earlier tonight, and now this!

GM:  You have to think that Alex Martinez is riding high right now,
having done what most people thought was impossible, getting Joe Petrow
to shut his mouth.

BW:  He's just delaying the inevitable, let me tell you, Gordo.  The
Dragon is still out there somewhere.  And he's not happy, you can
believe that.  Alex Martinez is a marked man.   All you're seeing right
now is the last gasp of a dead man walking.

GM:  I hate to say it, but you may be right.  We've seen Alex Martinez
in some wild brawls with James Monosso these last few weeks. Monosso has
taken him to the limit in a way few other men have.

[During all this talk, Martinez has been manhandling Mr. 419, throwing
him hard into the corner, smashing his head into the turnbuckle, then
unleashing a barrage of fists that make him slump down into the corner,
at which point, Martinez puts the boots to him.  The fans cheer
ecstatically as Martinez lifts Mr. 419 over his head and drops him down
with a huge bodyslam.]

BW:  That man is worth twenty three million, seven hundred and twenty
five thousand dollars.  And fifteen cents!  Let him go!

GM:  Bucky, you ever heard of snopes.com?

BW:  Heck no.  I only use my computer to check my email.  You won't
believe the sorts of deals I'm getting on uh... blue pills, and then all
these generous men who want to give me money.

GM:  I don't even know what to say.

[Martinez sends Mr. 419 into the ropes, and as 419 bounces back, he gets
a face full of leather biker boot, and goes crashing to the mat. 
Proving that its all business tonight, Martinez reaches down, lifting
Mr. 419 by the throat.]

GM: FIREBOMB!!!! ONE!! TWO!! THREEEEEE!!


"DING! DING! DING!"


MC: The winner of the match...

ALEEEEEEEX MAAAAAAAAARTINEZ!!!!!

[Martinez' hand is raised, and then he looks to Melissa, motioning for
her microphone.  With a nod, Cannon obliges.]

BW:  Hasn't this big goof said enough already?  You're telling me we
have to listen to him talk again?

GM:  Why don't you go tell him you've heard enough?

BW:  Gordo...

GM:  I know, I know.  You're needed here.  Funny how that works.

[Martinez runs his free hand through his hair.]

AM:   Two weeks ago, everyone saw me and James Monosso move some
furniture around this place!

[The crowd cheers.]

AM:  And tonight, everyone saw me put the fear of the Firebomb into Joe
Petrow, and remind Marky Langseth why he's better off not thinkin' too
hard about me.   By my count, that leaves just one piece of business
left.

I know that masked moron, the Minion is in the back somewhere. So, why
don't you drag your sorry carcass out here, and let's get this settled.

["When You're Evil" by Voltaire plays, much to the confusion of the AWA
fans, and out from the back comes the man in the gas mask, vinyl
bodysuit and trenchcoat combination.  The Minion pulls a microphone from
one of the many, many folds and pockets of his convoluted outfit and
addresses Martinez at a respectable distance.]

MINION: My master, the Dragon being the name you have chosen from his
many, is saddened by your choice to further press his patience.  After
all, you've been given ample opportunities to see the error of your
ways.  You stand as an island before a tsunami, Mighty Martinez, and
once engulfed, your shores may never be seen again.  Already the
Dragon's chosen emissary stalks you.  I believe that you may survive
him, if only barely, but I doubt that, afterwards, you will be the same.
 

And now I see that you have chosen to take your war against the Dragon
against others, creating more  waves to crash against your shores. 
Langseth.  Petrow. What have these men done to garner your attention? 
Why do you lash out so?

[Looking petulant, Martinez lowers his ever present glare at the
Minion.]

AM: Once again, I'm findin' myself forced to translate for ya.  What I'm
hearin' that your master, he ain't happy. That about right?

MINION: You are correct.

AM: Well, I ain't happy either.  And when I ain't happy?  Well, that's
when people start rackin' up medical bills.  But I'm gonna give ya a
chance.  I'm gonna give ya one opportunity to walk away without gettin'
hurt.

[Although he must know he stands no chance, this backhanded challenge
nevertheless gets Minion's attention, and the faceless lackey for the
mysterious Dragon hops up to the apron of the ring.]

AM: Now, I already said I knew who this damned Dragon was.  But I wanna
hear it from you.  I want you to say who you're workin' for. And I wanna
hear it right now.

MINION: If you already know ... then you know that all is lost.

[Martinez moves closer to the Minion, shaking his head.]

AM: Now see, this here is a real tragedy.  You're supposed to be servin'
this Dragon.  Yet, he didn't even bother to tell ya some of the most
basic things about who I am. So lemme break this down for ya.  Its rare
that I ever give someone a warnin' before I take 'em out. But you? You
got that rare gift. I gave ya a chance, and like I said, that's a rare
thing.  But Minion?

I don't never give second chances!

[Martinez drops the microphone and lunges, grabbing the Minion.  But as
he pulls him forward, the Minion produces a large black canister, and
sprays something right in Martinez' face.  Instantly, Martinez reels
back, blinded, swinging at the air.]

BW:  Hah! I told you!  That's what you get for messing with my money!

GM:  This is just wrong!  I don't know if that was Mace, or pepper
spray, or what, but Alex Martinez is blinded!

[Ducking inside, Minion dodges Martinez, talking into his microphone.]

MINION: Does it burn, Mighty Martinez?  Acid and irony for the master of
the Firebomb!

[Slapping Martinez full across the face, Minion stupidly lets the big
man know where he is.  Grabbing the much smaller man by his gas mask,
Martinez prepares to do something that is, you can guess, probably
really terrible.]

BW:  Oh man, it's about to get real now...

[Sliding into the ring, the big psycho known as James Monosso clubs
Martinez across the back.  Just to further overwhelm Martinez, the
Minion blasts him in the face with his canister, spinning Martinez
around full to blindly face Monosso's onslaught.]

BW: Holy- I know what that stuff is!  See the size of the can!?  That's
the pepper spray that hikers take to fight off bears!

[A gut punch from Monosso doubles Martinez over, and then Monosso rears
back, bouncing off the ropes and bringing his knee right up under
Martinez' chin, sending the big man down.]

GM: Once again, James Monosso is proving that he can bring enough
physicality to overwhelm Alex Martinez!  This is unprecdented!

[With a grunt, Martinez pushes himself up, looking at Monosso, who looms
before him.  But with all of his attention on Monosso, Martinez has
forgotten the masked Minion.]

GM: MINION JUST STRUCK MARTINEZ IN THE BACK OF THE SKULL WITH 
THE CANISTER OF PEPPER SPRAY!!

BW: He doesn't look so strong now, does he?  There's your Last American
Hero, your Immortal, right there, lying face down in front of James
Monosso!

[The Minion tosses Monosso the canister, and then steps behind Martinez,
straddling over Martinez' back.  Reaching down, the Minion grips
Martinez by his hair and pulls his face up.  Monosso moves forward, and,
with a sadistic gleam in his maniacal eyes, he lifts the canister high
overhead.]

GM:  No, no!  Somebody stop this!  Somebody stop this right no-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  He drilled him with it!  James Monosso just slammed that metal
canister into Martinez' skull!  Good grief!

BW:  He's gonna do it again, daddy!

[The camera catches the dark eyes of Alex Martinez, glazed and lifeless,
as Monosso raises the metal can again...

...and SMASHES it down across the skull again, causing Martinez to slump
facefirst to the mat.]

GM:  Two shots - well, three if you count the Minion's - to the skull
with that metal object and Alex Martinez may have just had his lights
turned out right there, Bucky.

BW:  I don't think they're done, Gordo.

[Proving Bucky right, the Minion grabs two hands full of Martinez' hair,
hauling him up off the canvas, hooking Martinez' arms behind him.]

BW:  You know that somewhere, the Dragon is watching and this is warming
his scaly heart!

GM: They've got Martinez up... 

[Monosso raises the can overhead, charging towards the trapped
Martinez...

...and runs right into a big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  WAIT A MINUTE! BIG BOOT TO THE FACE OF MONOSSO! ALEX MARTINEZ STILL
HAS SOME FIGHT LEFT IN IN HIM!

[With Monosso down and dealt with, Martinez yanks his powerful arms out
of the Minion's grasp.  He spins around, tackling the Minion down to the
mat where he batters him with right hands for a few moments, losing
himself in his rage...

...and then quickly realizes he has a more dangerous enemy still inside
the ring!]

GM:  LOOK OUUUUUT!

[A recovering Monosso HURLS himself into a full body tackle on the dazed
Martinez, sending both men tumbling through the ropes and crashing down
in a heap on the thinly-padded concrete floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  All the way out to the floor goes Martinez AND Monosso!

BW:  I'm gettin' out of here.

GM:  Don't you move, Bucky.  It's high time you earn those awards you're
always talking about!

[A staggered Monosso climbs to his feet, his stringy hair hanging across
his face to give him that much more of an insane look.  He leans down,
grabbing the seven footer by the hair to drag him off the floor.]

GM:  Monosso's up first and he's- what in the... no, no, no!  Not this!

[Monosso pulls Martinez forward, putting the giant's head between his
legs.]

BW: Piledriver! He's going to piledrive Martinez right on the floor!
Mark this down Gordo, this is the final stand of Alex Martinez!

GM:  I can't believe this is happening!  We saw Alex Martinez prevailing
over Mark Langseth and Joe Petrow earlier tonight, but what began as a
triumphant night for the legend is turning into a horrible tragedy!

[Monosso lifts, but can't quite get Martinez up, he tries a second time
and can't do it, but on the third try...]


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM: BACK DROP ON THE CONCRETE! I tell you what Bucky, Alex Martinez just
saved his career... and his life!

BW: He sure doesn't look like someone who's escaped certain doom.  Look
at him, Gordo!

[A dazed Martinez kneels on the floor, shaking his head to try to clear
the cobwebs as he attempts to rise to his feet.  Inside the ring, the
Minion remains unmoving and outside the ring Monosso clutches at his
back, clearly suffering despite his high tolerance for pain.]

BW: Both Monosso and Martinez are struggling, but I'll tell you what
Gordo, I think those two maniacs wanna keep fighting!

GM:  I think you're right Bucky. But its not going to happen tonight.

[And that's because AWA security has finally made its way to ringside. 
Putting themselves between the two goliaths, they begin to escort both
away from the ring area.]

GM:  The war between James Monosso and Alex Martinez intensifies every
week. Who knows what will happen next? Throw in the wild card factors of
the Minion and his mysterious master, the Dragon, who knows what will
happen next?

BW: One thing's for sure Gordo, there's gonna be a nationwide shortage
of bandages and stitches before this one ends.

GM:  I think we agree on that one.  Fans, while we try and get some
control over this one, let's go up to the Money Pit where we're about to
find out exactly who signed the contracts to face the National Tag Team
Champions at The Main Event!

[Suddenly, the O'Jays' "For the Love of Money" blasts through the
Crockett Coliseum and all heads turn to the section of the interview
area that is now set up for The Money Pit.  A deep voice cuts over the
top of the classic track...]

"Ladies and gentlemen...

TODD MICHAELSON!"

[The camera cuts to a "set" made of wooden walls that are painted and
dressed to be a mockup of a bank vault.  There are also various stacks
of (presumably) fake money and bags of money all over the ground. 
Picture what you've always imagined Scrooge McDuck's vault to look like
and you've got a great mental image.  Sitting in the middle of it on a
wooden stool, Todd Michaelson is dressed to the nines, a smile plastered
across his face.]

TM: Welcome to The Money Pit!

[Big pop from the Dallas faithful.]

TM:  It's been a crazy night here at the Crockett and you've just gotta
wonder what else can happen... and then you get to the Money Pit.  For
tonight's Money Pit, we're talking about The Main Event.  Of course, the
whole world is talking about the double Main Event that night - Juan
Vasquez defending the National Title against MAMMOTH Mizusawa and City
Jack meeting Calisto Dufresne - at long last - inside a steel cage!

[HUGE MEGACHEER!]

TM:  But that's not all we've got in store for you that night.  Two
weeks ago, we found out that the National Tag Team Champions, Rough N
Ready, intended to defend their titles that night as well.  They
announced they would be going to the locker room to sign open contracts
but just who would sign on to face them?  Well, we're about to find out.

[On cue, the National Tag Team Champions stride into view.]

TM:  Gentlemen, welcome to the Money Pit.

[Michaelson shakes hands with Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers who
both carry the title belts over their well-dressed shoulders.]

TM:  Now...

[Michaelson holds up an envelope.]

TM:  It is inside this envelope that I have the contracts for your match
at The Main Event... your SIGNED contracts, I might add.  Gentlemen,
have you seen these documents?

[Curt nods from Cooper and Somers - and no words - puts Michaelson a
little off his game.]

TM:  Quiet night out here.  Well, uhh... let's... let's open this up and
see what we've got, shall we?

[Michaelson tears open the envelope, withdrawing the stack of papers. 
He reviews them quickly, nodding his head.]

TM:  On March 26th at the Main Event, the National Tag Team Titles will
be on the line when Rough N Ready defends the gold against...

[Dramatic pause.]

TM:  The Stampede Cup champions, VIOLENCE UNLIMITED!

[HUGE CHEER!]

TM:  Gentlemen, without a doubt, these two men may be the most dangerous
tag team you've ever faced - AND they already hold one victory over you.
 Your thoughts heading into this big title defense?

[Cooper glares at Michaelson for a long moment.]

TM:  Dave?  Eric?

[Without a word, Cooper nods to his partner and walks off the set.]

TM:  Wait a second now... guys, you've gotta have something to-

[A hard one-handed shove from Eric Matthew Somers stops Michaelson in
his tracks.  He looks on, shaking his head as the champions exit the set
of the Money Pit to leave him behind.]

TM:  I guess that's a... no comment?  But what a match it's gonna be in
just about a month's time when Violence Unlimited, the #1 contender to
the National Tag Team Titles get their shot at the gold!  Now, let's go
back to-

[Suddenly, Todd Michaelson's attention is caught by a new person walking
onto the set of the Money Pit - his wife.]

TM:  Lori... what are you doing out here?

[The lovely Ms. Dane-Michaelson dressed in blue jeans and an old black
t-shirt that reads "REAL WOMEN DO IT EXTREME" pats her husband on the
shoulder with a grin.]

LD:  You wanted to host the show where everything happened, right?

[Michaelson nods as Lori grabs the mic from his hand.]

LD:  Melissa!

[The crowd cheers as the camera cuts to the ring where Melissa Cannon is
standing, shaking her head.]

LD:  Two weeks ago, you looked like you had enough of me... and you took
a swing or two at me.

[Cannon even grins at that, nodding her head in reply.]

LD:  That's progress.

[Dane chuckles.]

LD:  But it's not enough.  Todd, you want to make news?  You want to
make history?  How's this?  

Melissa Cannon, I challenge you to the first women's match in AWA
history at The Main Event in one month's time!

[Big cheer!]

LD:  We've talked the talk... we took a couple steps towards walking the
walk.  But let's finish it.  That ring... four weeks... me and you
making history side by side...

[Dane pauses.]

LD:  Whaddya say?

[Melissa Cannon slowly raises the house mic, looking around at the
cheering crowd that's imploring her to finally shut the lovely Ms.
Dane-Michaelson's mouth once and for all.]

MC:  I...

[Dramatic pause, Cannon again looking out to the fans for
encouragement.]

MC:  I accept!

[Another big cheer!  A grin crosses the face of Lori Dane as she nods
once more, putting the mic back in her husband's hand.  She leans up,
kissing Michaelson on the cheek before walking off the Money Pit set and
leaving the cheering crowd behind.]

TM:  Well, I guess we can add one more match to the Money Pit!  It'll be
the first women's match in AWA history when Melissa Cannon meets... my
wife!

[Michaelson shakes his head, grinning like an idiot.]

TM:  Simply awesome.  Jason, back to you...

[Shot crossfades over to Jason Dane, who stands by with both members of
Kentucky's Pride.]

JD: City Jack -

[Jack, gripping a Louisville slugger and wearing street clothes, looks
on with a serious air about him. Behind him stands Tin Can Rust, looking
on as stoic as ever... but one can hint a bit of concern for his tag
team partner.]

JD: In four weeks, at the Third Anniversary Show, you finally get what
you've been chasing after - chance at Calisto Dufresne, one on one, in a
cage.

[The crowd cheers as Jack taps the bat in his hand as he nods.]

JD: After all that you've gone through, how does it feel to have this
opportunity?

[City Jack looks at Dane, his good eye narrowing as he breathes
heavily.]

CJ: Seven years, Mr. Dane. Seven long years of chasin' this little
s.o.b. all over this great nation! Seven long years of hear his voice
chirp out the insults, callin' me some stupid hick who doesn't deserve
the time of his day. Seven years of him back-bitin', cheap-shottin', and
cheatin' me out... 

[Jack pauses, rubbing the gruff that's formed on his face.]

CJ: Seven years, Mr. Dane. Seven years and I would've kept on chasin'
seven more, no stoppin' at all. I would've kept on playin' the part,
volleyin' back to his serve. But all that...

[The Liberty, Kentucky native shakes his head.]

CJ: All that playin' a bit went down the moment that coward tried to
take me out from what I loved! All that good ol' City Jack, just bein'
the nice guy and lettin' the little kid have his fun all stopped when
that coward blinded my sight. Instead of thinkin' about all the good
times I could have the ring, all the times I've shared with you fans -

[The crowd lets out a cheer in response, to which Jack just waits to die
to down.]

CJ: And all the titles I've won all over America... It just all withered
down to nothin'. It all made no big deal to me now. As I laid up in that
hospital, wonderin' if I'd ever get to see my family, my friends ever
again? Everytime I worried about...

[Jack pauses, biting his lip for a moment.]

CJ: Wonderin' if I'd ever just be able to live a normal life again?
Everytime it just... It just all went down hill. I couldn't think
straight... I'd like to say all you fans, with all your well-wishin' and
all, that it brought me here today. But I can't say that. I can't say
that it was support of my peers or nothin'...

[City Jack looks down, almost shamed.]

CJ: The only thing that kept me goin' in my state... That kept me tryin'
to get out that hospital, to get my sight back, to get back to that
ring... Was ...

[The big man looks up, a stern look on his face now.]

CJ: The ONLY thing that made my life turnin' was the thought of smashin'
this here piece of maple down onto that s.o.b.'s head! The only -

[The fans let out a cheer as City Jack continues on his rant. Tin Can
Rust, in the back, looks on with even more concern.]

CJ: The ONLY thing I wanted to SEE again was the boy's face, bloody and
bashed to nothin'! So how does it feel, Mr. Dane, to get this
opportunity? To get the coward Calisto Dufresne in the ring, IN THE
CAGE?

[The crowd's whipping into a frenzy as City Jack lifts up the baseball
bat.]

CJ: Mr. Dane... It feels just right... Just right.

[City Jack nods and taps his bat into his hand as the crowd continues to
cheer. Rust puts a hand on Jack's shoulder and leads them off into the
back as we fade to black.

The black screen is filled with white text that reads "THREE YEARS
AGO!"]

"They said it couldn't work."

[The words fade out and are then replaced with "TWO YEARS AGO!"]

"They said it wouldn't last."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "ONE YEAR AGO!"]

"They're too old fashioned.  They can't keep up with the times.  Nobody
wants to watch that stuff."

[The words fade out and are replaced with "THEY WERE WRONG!"  The text
fades again and comes back to reveal, "March 26th, 2011 - The Main Event
- The Third Anniversary Show."

And then fades back out to black before returning to live action Jason
Dane is standing at the interview platform.]

JD:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and what a night
it's been.  We've still got a little more action to go though and I have
a special guest with me here, folks. A man making his AWA debut tonight,
but a man who's no stranger to any fan of professional wrestling. He's a
former World Champion...Tommy Fierro!

[There's a startling amount of cheers from the crowd, as Tommy Fierro
steps into the scene. Fierro doesn't look very impressive. He's a
middle-aged man who's looked to have gone through far too many wars in
the ring. However, underneath that doughy complexion still lies a good
ol' southern boy with an "Aw shucks" smile.]

TF: Man, if I knew this was the sorta' greeting I'd get when I got here,
I would've came to the AWA sooner!

[A chuckle.]

JD: Mr. Fierro, you've been wrestling for over twenty years now and
you've just about seen and done it all...but what brings you to the AWA?

TF: Well, ain't it obvious? This is _THE_ major league of professional
wrasslin'!

[Pop!]

TF: I won _and_ lost a World Title before I was even outta' my teens!
I've been chasin' the gold for twenty years now, Jason Dane...but it
wouldn't have any meaning if I won the gold from anything less than the
best that professional wrasslin' has to offer!

[He runs his hands through his hair.]

TF: Yeah, I know there's naysayers out there that don't think ol' Tommy
Fierro's got what it takes to turn back the clock, but I'm sayin' it
loud and clear...I'm here for the National title!

[A shout of "Yeaaaah, Tommy!" from an overly excited fan.]

TF: Maybe the hair's a little thinner and the gut's a little
bigger...maybe I ain't slim and mean anymore, but ya' better believe
that I'm fat and sassy!

[He laughs and pats his stomach.]

TF: I don't expect to be handed a dang thing, but someday...someday
soon, I'll work my way back to the top, get my chance at the gold and on
that day, Tommy Fierro will be champion once again!

[A boyish grin.]

TF: Well...as long as I make it out alive tonight, first.

[With a hearty laugh, Fierro pats Jason Dane on the shoulder and walks
off camera.]

JD:  Let's see what Mr. Fierro has INSIDE the ring!  Take it away,
Melissa!

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

MC:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Jamestown, CO... at 220 pounds... Kyle Houlder!

[Houlder hops to the midbuckle, tossing his long black hair and yelling
at the jeering crowd.  He hops down off the buckles as the opening to
"Right Now" by Van Halen begins to play, drawing a shockingly loud roar
from the crowd.]

MC:  And his opponent... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 250 pounds...
from Atlanta, Georgia... he was the youngest World Champion in
professional wrestling history...making his AWA debut... TOOOOOMMMMMY!
FIERRO!

[The cheers grow louder, as the long-time southern legend emerges from
the back, wearing a white satin jacket with "FIERRO" written on the
back, standard white tights, and black boots. It's clear the former
World Champ's seen better days, his face now looking weathered and his
long, blonde hair slightly thinning. He's also got a bit of a gut, but
the crowd cheers him, nevertheless.]

GM: Former World Champion, Tommy Fierro has come to the AWA...and listen
to this ovation from the fans!

BW: They're cheering a shell of a man, Gordo! Fierro peaked when he was
nineteen years-old! It's been a twenty year downward spiral, ever since!

[Fierro makes his way to the ring, discarding his jacket as Mickey
Meekly calls for the bell. As Fierro approaches the middle of the ring,
Houlder stares at Fierro, clearly unimpressed with the former World
Champion. He holds his arms out in front of him and puffs his cheeks,
mocking Fierro's physique much to the annoyance of the crowd. However,
Fierro isn't one to take any sass, immediately knocking Houlder down
with a slap to the face!]

GM: Fierro not taking any disrespect from Houlder! Houlder back up...and
taken to the mat with a headlock takedown!

BW: He might be a washed-up, over-the-hill, has-been, but Tommy Fierro
ain't no slouch in the ring.

[Getting back to a vertical base, Houlder pounds a few forearms into
Fierro's back, before shoving him off into the ropes. Fierro ducks a
clothesline, bounces into the far ropes and takes Houlder down with a
Thesz press!]

GM: Fierro takes down Houlder...[Pop!] and now he's pounding away!

BW: Those are closed fists, Meekly! Do your job!

GM: Fierro pulling Houlder back to his feet now...OH! And he rams him
back-first into the corner!

[Fierro backs off slowly...and then lays into him with a massive
knife-edge chop!]

BW: Whew doggie, that'll make the ol' liver quiver!

[But the former World Champion isn't done, holding up his right hand and
taking a deep breath...before unleashing an unrelenting rapidfire flurry
of knife-edge chops on Houlder, driving the crowd into an absolute
frenzy!]

GM: Oh my stars! What a flurry!

BW: He might be over-the-hill and he might be a has-been, but that'll
strip the chrome off a Buick, daddy!

[His right arm a literal blur, Fierro keeps it up for a few more
seconds, before backing off, breathing heavy. Houlder's chest has been
beat raw and red from the chop flurry, leaving the young wrestler dazed
and confused as he steps out of the corner. Fierro is ready for him,
though...]

GM: Big swinging neckbreaker...and Fierro's going up top!

BW: This could be an adventure in itself!

[Fierro climbs to the top rope slowly, before pushing off the top
turnbuckle with his left foot and crashing down onto the prone Kyle
Houlder with a STIFF kneedrop in the chest!]

GM: And there it is! The top-rope kneedrop! One! Two! Three!

BW: I've seen wounded pigeons that flew better than that!

GM: It might not have been the most graceful top rope move but it
certainly was effective, Bucky.  Tommy Fierro with a big win in his AWA
debut and I for one look forward to seeing what this legendary
competitor can bring to the table here in the Major League of
professional wrestling.  And with that, it's Main Event time here on
Saturday Night Wrestling!  Let's go back to Mark Stegglet who is
standing by with the Russians!  Mark?

[Fade to the locker room area where Mark Stegglet is surrounded by
Vladimir Velikov, Ivan Kostovich, and Kolya Sudakov, the latter of which
is dressed for battle.]

MS:  Gentlemen, in just a few short moments, you will head out to the
ring to see the young man who has been a thorn in your collective side
for weeks now, Supernova, do battle with a man that many consider his
friend... this man, Kolya Sudakov.

[Stegglet gestures at the former National Champion.]

MS:  Mr. Sudakov, if you will, please let the world know what you are
think-

[The well-dressed Ivan Kostovich raises his right hand.]

IK:  It matters not what he thinks, Stegglet.  In case you have yet to
hear, Kolya Sudakov is the property of the Russian government.  He
thinks what we tell him to think.  He speaks what we tell him to speak. 
And he does what we tell him to do.

Isn't that right, Sudakov?

[An obviously-seething Sudakov simply grits his teeth, nodding his head
slightly.  Kostovich breaks out in a huge grin at the response.]

IK:  Very good.  You bring yourself closer to regaining your throne by
admitting that.  Tonight, Stegglet, the Russian people will experience a
sense of pride as they watch a man who USED to be one of their greatest
warriors take his first steps back towards that standing.  Myself and
Vladmir have put Sudakov through the hardest training of his life,
trying to undo what you Americans have done to him.  We have used
Russian-built blades to cut through the softness, carving him back to
what he once was - a warrior built from stone!

[The camera cuts to Sudakov, eyes cold and nostrils flared as he stares
stoically into the lens.]

IK:  Supernova, you have created this situation for yourself.  You could
have stepped aside and let the Russians re-take their spot at the peak
of this industry as we have held for so many years.  You could have
stepped aside and let Comrades Bathwaite and Sharif take their spots
atop the pecking order.

But no.  You chose to be an American.  A true American... and stick your
nose in where it doesn't belong just like your government has done so
many times in so many places around the world.

[Kostovich strokes his chin.]

IK:  But I wonder, boy, if you have the stomach for true combat.  Until
now, you've only gotten a taste of what the combined might of the
Russian and Iranian people can do.  Soon, it will be open war... and
open war leaves men in coffins returning home to their widowed wives and
orphaned children.

Do you have the stomach for war like your politicians do?  Or will you
crumble at the sight of blood and true loss like the people of your
nation do?

Tonight, we will begin to find out, Supernova...

[A deep, throaty chuckle.]

IK:  And I believe you will not like the answer. 

[Kostovich spins and exits the view, Vladimir Velikov with a Russian
chain draped over his shoulders coming from close behind.  Kolya
Sudakov, the Russian War Machine, brings up the rear leaving Mark
Stegglet behind.]

MS:  Will it be open war here tonight in the Crockett Coliseum between
two men who claim to be friends?  We're about to find out so let's go
back down to Melissa for the Main Event of the night!

[Crossfade to the ring where Melissa is standing.]

MC:  The following contest is set for one fall with a fifteen minute
time limit and is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!

[Big cheer!]

MC:  Introducing first...

[The sounds of the Russian National Anthem fill the air, replacing the
heavy metal sounds of Metallica that usually mean the entrance of the
man now striding through the entrance curtain.]

MC:  From the former Soviet Union... he is led to the ring by Ivan
Kostovich and Vladimir Velikov and is a former AWA National Champion...
weighing in at 280 pounds...

He is the Russian War Machine...

KOLLLLLYAAAAA SUUUUUUUDAKOV!

[Sudakov walks several paces in front of the elder Russians, ignoring
them as they taunt the ringside fans.  Vladimir Velikov has the
trademark Russian steel chain hanging over his shoulders and is dressed
for a match unlike Ivan Kostovich who is in the finest suit he could
buy.  As they reach the ring, Sudakov steps through the ropes, lifting
both arms to cheers as Velikov and Kostovich mockingly applaud from the
corner.]

GM:  This situation makes me sick, Bucky.

BW:  Why is that?

GM:  They're treating this proud, proud competitor like a... well, like
a servant of some kind.  

BW:  He's Kostovich's employee!  Kostovich OWNS him!

GM:  He does not!  This is America, Bucky - no one person owns another!

BW:  Tell that to Comrade Ivan.

[Sudakov settles back to the ropes, tugging on the top rope on both
sides to stay loose as the music changes.  The opening riffs of "Seek
and Destroy" by Metallica kick in over the PA system, causing the crowd
to roar in response.  As the tempo picks up, the blonde, crew-cut
wrestler known as Supernova comes out from the entranceway.]

MC:  Introducing, from Venice Beach, California, and weighing 260
pounds... ladies and gentlemen...

THIS...

IS...

SUUUUUUPERNOOOOOOOVA!

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

As he heads down the aisle, he is more than happy to slap the hands of
the fans whose arms are stretched up towards the ramp. Upon reaching the
ring, he stops on the apron to cup his hands to his mouth and howl to
the crowd, before ducking between the ropes and then removing his vest.]

GM:  What a reaction from these fans here in Dallas for Supernova!  This
young man has quickly won the hearts of the fans of the AWA and become
one of the most popular superstars in the entire company.

BW:  That and seven dollars will buy him a Tall Decaf Soy Latte when the
Russian War Machine kicks his head into the seventh row.

[Sudakov eyes his friend from across the ring as Supernova paces back
and forth.  The referee shouts instructions to both men, then points to
the floor to deliver words to Kostovich and Velikov.]

GM:  Some warning to the men on the floor... a necessary warning, I
might add.

BW:  Says who?

GM:  Says me.  You think Kostovich and Velikov can stay out of this?

BW:  If they want to, sure.  Do they want to?  We're about to find out.

GM:  Fans, we're overtime here on Saturday Night Wrestling and our
thanks to WKIK as usual for allowing us to finish up this Main Event
here for you...


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  And here we go!

[Sudakov moves swiftly from the corner, ducking down with his fists
balled up.  He strikes a fighting stance, faking a takedown attempt as
Supernova sidesteps.]

GM:  And these two aren't wasting any time.  There was a lot of debate
whether or not these two friends would even compete against each other
here tonight but I think we all knew they were both too competitive to
not do it.

[Sudakov lunges in again, getting a slight grip on Supernova's leg
before the younger man spins away.]

GM:  Supernova with a speed advantage... perhaps a little more
athleticism...

BW:  Are you kidding me?  Sudakov is a killing machine!  Have you seen
his MMA fights, Gordo?

GM:  Yes, yes I have.

BW:  He's a killer.  In Japan, they called him the Pro Wrestler
Hunter/Killer for the body count he laid across the entire country.  Pro
wrestlers all over the Land of the Rising Sun were terrified to get in
the ring with him and you think this bleach blonde punk is gonna put up
a real fight?

GM:  Yes, yes I do.

BW:  And they wonder why I'm the three-time Announcer Of The Year,
daddy!

[The two men meet in the middle with a collar and elbow tieup.  The
Russian's power advantage is immediately on display as he muscles the
Venice Beach native backwards, forcing him into the corner...]

GM:  The referee's calling for a break here... what's gonna happen?

[At the count of three, Sudakov steps back, hands raised to the cheers
of the crowd.]

GM:  How 'bout that, Bucky?

BW:  Am I supposed to be impressed?  He's as dumb as Preston and Sone
were earlier tonight.

GM:  The fans seemed to like it.

BW:  Who cares what the fans like?  His corner doesn't seem too happy
and that's all he should care about.

GM:  And fans, you may have noticed that Supernova's hand is NOT in that
cast tonight.  The Championship Committee wouldn't let that go down and
have instead allowed for a heavy tape job on the injured hand.

[From outside the ring, Kostovich slams a fist into the mat, barking
something in Russian into the ring where Sudakov shakes his head.]

GM:  Wouldn't you like to be able to speak Russian right now?

[The two fan favorites tangle again, each looking for an edge, but again
it's Sudakov who forces Supernova back into the turnbuckles.]

GM:  The ref steps in... calling for a break again...

[Kostovich can be heard angrily screaming at Sudakov from outside the
ring...

...and suddenly the Russian War Machine breaks into action, stepping to
the side and snapping off three round kicks into the ribcage of the
face-painted warrior.]

GM:  Ohh!  There's no clean break on that one.

BW:  Just Supernova's ribs.

GM:  You could be right about that.

[Sudakov grabs his friend by the hair, dragging him from the corner,
scooping him up off the mat, and slamming him down to the canvas!]

GM:  Hard slam by Sudakov!

[The Russian War Machine turns his back on Supernova, turning to listen
to Ivan Kostovich's shouts...

...and misses Supernova climb back to his feet, pounding his chest to
the cheers of the crowd, and then flooring Sudakov with a standing
dropkick as he turns around!]

GM:  Oh my!  A high flying dropkick and down goes Sudakov to the mat...
now rolling to the floor...

[Sudakov drops to a knee on the floor, looking up at Supernova who waves
for his friend to get back inside the ring.  Out on the floor, it's
Vladimir Velikov's turn to shout at his nephew who seems not to listen,
shaking his head as he climbs to his feet.  The former National Champion
rolls back under the ropes as Velikov continues to berate him.]

GM:  Listen to the verbal abuse that Kolya Sudakov is taking here
tonight.

[As Sudakov climbs to his feet, he slaps an open hand across his chest
and lifts an open hand to the sky.]

GM:  It looks like Sudakov wants a test of strength with Supernova!

BW:  Whoa.  When's the last time you've seen one of these go down,
Gordo?

GM:  It's been a while.

[Supernova grins with a nod, slowly lifting his hand to meet his
friend's, tangling their fingers together.  Both men lift the free hand,
repeating the process, and then struggle is on as they push against each
other, trying to assert their dominance.]

GM:  You've gotta think Sudakov has the edge in this, Bucky.

BW:  I would think so.  The Russian's got a power advantage in my
estimation.

[And the Russian quickly shows off that advantage, getting the upperhand
in the knucklelock and forcing Supernova down to a knee.]

GM:  'Nova's down on one knee now... trying to battle back up...

[But Sudakov throws a knee into the sternum, keeping Supernova down on a
bended knee.]

GM:  Supernova's trying to get the strength of these fans to get him
back up to his feet...

[And soon, the Venice Beach native is right back up, screaming as he
tries to get an edge of his own...

...and then leaps up, breaking his grip to flip Sudakov across the ring
with a monkey flip!]

GM:  Whoa!  

[As Sudakov gets back up, he gets floored by a running clothesline from
Supernova.  A furious Velikov leaps up on the apron, shouting at the
official...

...and gets knocked off the apron with a running right hand to the
skull!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Supernova clears out Velikov!

[The Russian staggers back to his feet after the clothesline, absorbing
a quarter of haymakers as he stumbles back into the corner.]

GM:  Sudakov hits the corner...

[Supernova approaches, grabbing the wrist of his friend and opponent...]

GM:  Whip from one corner to the other...

[The California native throws himself back to the corner, letting loose
a big howl before sprinting across the ring...]

GM:  HEAT WAAAAAAV-

[But Sudakov steps out of the corner, catching Supernova in the middle
of his leaping corner splash, snatching him out of the sky in his
powerful arms.]

GM:  Caught!  Sudakov caught him!

[Spinning around, the Russian plants his feet before HURLING Supernova
overhead and down to the canvas with a belly-to-belly throw!]

GM:  He flings Supernova down to the mat like a sack of potatoes!  What
power!

[Outside the ring, Kostovich cackles with glee before shouting "STAY ON
HIM!" at his charge.  Sudakov silently nods, stalking across the ring
towards his downed opponent, leaning over to pull him up by the hair and
yanks him right into a Muay Thai clinch, landing three big knees to the
skull before using the clinch to throw Supernova bodily into the
buckles.]

BW:  Man, if these two are friends, I'd hate to see what Sudakov does to
an enemy.

[Sudakov moves into the corner, squaring his shoulders to throw rights
and lefts to the ribs of Supernova before against twisting his body to
throw heavy kicks to the torso.]

GM:  The referee steps in, forcing Sudakov out...

[And as the Russian charges back in, Supernova gets both feet up to
catch him square on the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him coming in!

[Supernova quickly leaps to the middle rope, swinging an arm in the air
to the cheers of the crowd before leaping off his perch...]

GM:  Crossbod- 

[But in one motion, Sudakov catches the high cross body, spinning and
PLANTING Supernova with a spinning powerslam!]

GM:  POWERSLAM!!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!!

[Sudakov stays atop his friend, reaching back for a leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[But Supernova fires a shoulder off the canvas to break the pin attempt.
 From the floor, we can hear Ivan Kostovich shouting at Sudakov who
slowly gets up, glaring at his "manager."]

GM:  Get off his case, Kostovich!

BW:  Let's bring him over here so you can tell him that.

GM:  Let's not.


"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


[With the match a third in the books, Sudakov squats down low and leaps
high into the air, bringing the point of his elbow rattling home down
across the sternum of Supernova!]

GM:  Ohh!  High impact elbowdrop!

[Sudakov rolls over, applying another press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  Again, the shoulder's up at two!

[The Russian War Machine pushes up to his feet, backing away from his
downed friend as he's again verbally harassed by his cornermen.]

GM:  Sudakov backs down... what's he-

[The crowd cheers as Sudakov slaps his right arm, raising it at the
ready.]

GM:  He's going for the Sickle!  He's calling for the Sickle!

[Kostovich seems especially hot at that, SCREAMING at high volume now.]

GM:  What in the world has gotten into Ivan Kostovich?

BW:  He sure doesn't seem happy to see that Sickle in action.

[And as Supernova stumbles to his feet, Sudakov surges forward, arm at
the ready...]

GM:  SICK-

[But Supernova deftly ducks the running clothesline attempt.  As the
Russian turns around, he's met with three big haymakers on the chin in
response, forcing Sudakov into the ropes where Supernova fires him
across...

...and sends him flying through the air, crashing down to the mat with a
backdrop!]

GM:  BIIIIIIIIG BACK BODYDROP!

[Supernova throws his head back, howling to the crowd before leaning
down to drag the Russian off the mat again.  He quickly applies a front
facelock, slinging Sudakov's arm over his neck before taking him up and
over with a bone-rattling suplex!]

GM:  Supernova takes him down hard!

[The California native climbs to his feet, shouting to the fans again...

...and promptly grabs the top rope, slingshotting himself over the ropes
and onto an unsuspecting Vladimir Velikov and Ivan Kostovich!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Haha!  I love it!

BW:  What in the HELL is wrong with this kid?  Every time I turn around,
he's assaulting someone not involved in a match... usually a manager! 
He's a punk and a bully, Myers!

GM:  I'm sure that's the way you see it.

[Supernova climbs to his feet on the floor, all smiles as he turns to
grab the ropes, pulling himself up onto the apron...

...where a recovering Vladimir Velikov grabs his leg, preventing him
from getting back into the ring!]

GM:  Velikov's got the leg!  Come on, referee!

[The official reprimands Velikov, shouting at him to release his hold on
Supernova...

...but Velikov physically yanks the smaller man off the apron, causing
his chin to smash into the ring apron!]

GM:  Oh, come on!  What's it take to get a disqualification around here?

BW:  Obviously, Michael Meekly feels the same way I do.  Supernova got
Kostovich and Velikov involved in this match so he deserves whatever he
gets right there!

[Velikov stalks away, glaring at the downed Supernova who is clutching
the underside of his chin as Ivan Kostovich stands over him, barking
orders at the recovering Sudakov who rolls to the floor.  He leans over,
pulling Supernova up by the hair...

...and has his path blocked by Kostovich who is shouting at Sudakov,
pointing wildly at the steel barricade.]

GM:  Now, what's THIS all about?

BW:  He started this, Myers!  Supernova, that punk kid started all of
this!

[Resigned to his fate, Sudakov grabs Supernova by the arm...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  OHHH!  Into the steel goes Supernova!

[Glaring at Kostovich, Sudakov pulls Supernova off the railing by the
arm, flinging him under the ropes into the ring.  The Russian War
Machine rolls in after him, crawling into a cover...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd roars as Supernova fires a shoulder off the mat again.]

GM:  He still can't keep him down!

[The Russian shakes his head as he rises, looking down at his friend
with his hands on his hips.  Kostovich again shouts red-faced orders at
his "employee" as Sudakov leans down to pull Supernova up...

...and gets yanked down to the mat in a small package!]

GM:  SMALL PACKAGE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  KICKOUT!!  SUDAKOV KICKS OUT AT TWO!!

BW:  That was a close one... and Kostovich might have had Sudakov's head
right there if he's lost this one!

GM:  Sudakov got out at two and-

[The Russian, showing some fire now, delivers a clubbing forearm to the
back of Supernova's head as both men try to regain their feet.  A second
forearm smash knocks Supernova down to a knee.  Without warning, Sudakov
dashes to the ropes, rebounding off, and throwing a running front kick
to the face that snaps the California kid backwards!]

GM:  Ohhh!  My stars, what a brutal kick by the Russian War Machine!

[Supernova crumples backwards to the mat from the running kick as
Sudakov backs off again, slapping his right arm once more...

...which brings Ivan Kostovich up on the apron, screaming and shouting
at his man!]

GM:  Get him down from there, ref! 

BW:  The referee's trying, Gordo!

[Referee Mickey Meekly gets tangled up with Ivan Kostovich, trying to
get the well-dressed Russian off the apron as Sudakov crouches, waiting
for his opponent to get back to his feet...]

GM:  Wait a second!

[The crowd buzzes as Vladimir Velikov shoves the heavy Russian chain
under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Velikov just put the chain in play!  He's trying to get Sudakov to
use the chain on Supernova!

BW:  Do it!  Wrap your fist up and split his melon open, Kolya!

[Sudakov looks down at the chain on the canvas...

...and then leans over to pick it up.]

BW:  YES!  YES!!  BRAIN HIM!

[The Russian War Machine holds the familiar steel in his hand, looking
across the ring where Supernova is starting to stir...

...and then throws the chain down!  BIG CHEER!]

GM:  YEAH!  BE YOUR OWN MAN, KOLYA!

[Sudakov immediately charges across the ring towards the standing
Supernova, ready to turn his lights out with the Russian Sickle...

...but the younger man sidesteps, swinging Sudakov past him!]

BW:  LOOK OUT!!

[And RIGHT into Ivan Kostovich, sending the elder Russian falling to the
floor from the impact!]

GM:  DOWN GOES KOSTOVICH!!

[Supernova seizes the opportunity to pull a stunned Sudakov down to the
mat in a schoolboy cradle, kicking his legs to keep the leverage on!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


MC:  Here is your winner... SUUUUUUPERNOOOOOOVA!

[The Venice Beach native pops up to his feet, throwing his arms in the
air to celebrate his victory...

...and almost immediately gets waylaid by a charging Vladimir Velikov!]

GM:  Velikov!

BW:  Bathwaite's out here too!

GM:  Where the heck did he come from?!

[Out on the floor, Adrian Bathwaite helps Ivan Kostovich off the floor
as Vladimir Velikov launches in on a beatdown of the downed Supernova. 
Velikov aims some well-placed stomps on the taped hand.]

GM:  Velikov's going after the hand!  He's gonna try and do some more
damage to the already-injured hand!

[Velikov drives down stomp after stomp after stomp on the injured
appendage...

...when suddenly Kolya Sudakov is back on the scene, throwing his Uncle
aside to a big cheer!]

BW:  Think about it, Sudakov!  Think about what you're doing there!

GM:  Kolya Sudakov needs to be careful here.  The wrong move and Ivan
Kostovich will send him packing!

[Sudakov squares off with his Uncle, the latter of which is jabbing his
finger into the proud Russian's chest.]

GM:  This can't be good!  This can't-

[The crowd roars as the trenchcoat-wearing Corax rolls into the ring,
taking up a protective stance over Supernova, baseball bat in hand.]

GM:  That's Corax!  This is the second show in a row we've seen Corax
come to save Supernova!  What in the world is the relationship between
those two men?!

[The baseball bat seems to be enough to back down Vladimir Velikov who
retreats through the ropes to the ramp, backpedaling up the entryway to
safety.]

GM:  Supernova said he had backup here tonight and indeed he does in the
form of Corax!  Corax is leaving too!  He's gonna make sure that Velikov
gets out of there!

[With the ring clearing out, Adrian Bathwaite and Ivan Kostovich join
Sudakov inside the squared circle and start ripping into him.]

GM:  Whoa!  Sudakov may need to take this abuse from Kostovich - he may
not have a choice in that matter but what right does Adrian Bathwaite
have to be out here doing something like this?

[Sudakov takes a barrage of verbal harpoons until...]


"SLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  BATHWAITE JUST SLAPPED SUDAKOV!!

[The Russian's eyes go wide at the insult, causing Bathwaite to
immediately lift both hands, begging off...

...and backing right into Supernova who is back on his feet!]

GM:  YEAH!!  YEAH!!  GET HIM, KID!!!

[Bathwaite spins around, trying to throw a quick right hand...

...but Supernova slaps away the punch, grabbing Bathwaite by the arm and
flinging him into the buckles.  Sudakov holds his employer at bay,
blocking him from helping Bathwaite as Supernova drops back to the
opposite corner, cupping his hands, and howling to the sky.]

GM:  HEAT WAVE!  HE'S GONNA PUT BATHWAITE DOWN!!

[Supernova is about to race across the ring when a well-placed forearm
smash to the back of the head knocks him from the corner.  It is
immediately followed by two more, knocking him down to the canvas.]

GM:  Sharif!  Sharif just saved Bathwaite's skin!

BW:  Just like he's supposed to do!

[Sultan Azam Sharif launches into an assault on Supernova, kicking him
repeatedly in the ribs with his pointy boots.]

GM:  Come on, Kolya!  Get in there!

[Ivan Kostovich and Adrian Bathwaite are saying the same thing, only
they're imploring him to assault his fallen friend...]

GM:  Sudakov doesn't know what to do!  His honor or his career!  

[Sudakov turns his head slightly, trying to avoid the shouts of
Kostovich as he looks at his downed ally.  Sharif delivers a hard stomp
to the back of the head, joining in the verbal beatdown as he points a
strong finger in Sudakov's direction.]

GM:  We need to get some help out here!  We need-

[The crowd begins to buzz as a blue jeans and black t-shirt wearing
young man hurdles the ringside barricade, dashing past an AWA security
guard, and diving headfirst under the bottom rope into the ring!]

GM:  What the-  we've got a fan in the ring!

BW:  That's no fan!

[The 6'3, 270 pound barrel-chested big man quickly proves Bucky Wilde
correct as he throws a trio of haymakers to the jaw of Sharif, backing
him down into the ropes...

...where the big man spins around, throwing a discus punch to the chin
that sends Sharif toppling over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  HE CLEARS OUT SHARIF!!

[And to a DEAFENING roar, he spins around to point a finger right at
Adrian Bathwaite and Ivan Kostovich who waste little time in getting the
heck out of the ring before they suffer the same fate as Sharif.]

GM:  Bathwaite and Kostovich are out of here as well!  Bucky, you say
this man's no fan... who the heck is he?

BW:  Spittin' image of his ol' man, Gordo.

GM:  His father?  I don't- wait a second!  I DO know who that is! 
That's Tyler Lee!  The Louisville Slugger!

[And a fired-up Lee doesn't stop with Bathwaite, Sharif, and Kostovich
as he spins around...

...and smashes his barrel chest right into Kolya Sudakov who has yet to
move.]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  Whoa!

[The crowd buzzes as Lee gets right up in Sudakov's face, gesturing
wildly and shouting at the former National Champion.]

GM:  This is breaking down!  This is out of control!

[Slowly, Supernova gets back to his feet, stepping between the two men,
shoving them apart wearily.]

GM:  Supernova's trying to get-

[The crowd jeers as Sudakov suddenly turns away, stepping from the ring
and heading back up the ramp towards the locker room as Supernova stares
at him with a mix of frustration and disappointment on his face as Tyler
Lee paces back and forth behind him, ready to keep the fight going.]

GM:  I'm gonna- let's try and get some words from these guys! 

[Myers shouts out "SUPERNOVA!" a couple of times before the California
young lion joins him on the floor alongside the man who, just a few
moments ago, came to his aid, "Louisville Slugger" Tyler Lee. He wears a
black T-shirt and blue jeans.]

GM:  Fans, I can't believe what we just witnessed... Supernova, you said
you had backup... I just didn't expect it would be this man. [motioning
to Lee] Supernova... what is going on here?

S:  Gordon, I may be young... I may be relatively new to the wrestling
business... but I still did my homework and found this man... not only
is he just as wild and crazy as I am, but he's got all the reason to
want to get his hands on the likes of Bathwaite and the Sultan!
 
GM: Well, Tyler Lee... you care to tell me what brought you to the AWA?
 
TL:  Sir, the first thing I want to do is send a message directly to
Ivan Kostovich... I still haven't forgotten the wars you went through
with my father... he never liked you, and as far as I'm concerned, the
feeling is mutual! I know all about people like you... people like that
no good snake in the grass Adrian Bathwaite... you want to tell
everybody how you better do as your elders say you should do. Well, the
only elder I listen to is my father... and my father said, if I wanted
to go kick your butts all over the AWA, it was fine by him!
 
GM: But what prompted you to come help Supernova?
 
TL: Well, that goes back to this guy here [motioning to Supernova]
knowing exactly who to track down and bring to stand by his side!
Because, the way I see it, the only good Russian is a Russian who keeps
his butt in his home country and doesn't set one foot onto American
soil, unless he's ready to play by the rules of the good ol' U S of A!
So when Supernova looked me up, I didn't need encouragement to come...
all I needed was an excuse to kick a Russian's tail... especially one
who knows my father and knows exactly what kind of a tail kicking he got
then, and what he can expect now!
 
GM: Yet you do realize Supernova considers Koyla Sudakov a friend,
right?
 
TL:  He told me that Sudakov was a good man... I'll be honest with you,
I never met a Russian I found worth trusting! But if Supernova says
Sudakov can be trusted, then I'll give him the benefit of the doubt for
the time being... I just don't know how long it will last, though.
 
GM: And what of Sultan Azam Sharif and Count Adrian Bathwaite?
 
TL: I know enough about people like Bathwaite... they are the type of
people who like to claim they are everyone's better, when in reality
they are just people who make everyone else do their dirty work for them
because they simply don't have what it takes to get the job done! As far
as this Sultan is concerned, he's obviously been out in that Middle
Eastern sun for too long... either that or it's too much sand is his
brain... but if he thinks he's gonna be facing people who will do the
old-fashioned mat technique in the AWA, he's gonna find out that the
likes of Louisville Slugger and Supernova are only concerned about doing
one thing... and that's beat people up! So if the Sultan, Velikov,
Kostovich, or even Bathwaite himself ever want to step forward, they'll
find out just how good we are at beating people like them up... big boy!
 
[With that, Lee gives a quick salute to the camera.]
 
GM: Fans, what a crazy night!  Tyler Lee is in the AWA and he's by
Supernova's side!  We're out of time, we've gotta go!  Good night,
everybody!

[Supernova and Lee have re-taken their spots inside the ring, saluting
the crowd to the roars of the AWA faithful...

...as we fade to black.]