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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                   April 9th, 2011
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[As we fade in, we hear the closing theme to the Fishing With Orlando
Wilson show as the shot starts to fade.  It is replaced with footage
marked "TWO WEEKS AGO" where MAMMOTH Mizusawa has Juan Vasquez pressed
high overhead in a gorilla press.]

GM:  MAMMOTH SLAM!!  HERE IT COMES!!

[But a determined Juan Vasquez won't give up, shaking and twisting his
body, slipping free...

...and grabbing onto the giant's neck with his left arm on the way down
the back, hanging off the challenger's broad back!]

GM:  What the-?  What's he-

[The crowd EXPLODES as Vasquez holds up the heavily-taped right hand...

...and JAMS IT into the side of the throat!]

GM:  ASSASSIN'S SPIKE!!  HE'S GOT THE SPIKE APPLIED!!

[Mizusawa instantly recoils in a mixture of pain and panic, trying to
reach back to grab Vasquez but the National Champion is hanging on
tight, gritting his teeth as he shoves the taped thumb deep into the
side of the neck, screaming as he resists being bucked off.]

GM:  The giant's trying to get free!  The giant's in trouble!

[A frantic Louis Matsui is slamming his fists on the mat outside the
ring, screaming and shouting at his challenger who wanders around the
ring, turning his back...

...and SLAMS the champion into the buckles, crushing him beneath 420
pounds!]

GM:  INTO THE BUCKLES!!

BW:  That's how he broke the sleeper of Raphael Rhodes!

[But as the giant stumbles out of the corner, Vasquez is still clinging
to his back, showing every ounce of the determination and fighting
spirit that has made him the best of the world, his knuckles turning
white from the grip he holds on the back of the big man!]

GM:  He's still hanging on!  Vasquez still has the Spike on him!  

BW:  And now it's Mizusawa who is fading!  It's Mizusawa who is losing
consciousness!

[Vasquez is hanging on, pushing his thumb as hard as humanly possible,
screaming "DOWN!!  GO DOWN, YOU SON OF A BITCH!!"  The crowd roars for
Vasquez' intensity, shouting their voices hoarse as the National
Champion staggers the giant...

...who suddenly slumps down facefirst to the mat, Vasquez still clinging
to his back, still with the thumb driven deep!]

GM:  HE'S DOWN!  THE GIANT'S DOWN!!

[The National Champion hangs on to the hold, nodding his head fiercely
as the referee steps in to check...

...and spins to the side, signalling for the bell!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[DEAFENING ROAR!]

GM:  HE DID IT!!  HE DID IT!!  VASQUEZ HAS SLAIN THE GIANT!!

[The National Champion releases the hold, pushing up to his feet in a
burst of adrenaline he soon regrets, visibly wincing as he grabs his
badly-injured ribs.  The official steps in, raising his hand 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 the three-time Announcer
of the Year, Buckthorn Wilde!

BW:  My mama calls me Buckthorn, Gordo.  And only when she's mad at me. 
Are you mad at me, Gordo?

GM:  Not one bit.  Fans, we are just two weeks removed from the AWA's
Third Birthday party... The Main Event was something else, Bucky.

BW:  It sure was.  Great action, big surprises, shocking moments -
everything the AWA's known for, daddy!

GM:  You saw it moments ago - the National Champion, Juan Vasquez,
conquered the odds and slayed the giant two weeks ago in that ring right
behind us.  

BW:  I STILL can't believe it, Gordo.

GM:  The Assassin's Spike claimed another victim, putting the giant down
for the count which is something I don't think any of us saw coming.

BW:  And now I hear the giant is missing!

GM:  I've heard the same.  But I understand we'll be checking in with
Louis Matsui later tonight to get details on that situation.  In
addition, we've been told by our medical team that Calisto Dufresne has
not only been ordered NOT to appear here tonight due to injuries he
suffered inside that brutal steel cage showdown with City Jack... but
we're hearing Dufresne has received an indefinite medical suspension! 
We don't know when he'll be back either!

BW:  Juan Vasquez has been touched by an angel, daddy!  Two of his top
contenders are missing or hurt... but there ain't no shortage of top
flight guys looking to knock that crown off his stupid head, Gordo.

GM:  Some of the very best in the world are taking aim at the National
Champion as we speak and with those banged-up ribs, I think Juan Vasquez
is in a very vulnerable state right now.  Fans, it was a big night at
The Main Event, as we said, and we're sure to be talking more about it
throughout the night.  And in one of the biggest moments two weeks ago,
we saw the arrival to the AWA of the world-famous Lynch brothers!

BW:  Not those twerps.  Please no.

GM:  Yes, fans, were going to get our first glimpse of the legendary
Lynch family on Saturday Night Wrestling here tonight as Travis Lynch
makes his singles debut right now!

BW:  Can I take five, Gordo?

GM:  You stay right where you are.  Travis Lynch put in a good showing
in the Battle Royal two weeks ago...

BW:  He didnt win so a good showing means nothing.

GM:  You're incredible.  Phil Watson, take it away, my friend!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing in his black
tuxedo and white dress shirt.]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's opening contest is scheduled for
one fall with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in
the ring from Jamestown, Colorado he stands in at an even six feet and
weighs two hundred and twenty one pounds... Kyle Houlder!

[Very little reaction for the man from Colorado.]

PW: And his opponent

[Tom Sawyer by Rush hits the speakers.]

PW: And his opponent... on his way to the ring, hailing from Dallas,
Texas...

[Big hometown cheer!]

PW:  Standing six feet, three inches, and weighing in tonight at two
hundred and sixty pounds...

TRAAAAAAAAAVIS LYNNNNNNCH!

[The curtain parts as the youngest of the Lynch clan strides into view. 
The screams of the ladies in the crowd nearly down out the sounds of
Rush.  A grinning Travis heads down the aisle in his classic white
trunks with a yellow and black stripe along the top.  He's also sporting
white boots and kneepads.]

GM:  And would you listen to this reaction for this young man, Bucky?

BW:  Sounds like the Mid-South Coliseum did for me the night I lost that
tuxedo match to Candi Martin back in '95, Gordo.

[Halfway down the entrance ramp, Travis breaks out into a little jog,
leaning down to slap the hands of the fans lining the elevated walkway. 
Reaching the ropes, Travis steps down the staircase onto the floor,
making his way over to the barricade where the fans reach over to slap
his arms and shoulders.  A rather enthusiastic young lady nearly throws
herself over the railing, wrapping her arms around Lynch's neck and
yanking him into a kiss on the cheek before security steps in to free
him up.  Smiling at the reaction, Lynch slides under the bottom rope,
popping to his feet to throw a muscular arm in the air to even more
cheers as the referee points him back...

...and then calls for the bell!]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

[As the bell rings, Travis Lynch pulls down on the top rope stretching
his arms and shoulders for a brief moment. He slowly turns around and is
met by a quick kick to the midsection that doubles him up.]

GM:  Cheap shot by Houlder to get an early edge... into the side
headlock now...

[Lynch quickly pushes Houlder back to the ropes, powering out by shoving
Houlder across the ring.  On the rebound, the man from Colorado ducks
under a lariat attempt, rebounding once again off the ropes and leaps
into the air with a cross body block.]

GM:  Cross body...

[The crowd cheers as Travis catches Houlder, spinning and DRIVING
Houlder into the canvas with a thunderous slam...]

GM:  Ohh!  Whatta slam by the Texan!  And just like that, Travis Lynch
takes the cheapshot from Houlder and turned the momentum quickly onto
his side!

[Lynch dives atop the downed Houlder, grabbing him by the hair to throw
overhead elbowsmashes to the skull.]

BW:  Travis on the attack with a lil' ground and pound... but you'd
think for being a guy these fans love to cheer, he might be able to
figure out how to follow the rules, Gordo.

GM:  I'm sure Travis Lynch knows the rules quite well.

BW:  Handful of hair, blows to the grounded opponent - sure looks like
it, Gordo.

[After a barrage of elbowsmashes, Lynch pops up to his feet, throwing an
arm into the cheer to more squeals from the females in the crowd.  As
Houlder tries to regain his footing, Lynch grabs him by the arm, hurling
him into the turnbuckles...

...and then charges in behind him, smashing the Colorado native with a
clothesline in the corner!]

GM: Travis Lynch showing the Houlder what the Lynch boys are all about!

BW: What's that?  Breaking the rules and pounding on a man when he is
defenseless?  Some heroes.  But they're definitely Texan.

[With Lynch leaning on Houlder, the referee orders a break in the
corner.  Lynch raises both arms, stepping back...

...and eats a left hand on the jaw, startling the youngster!]

GM:  Ohh!  Lynch got caught there!

[A right hand creates some space between the two men, allowing Houlder
to leave his feet, lashing out with a standing dropkick that knocks
Lynch off his feet and down to the mat!]

GM:  Nice elevation on the dropkick by Houlder!

[Houlder pops up, throwing both arms into the air to mock the crowd and
deservedly getting booed for it.  He waves off the fans, leaping up to
drop a knee down on the temple of Lynch before applying a rear
chinlock.]

GM:  Houlder has grounded the powerful youngster, Travis Lynch, and he's
using that chinlock as a chokehold, Bucky!

BW:  A choke?!  Please, Gordo... that's no choke.  The referee is
checking and so far he hasn't deemed it a choke hold, Gordo!  Why do you
always assume the worst in people?

GM:  His forearm is under the chin and across the windpipe!  With all
the years I've spent in this business, I think I can recognize a choke
when I see one, Bucky!

[Houlder pulls Lynch up to his feet and whips him to the far side ropes.
 But Lynch grabs the ropes, blocking a rebound...

...so Houlder charges him, connecting with a clothesline that takes both
men over the ropes and down to the floor!]

GM:  Ohhh!  A long, hard fall down to that thinly-padded concrete floor
for both of these men!  Houlder being very aggressive there and he ended
up sending both men crashing to the floor right out here in front of
these fans!

[A few female fans scream horrified as the pretty boy of the Lynches
spills out in front of them.  A dazed Houlder drags himself to his feet,
shouting a few words in the direction of the women reading him the riot
act for his treatment of Travis Lynch.]

GM:  There's no call for that!  Keep your mouth shut, Kyle Houlder, if
you can't treat these ladies with some respect!

BW:  Respect?  You seen those slophogs, Gordo?

[The referee begins the standard ten count as a stunned Travis Lynch
holds his head, slowly rolling to the side before climbing up to a knee.
 Houlder grabs the hair of Lynch, finishing the job in pulling him to
his feet...

...and gets caught in the gut with a right hand to the gut!]

GM:  Ohh!  Lynch caught him in the breadbasket!

[But Houlder fires back, throwing a knee into the gut of Lynch.  He
promptly wraps his arms around the waist of the Texan, DRIVING him
backfirst into the ring apron!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Lynch just got his spine driven into the hardest part of the ring! 


BW:  And that'll take some of the wind out of that punk's sails.

[With the count getting higher, Houlder shoves the hurting Lynch under
the ropes into the ring.]

BW:  Great sportsmanship there as Houlder helps the fallen Lynch back
into the ring.

GM:  It was the least he could do after slamming him into the ring
apron.

BW:  And I'm starting to get a good feeling about this one, Gordo!  How
great would this be if Houlder could score the upset on this punk kid? 
How great would it be for this hyped punk to get knocked off on his
debut match here on Saturday Night Wrestling?

GM:  I'm sure these fans wouldn't enjoy that one bit.

BW:  These are the same fans who enjoy watching the Dallas Cowboys,
Gordo!  What the heck do they know?

[Houlder rolls back into the ring as well, dragging Lynch up to a knee. 
He applies a front facelock, looking for a snapping DDT...

...and DRIVING Lynch skullfirst into the canvas!]

GM:  OHH!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

[Houlder flips Lynch to his back, brushing his shoulders off like he's
brushing off dust.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But the crowd roars with relief as Lynch fires the right shoulder off
the mat.]

GM:  Kyle Houlder looks steamed but Travis Lynch has a lot of heart and
its going to take more than that to finish him off.

[Houlder glares at the referee, obviously telling him to learn to count
faster.  The delay in keeping up the fight allows Lynch to get to a knee
before Houlder moves in.]

BW:  Houlder needs to stay on him, hit him with something big here and-

[Lynch is the first to strike, again throwing a big right hand.  The
crowd roars as the Texas struggles to his feet, throwing a second
haymaker, this one knocking Houlder back to the ropes.  Grabbing the
arm, Lynch fires him across the ring, greeting him with a boot to the
gut on the rebound.]

GM:  Ohh!  Down low goes Lynch!

[And grabbing a handful of hair, Lynch leaps up off the mat, SMASHING
Houlder's face into the mat!]

GM:  Faceslam!  He drives the man's face into the mat!

[A fired-up Lynch climbs to his feet, quickly striking a single bicep
pose to the cheers of the ladies in the crowd.]

BW: Look at the ego on this kid - out here showboating.

GM: He enjoys being in the ring.

BW:  Please.  He's trying to flirt with these slophogs in the house.

[A rising Houlder gets doubled up with a knee to the gut before Lynch
powers him off the mat in a gutwrench, dropping him down across a bent
knee!]

GM:  WHOA!  Look at the power of Travis Lynch!  That might do it!

[Lynch dives across the chest of the downed Houlder, earning a two count
before the Colorado native slides a shoulder up.]

GM:  Lynch couldn't quite hold him down there...

[Climbing to his feet, Lynch fires Houlder into the ropes again, this
time catching him on the rebound...

...and fluidly pressing him overhead in a gorilla press!]

GM:  WHOOOOOOA MY!  Look at that, fans!

[The crowd roars as the youngest Lynch lowers Houlder down and presses
him back up a full three times before stepping out from under him,
allowing him to smash chestfirst down to the canvas.  

And that roar gets even louder as Lynch holds up his left hand, gripping
his wrist with his right hand.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  He's calling for it, Bucky!  He's calling for the Iron
Claw!  The Lynch family trademark!

[And as Houlder stumbles up to his feet...]

GM:  HE LOCKS IT IN!!

[HUUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  LYNCH HAS GOT THE CLAW LOCKED IN AND THESE FANS ARE GOING NUTS!

BW:  Come on, ref! Hes trying to gouge his eyes out!

GM:  He is not!  Give me a break!

[Houlder reaches for the ropes but is just mere inches away from it.]

GM:  Houlder's fighting it!  He knows he needs to get out of this thing
and quickly!

[A screaming Houlder fights against Lynch's power, trying to get to the
escape of the ropes as the official askes him if he wants to quit.]

GM: This hold has brought the Lynch family notoriety for years.

[With Houlder still fighting it, Lynch suddenly breaks the hold, going
into a full spin...

...and CRACKING Houlder upside the jaw with a discus punch!]

GM:  HE KNOCKS HIM FLAT!!

[Lynch dives across the motionless Houlder.]

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


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Lynch pops to his feet, soaking up the cheers of the Dallas crowd as he
raises both arms in triumph.]

GM:  He got him with the discus punch and-

BW:  That's illegal, Gordo!  It's a closed fist!  Tell it like it is!

GM:  Well, it's certainly at the referee's discretion if he wants to
count.

BW:  Oh, that's a load of hinky!  This punk got a hometown call!  That
punch is illegal and that pin NEVER should have been counted!  Kyle
Houlder just got robbed!

GM:  A great showing for Kyle Houlder... very impressive... but not
enough for him as Travis Lynch just had too much heart.

BW:  Bah.  He had too much clenched fist.

GM:  Nonetheless, a big win tonight for Travis Lynch in his debut - and
fans, you'll be excited to hear that his brothers will be in tag team
action here later tonight!

BW:  Are you kidding me?  All of the Lynches in one night?  Pluck out my
eyes, daddy!  Do me a favor!

GM:  Fans, the situation between the Unholy Alliance and Robert Donovan
took a definite turn in an ugly direction two weeks ago at The Main
Event.  We caught up with the veteran Donovan earlier tonight to get
some words from him so let's take a look...

[Cut to the back, where Robert Donovan stands, looming over the camera
slightly.  The cameraman takes a quick step back, which draws a chuckle
from the big man.]

RD:  Don't sweat it, buddy -- you ain't the one in danger tonight.

[Donovan leans back slightly and stretches his right arm out, and
there's an audible popping noise as he rotates his shoulder.]

RD:  You hear that, Polemos?  Been makin' that noise ever since you
yanked me outta the ring you tried...an' failed...to save 'at jerk
holdin' your leash.  Now, guys my age who've been in the business long
as I have, ain't many joints we can move around like that an' not hear
some kinda noise...but this one's new.  This is somethin' you did to me,
Polemos, an' while it ain't that big a deal, every time I hear that
click...

[Donovan rotates his shoulder again, for emphasis.]

RD:  I get a lil' more angry.  See, I had a hell of a good shot at
winnin' that Rumble.  I had a hell of a chance to come out on top,
really make some noise, an' really tick off the Unholy Alliance in the
process, an' you went and screwed it up.  How come you weren't in there
yourself, big man?  Seems kinda odd that someone tryin' to pass himself
off as some horrible, frightenin' monster hides behind a man a foot
shorter an' a hundred pounds lighter than he is.

[Donovan laughs derisively.]

RD:  Guess you didn't want a piece of this old man quite yet, huh?  For
a guy heralded as a God of War, you sure looked a lot more like Hermes,
speedin' yer way up that aisle as fast as you could after I got up. 
Well, Polemos, you keep on runnin'.  Keep pokin' that nose o' yers into
other people's business, an' eventually, I'm gonna get my hands on ya.

[Donovan cracks his knuckles.]

RD:  An' when I do, Polemos...well, I don't wanna spoil it, but bad
things are gonna happen.

[Donovan turns and leaves on that note as we fade to the interview
platform where Jason Dane stands shadowed by the bulky, tall frame of
James Monosso. The madman is, as ever, clad in his pale green PROPERTY
OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTE cutoff T-Shirt, black singlet with silver
trim, and matching boots. His head bears a mop of stringy black hair,
turning grey at the temples. He's shifting his weight from one foot to
the other, staring off into space with a faint smile on his face. He is
greeted with a loud round of boos.

Also present is his manager, the "Collector Of Oddities" himself, Percy
Childes. Bald and chubby, Childes is wearing a dark purple polo vest
over a long-sleeved white undershirt, as well as black pants. Tucked in
one arm is Nenshou's Longhorn Heritage Championship belt, which Percy
never seems to part with no matter whether he's with his champion or
not, and in his other hand is his crystal-ball-topped walking stick. It
is the latter object that Percy is regarding as the interview begins.]

JD: With me at this time: the manager, Percy Childes, and his man, James
Monosso. James, everyone is talking about that big, big collision you
had at the Main Event against Alex Martinez, where you came closer than
possibly anyone has come to downing the Last American... Tough Guy. But
in the end, you fell just a little short of winning.

JM: Why do you bother interviewing people, Dane?

[Jason wasn't expecting that particular answer, though his posture
indicates that he was ready to bolt if the answer was "DIE!
RHHHHAAAAAAAA!" He fidgets for a moment until he's certain that this was
not a rhetorical question. Then he answers.]

JD: Because it's my job?

JM: Funny. I'd think they'd hire somebody who actually listens to his
subject, and remembers what they said! I didn't fall short of nothin'! I
did EXACTLY what I went to the Main Event to do! I did EXACTLY what I
was paid to do! I took a piece... just one piece... out of Alex
Martinez, an' if you don't believe me, shake his hand when you see him.
You'll figure it out.

JD: But in the end, Martinez picked up the win.

JM: Do you even know what the word 'win' means?

[Another pause. Sorry Jason, James doesn't ask rhetorical questions.]

JD: It means you pinned your opponent or made him sub...

JM: WRONG. Idiot! Win means succeed! Look it up in a dictionary! If I
learned anything over the years, it's these things: one, I learned a
couple hundred ways to severely injure a man. Two, I learned the
wrestling business is a graveyard that eats up the wrestlers to leave
them nothin' but bones an' dust. An' three, I learned that 'wins' an'
'losses' the way you call them happen to everyone. I could pin anyone in
the AWA. And there's a few that could pin me. But why, Dane? Why pin
somebody? Why make them submit? What is the reason for it?

[Now this questioning is REALLY confusing the heck out of poor Jason.
Percy is trying to contain his laughter at Dane's helpless reaction.]

JD: ...because the point of wrestling a match is to win?

JM: NO! Idiot! The point of wrestling a match is to make money! Didn't I
tell you what the wrestling business was just now? What the heck do you
think we're fighting for? Fame? Glory? Only these dumb kids think that;
I've been tryin' to show them for over a year now! Didn't Eric Preston
teach you nothin'? It all goes away! Once you're trapped in this
hellhole, this death trap, all you can do is grab for all the money you
can until your body gives out an' you're a helpless cripple! It'll
happen to me someday, someday soon probably. Why would I have any goal
at all but money?! And I was being paid real, real good to do just what
I did to Alex Martinez. Why would I want the match to end? THINK, DUMMY.

[Monosso's smile is gone, replaced by the frustration of not being
understood. His hands open in a grasping motion in front of him...
either he's resisting the temptation to tear Dane apart, or he's locking
the iron claw on his invisible friend. This being Monosso, there's even
odds. Percy decides to lean in and give a helpful illustration.]

PC: You know, Dane, I'd like you for just one moment to imagine an
entire world full of madmen. Of delusional lunatics who are unable to
discern reality from illusion. An entire planet filled to the brim with
disassociative individuals with no grasp on reality at all. Close your
eyes. Imagine it.

[Pause. Jason seems to be waiting for Percy to finish the thought. When
that doesn't come, he moves the microphone to his mouth to ask a
follow-up question. Before he can, Monosso reaches over and forces his
eyelids shut.]

JM: CLOSE YOUR EYES AND PICTURE IT. I'm gettin' sick of you not
understandin' plain English, Dane!

JD: Okay, okay... yes, I am imagining a whole world where everyone's
insane. I... don't like it.

PC: Good. Now. In this world you have pictured, tell me... who gets
locked up?

JD: ...uh, I guess the craziest...

PC: THE SANE ONES.

[Dane pauses for a moment before opening his eyes. His expression is
most distressed.]

PC: That's right, Dane. When the whole world is mad, it's the sane ones
who are the outcasts. And I submit to you that this is the case. You and
all of these fans have this ludicrous perception of wrestling that does
not correlate to reality. You obsess over the past and call failures
successes... Nenshou and I have proven our point in this regard. You buy
into this narrow vision of glory, considering a randomly-selected
portion of the available talent to be 'elite' and you equate success
with an ill-fitting metric of actual fighting ability. In the same
breath you glorify the victor and despise the ones most willing to do
anything to obtain the victory you glorify. 

Tell me, what part of this way of thinking seems sane to you?

JD: You're... you're just twisting words! Twisting concepts!

JM: Twisting necks!

[Monosso clasps a meaty hand on the top of Dane's head... Jason quickly
shuts up.]

JM: I got a match now. And this time, I gotta get that pin or submission
to win, because nobody's payin' me to do anything else to whoever this
guy is. You can glorify your heroes all you want, but understand this.
No one needs to win more than me. NOBODY. My time is runnin' out! Every
check could be the last one I ever get in my life! If winnin' means
pinnin' somebody, then I'll do it. If it means bustin' somebody up, I'll
do it. If it means stuffin' what's left of 'em in a shoebox, I'll do it.
If it means runin' a life, two lives, everybody's lives... I'll do it.
If it means burnin' you alive over a spit, Dane, I'll do it. I'll do
anything to win. ANYTHING. I fight like my life depends on it... 'cause
my life DOES depend on it!

[Monosso turns his gaze to the ring, where a young wrestler stands
waiting, stretching out.  The young man has black hair, a lean build, a
largish nose and a slight acne problem. He wears white gi pants and a
green cloth belt.  He is going to wrestle barefoot, with athletic tape
around his feet.]

JM: HEY! HEY, KID! WHY'RE YOU FIGHTIN', HUH? ARE YOU FIGHTIN' FOR YOUR
LIFE?! HUH? ARE YOU FIGHTIN' 'CAUSE YOU'LL DIE IF YA DON'T?!

[He waits for an answer from his opponent, who stands with mouth agape,
not sure how to answer that.]

JM: I AM! SO YOU BETTER BE!

[With that, Monosso marches off, power-walking down the aisle to the
ring about as fast as he can, intently glaring at his opponent.  Seeing
that this one will start quickly, Phil Watson starts right away.]

PW: The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Already in the ring... from Colorado Springs, Colorado...
weighing two-hundred thirty-three pounds... Albert Showens!

[Showens' gaze is on the looming figure of Monosso, who is just now
reaching the ring.  Phil gets ready to run out of the ring, but for
whatever reason, James stops his charge.  He motions for him to finish.]

PW: And his opponent... accompanied by his manager Percy Childes... from
The State Of Confusion... weighing two-hundred eighty-eight pounds...

JAMES MONOSSO!

[Now he runs out of the ring, as Monosso charges!]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM: Odd behavior by Monosso... LEGSWEEP BY SHOWENS!  

[The fans cheer as the sweeping kick knocks Monosso's feet out from
under him; the big bulky brute bounces off the buckles like especially
alliterative ammunition slung sideways from a slingshot.  Or...
something like that.]

BW: Ya better follow up real fast an' real hard, kid!  Monosso means
business!

GM: Indeed he does, and I think his words intimidated Albert SHowens,
who is moving in too hesitantly.  Side judo takedown of some kind as
Monosso gets to his feet!  Albert Showens is a Yonkyu rank judo player;
he has the skills to ground Monosso if he applies them!

BW: Judo is a game, Gordo.  This is a fight.

GM: I don't know about that.  Showens catching a wild swing in a
shoulder-throw takedown... Monosso not letting go of his hand!  James
Monosso with a knuckle-lock of sorts...

[Slowly, Monosso rises from the canvas, unhurt by the offensive flurry
of his judoka adversary.  He's glaring his man down, eye-to-eye, as he
gets to his feet and towers over his prey.  Showens recoils from the
pain of the knucklelock, and tries to turn this into another throw. 
Monosso counters with a straight blatant one-hand choke, screaming at
Showens as he does.]

JM: FOR YOUR LIFE, KID!  FOR YOUR LIFE!


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"


GM: BRUTALITY!  SHEER BRUTALITY ON THE CHOKESLAM!

BW: James doesn't lift a man when he chokeslams him, he just whips him
straight down backwards hard, using his strength and not his height!  Ya
just don't see nobody else do it that way.

GM: The results are unquestionably effective.  Monosso... DOUBLE STOMP! 
RIGHT TO THE RIBS!

BW: An' ya know what that was?  That was a call-out to Anton Layton. 
Lettin' the Prince O' Darkness know he's on th' same page with him.  

GM: Childes nodding in approval, so I presume that's correct.  The
Unholy Alliance didn't like Monosso's decision to do freelance work, but
James made it quite clear that he'll do it whenever he can.  He needs
the money to live, he says, and that's why he fights so desperately. 
BUT LOOK AT THIS!

[Monosso fishhooks Showens' mouth, nose, and eyesockets... steps on his
lower back, and pulls upwards!  He's still screaming "FOR YOUR LIFE!",
and the fans try to scream him down.]

BW: Yeah, take a good long look.  He'll do anything, Gordo... didn't ya
hear him?

GM: I heard him.  Monosso breaking at the count of four; as he said
earlier, he is here to win the match because that's where the money is. 
But anyone who saw the Main Event knows that he was trying to win the
match against Martinez as well!

BW: Yeah, I'm sure he was.  That would be a double-dip... winner's pay
and the Dragon money.  But considerin' what the Dragon has to be able ta
shell out ta bring back Da Bombahs AND the Masked Menace?  I bet that
winner's pay was peanuts next ta that!

GM: Possibly.  Monosso with the Irish-whip... Albert Showens ducking the
clothesline!  Showens off the far ropes... RUNNING- NO!

BW: You got it right; a running ST-NO.

[Showens goes for the STO, which is a legsweep very similar to some of
the techniques in Judo.  Monosso doesn't budge.  Instead, he glares. 
Clearly intimidated, Showens makes a second effort to take him down with
this before getting easily scooped overhead in a military press!]

BW: Guess what, Albert?  You looked so much like you wanted ta "get out
of here" that Monosso's gonna give ya the chance! 


"GET OUT OF HERE!"


[And with that exclamation, the mad Monosso sprints to the ropes and
hurls Showens out over the top rope, sending him flying down the ramp
and rolling a good fifteen feet before slowly skidding to a halt at the
edge of the ramp...which he then sort of limply spills from in a heap! 
The fans give a loud reaction to the awe-inspiring display, but boo due
to the unnecessary carnage of it all.]

GM: That should be an automatic disqualification!

BW: You say that about half of Monosso's offense.

GM: Because about half of Monosso's offense should be an automatic
disqualification!  I know we don't have an over-the-top disqualification
rule by popular demand, but this man abuses it!  Flagrantly!

BW: Would ya prefer he abused it sneakily?

GM: And what is this?  Percy Childes is putting his hands on a wrestler!
 Another justification for a disqualification!

[Childes has retrieved Showens, and is dragging him back to the ring
while the referee is admonishing Monosso.  He rolls Albert Showens in
under the bottom rope and backs away quickly... the referee turns around
to see a groggy Showens and has an impressed look, like he can't believe
the young man got back in so fast.]

GM: WHY?  Why?  I don't understand it!  Monosso just needs wins... why
brutalize the kid?!

BW: Monosso probably ain't the one who is callin' fer this, Gordo. 
Percy wants blood.  An' when Percy wants blood, daddy, alert the Red
Cross, because somebody's gonna need a pint or two of type O negative
tonight!

GM: Monosso off the ropes... GOOD GRIEF!  KING KONG KNEEDROP!  THAT HAS
TO BE ALL!

[James goes for the cover, but scoops one of Showens' shoulders off the
mat with a half-nelson while looking to Childes impassively... as if
querying whether the manager needs to see anymore.  Childes holds up one
finger.  Monosso thus picks his man up.]

GM: RING THE BELL ALREADY!

BW: Ya know, Gordo, he's really only hit three or four moves.  It ain't
like he's pilin' on yet.

GM: When one of those moves involves throwing the man thirty feet from
the ring to the floor, and then the King Kong Kneedrop... yes, this is
piling on!  He could have easily pinned him!  And now... Monosso hooking
the chin, swinging him sideways...

BW: _SANITY CHECK_!  It's over now!

GM: The Hangman neckbreaker!  This move has been in Monosso's arsenal
for almost twenty years, and it's just claimed another one!

[Needless to say, Showens submits immediately.]  


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[Monosso drops his man... the hard way, sitting out into a neckbreaker. 
He then kneels over his vanquished foe and screams some more... "GET OUT
OF THIS SPORT, KID!  YOU AIN'T FIGHTIN' FOR YOUR LIFE!  GET OUT BEFORE
IT KILLS YOU!"  More jeers accompany this.]

BW: An' that's compassion.  James is tryn' ta spare this kid the
sufferin' he went through.

GM: If you call an extraneous attempt to severely injure him
'compassion'!

BW: Ya gotta break a bone ta set a wound!


PW: The winner of this contest, by submission... JAMES MONOSSO!

[We didn't have time for the theme music before the match, but "The
Theme From Halloween" plays now.  Monosso rolls out under the bottom
rope, apparently finished here.  Childes simply looks at the broken body
of Albert Showens with a sadistic grin before following behind with a
spring in his step.  The capacity crowd serenades them with hate on
their way out.]

GM: With his business for the Dragon apparently done, the only question
that remains is where James Monosso goes from here!

BW: And I'd like ya ta think long an' hard about that.  Here he is, the
most dangerous man in the sport...

GM: Arguable.

BW: No, not really, if ya think about it.  Monosso is worse than a man
with nothin' ta lose; he's a man who already lost everything!  He said
it himself... he has a real, real short amount o' time ta operate. 
Everythin' he does is done with desperation that noone else can even
_fathom_, daddy!  An' the only thing more dangerous than a desperate man
is a big crazy desperate man who only knows how ta cripple people.  An'
the scariest thing of all?

He's free ta do whatever he wants to.

GM: I see your point.  With no clear agenda for the immediate future...

BW: Ya think maybe when he threw that kid over the top... he was
practisin'?

GM: The Rumble.  Of course; if Monosso wants money, what better way than
to become the National Champion!

BW: Not 'wants'.  NEEDS.  Gordo, James Monosso NEEDS ta win th' Rumble. 
NEEDS ta win th' National Title!  Would you wanna be Juan Vasquez for
anythin' in the world right now?

GM: We'll be back after these messages.

[Fade to black on the exiting James Monosso.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to the backstage area. 
Mark Stegglet is standing by with the bespectacled Louis Matsui, looking
slightly the worse for wear in a dark blue suit and lavender shirt. He
doesn't even have a tie on and there is no sign of his characteristic
smirk. Also conspicuous by his absence is the seven-foot-tall MAMMOTH
Mizusawa.]

MS: Louis Matsui, at The Main Event, Juan Vasquez successfully defended
his title against your client, MAMMOTH Mizusawa. I'm guessing you are
not too pleased with that outcome.

LM: Do I look like a happy man, Stegglet? Do I? You call it a successful
title defense, but I've heard it described in worse ways these past
couple of weeks. Everyone's talking about how David defeated Goliath...
How Juan Vasquez is the first man to beat MAMMOTH Mizusawa in a
one-on-one match... In fact, there are some in the back who say Vasquez
has vanquished the giant once and for all...

MS: Is that the reason why MAMMOTH Mizusawa is not here with us?

LM: Interrupt me again and I'll slap the taste out right out of your
mouth, Stegglet! I might not have my monster by my side, but I'm pretty
damn sure I can take you, Mark! Right here, right now! Let's go... You
know what? This interview is over! Just like Vasquez has earned his
reprieve, I'm giving you one, but mark my words, Stegglet, I am far from
done!

[Matsui walks off, still muttering to himself, leaving Stegglet looking
confounded.]

MS:  A very upset Louis Matsui, fans... but where in the world is
MAMMOTH Mizusawa?  Gordon, Bucky... back down to you at ringside!

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

GM:  Thanks, Mark... and Bucky, you're the man with all the scoops... so
where is Mizusawa?  

BW:  I have no clue, Gordo.  The biggest man in the world and not a
single soul can find him.  And if Louis Matsui knows where he is, he
ain't talkin', daddy.  This is one scoop that eludes even me.

GM:  Well, one scoop that doesn't elude either of us is the huge news we
just received from "Big" Jim Watkins during the break.  Later tonight,
in six man tag team action, we will see Sultan Azam Sharif, Vladimir
Velikov, and Kolya Sudakov take on Supernova, Corax, and Tyler Lee!  And
after what went down in that Battle Royal on the Main Event, you just
know that's gonna be a Pier Sixer!

BW:  It's gonna be wild!  The Battle Royal Champion in the house
tonight!

GM:  The Battle Roy- oh, brother.  Fans, let's go up to the ring.

[We crossfade to the ring for the smiling Phil Watson.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first... in the ring at this time hailing from
Arlington, Virginia.  He stands six foot four inches tall and weighing
in at 261 pounds... Rashan Hill!

[Hill pumps his fist and plays to the crowd a bit by jumping up and down
and rolling his neck.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The beginning chords of "Country Boy" by Aaron Lewis begins to play.]

GM: Well, folks here we go. The debut of former PCW mainstay and all
around tough guy- "Dirty" Dick Bass. And I gotta tell ya Bucky, I think
this was quite a signing coup for the AWA.

BW: I can't agree more, Gordo.  This guy is big, he is mean and he is
tough as nails.  And if you're not scared of that, then maybe you'll be
scared of his "Delilah".

GM:  His trusty bullwhip he carries to the ring that he affectionately
calls "Delilah". The past has shown he's not afraid to use it as Dick
Bass has been suspended many times over for using that whip on
opponents.

[Watson continues.]

PW:  Coming down the aisle and hailing from Tampa, Florida... he stands
six foot four and weighs in at 265 pounds...

"DIRTY" DICK BASS!

[Bass walks into view to a shower of jeers from the Texas crowd familiar
with him.  The big man is decked out in simple black trunks, knee pads,
boots, and a leather vest - all in the same color.  His brown eyes are
almost covered by the black Stetson he has tipped close to his brow.  A
thick handlebar moustache rainbows his tense lips, while his trusty whip
"Delilah", is clutched in his heavily taped right hand. Ghazi continues
to jaw at the crowd as they hit ringside.]

GM: Look at the concentration on the mug of Dick Bass, Bucky.  This guy
is all business.

BW: This is a big night for him - his first ever match in the AWA. With
as many stars as we have Gordo, he wants to prove he belongs.

[Bass holds his Stetson as he ducks between the ropes...

...and immediately cracks the whip, sending the referee, ring announcer,
and his opponent scurrying from the ring.]

GM:  My stars!  Dick Bass almost hit the ref, Bucky!  Look at this
wildman snapping that whip all over the place!

BW:  With some wrestlers, I'd say he was trying to get a psychological
edge on his opponent but we both know he'll take the skin right off
someone with Delilah if he feels like it, daddy!

[The big man from Florida cracks the whip again, staring holes through
Rashan Hill before threatening the ref with his bullwhip once more.]

GM:  The referee is trying to restore some order from out on the floor,
trying to get Bass to put that whip down.  Rashan Hill is complaining to
the ref, he's not getting in there until that whip is gone too... and if
looks as though Dick Bass is finally going to comply with the official,
hanging that whip over the ringpost...

BW:  I'm not really sure it matters if he has the whip or not.  He's one
crazy son of a gun, Gordo.

[The official slides in, nodding with approval as Bass hangs the coiled
Delilah over the ringpost, patting it gently as he turns to face his
opponent.  A concerned Hill cimbs up on the apron as Bass hands his hat
and vest to the ringside attendant, revealing hair buzzed close to the
skin...

...and promptly charges across the ring, barreling a freshly-in-the-ring
Hill back into the corner with a forearm smash and then a pair of
haymakers to the skull!]

GM:  Bass is all over him!

BW:  The official just called for the bell - this one's underway...

GM:  And look at him use that taped fist.  You talk about an illegal
blow, Bucky.  That's an illegal blow!

BW:  Hey, it was no problem for you when Travis Lynch was out here
kissing babies and throwing closed fists!  

[Bass drops back, grabbing Hill by the back of the head, and blasting
him between the eyes with a taped right hand, causing Hill to nearly
fall to the mat.]

GM:  Big shot by Bass!  That taped fist on target!

[A second one knocks Hill to a knee as Bass keeps his grip on the hair. 
The official step in, shouting at Bass to back away...

...but one more blow lands, knocking Hill down to the canvas as Bass
backs away, patting his taped right hand.  The official is protesting
his head off, causing Bass to spin around and stalk the referee across
the ring.]

GM:  The ref's out of there again!  This guy is certainly an
intimidating figure!

[Bass turns around, marching back across the ring, grabbing the rising
Hill and scooping him up into the air, turning around before he drops
Hill throatfirst across the top rope!]

GM:  Ohh!  Dick Bass is showing he isn't here to play games, Bucky! 
He's out to prove a point here tonight in the Crockett Coliseum!

BW:  And that point might be, forget the Lynch boys - Dick Bass is the
biggest signee from PCW!  I told you, Gordo!  I told you he was mean and
nasty - just look at him now!

[Action back in the ring shows Bucky is right. Using the top rope as
leverage, "Dirty" Dick Bass presses his knee on the face of Hill, only
breaking at the referee's count of four.]

GM:  Get him up, ref!

[Bass stands up, pointing a warning index finger at the official before
turning back to the downed Hill.  He leans over, dragging Hill up by the
hair...

...and with a snarl in the official's direction, he creams Hill with a
headbutt between the eyes that causes Hill to stumble back into the
corner.]

GM:  Rashan Hill is getting manhandled, roughhoused all over ringside by
"Dirty" Dick Bass who-

[Bass promptly grabs Hill by the arm, yanking hard to tug him into a
short-arm clothesline that ends with Hill down flat on his back on the
mat.]

GM:  Good grief!  Dick Bass is destroying this young man!

[Showing no mercy, Bass stays on the attack with a series of hard stomps
to the ribcage of a stunned Hill.]

GM:  They weren't kidding when they said this man doesn't fool around! 
This guy is just plain vicious, Bucky!

[The official steps in again, nudging Bass away...

...and getting shoved aside for his efforts as Bass leans over, grabbing
Hill by the hair.  The weary man from Virginia throws a few weak punches
to the midsection of Dick Bass, drawing a small smirk from the big man.]

GM:  I don't like that smile.

[A hard shot to the temple of Hill stuns him and allows Bass to power
him up, dropping him down across his bent knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  Inverted atomic drop!

[Slipping past Hill, Bass reaches back to hook an reverse neckbreaker...

...and drops down, jamming Hill's neck into the shoulder!]

GM:  Good grief!  That's the kind of thing that can break someone's neck
and end a career!

[Bass doesn't relent, popping right back up to continue to lay boots
into the seemingly unconscious Rashan Hill.  The fans are all over Bass
as he leans down, dragging Hill off the mat and into a double
underhook...]

GM:  Uh oh!  I think we know what's coming now!

[Bass powers Hill up off the mat...

...and DROPS him down across a bent knee!]

GM:  OHHH!  There it is!  He calls that move the Bass Breaker!  

BW:  And what impact is it!  A perfectly executed double underhook
backbreaker.  If you can patent a move, I'd slap one on this, daddy! 
This kid might get CARRIED out of here tonight 'cause there's no way
he's walking out on his own.

[Bass rests on his knees a minute, watching Rashan squirm in pain, a
look of satisfaction on his face. He grabs Rashan by the shoulder and
rolls him on his back, lazily lying on top for the cover that the ref is
quick to count.]

"DING! DING! DING!" 

GM: What a debut by "Dirty" Dick Bass!

[Phil Watson is about to make it official when suddenly Dick Bass
marches to the corner, grabbing his bullwhip off the post.]

GM:  What the heck is he doing now?  Someone get some control out there!
 There's no call for this!

BW:  He's got Delilah, Gordo!

[The referee steps in his path, pleading with him to back away and leave
the ring.  Still coiled in his hands, Bass eyes the downed Hill   The
crowd is all over Bass at this point as he starts to uncoil his "leading
lady" in his hands.]

GM:  Somebody get in there and stop this man!

[But instead of lashing the whip down across the downed Hill, Bass
simply loops it around his throw, pulling back.]

GM:  He's choking him!  Bass is choking the life out of him!  

[Bass grits his teeth as he pulls back as hard as he can, lifting the
poor youngster off the canvas.]

GM:  Here comes some AWA officials... we need some help out here and I
think we're about to get it...

BW:  But is it too late?

GM:  This kid has a family!  He's got a career!  And Dick Bass is trying
to rob it from him!

[With three officials up in his face, Bass releases the choke, uncoiling
the whip and turning towards the officials, shouting in their direction
as he raises his whip hand menacingly.  From the floor, another trio of
officials grab Rashan Hill by the legs, dragging him under the ropes to
safety.  An angry Dick Bass shoves past the officials, stepping to the
floor where he snatches a house mic away from a stunned Phil Watson.]

DB:  All week long, all I have heard is how lucky I was to get my chance
in the American Wrestling Association. But the fact of the matter is,
it's the AWA that was lucky up till now!

[Bass wipes away the trickles of sweat that run down his brow. He
addresses the crowd again.]

DB: See, up till this point I was busy raisin' hell in the PCW. I was
content making everyone's life their as miserable as possible. Burt when
they closed the doors and the AWA came a callin' [shrugs] well now it's
the AWA who is going to find out just how lucky she was before I opened
up the doors.

Tonight was just a small taste of somethin' I did regularity in my old
stomping grounds.  The AWA is going to see just how much the playing
field has changed the minute I put my "John Hancock" on the bottom of a
contract. You bring on the biggest, toughest, meanest son-of-a-guns you
got and I can guarantee you I can hang with all of 'em. This place is
gonna have the stench of me all over it and my stench, ladies and
gentlemen- is a stench of fear! Every time my music hits, the stench is
going to radiate from whoever stands in that ring, whoever stands
outside the ring, in the stands [snarls] even in the damn parking lot. I
didn't come here to play games. I didn't come here to make friends; I
came here for a fight!

[Dick once again wipes sweat from his brow with the back of his taped
right hand. He smoothes down his handlebar moustache then continues.]

DB: All of you AWA fans and wrestlers are curious to see if us 'PCW
Guys' have what it takes to go toe to toe with all of you?  Well, I
can't answer for the rest of 'em, but I can guarantee you that when
"Dirty" Dick Bass' name is across from yours, you better be ready for
the fight of your life.
 
[Points an index finger at the camera.]
 
DB:  Because if you're not [snarls] you'll find your liver on the mat
and your jaw somewhere in the third row.

[Looks lovingly at his bullwhip]

DB:  And who knows, maybe just maybe, my pretty lady will come out and
dance again just like she did tonight.

[Bass laughs loudly before shoving the mic back in Phil Watson's
direction before heading back up the entrance aisle to a chrous of
boos.]

GM:  That man has problems, Bucky.

BW:  None that a bottle of Jack Daniels and a night with sweet Delilah
won't cure.

GM:  You're as twisted as he is!  Unbelievable!  Fans, like we said, The
Main Event was full of surprises... and perhaps no surprise was bigger
than after Alex Martinez had successfully survived and beaten James
Monosso.  The Minion appeared... we were all wondering who was next...
well, that question was answered with the return of Larry Doyle and the
Blondee Bombers, Bucky.

BW:  Hollywood Larry is back!  The Bombers are back!  Even the Menace is
back!  The boys are back in town and this three-time Announcer of the
Year couldn't be happier, daddy!

GM:  But why, Bucky?  Why have they returned?  Larry Doyle is standing
by and hopefully he'll shed some light on the answer to that question.

[Cut up to the interview area where stands a familiar face.  One hand
jammed into the pocket of a two-tone pair of green slacks atop one
expensive-looking cowboy boot and a common loafer, he postures himself
in a serious way that belies his appearance.]

LD: "Hollywood Man" Larry Doyle here, people.  You're welcome.

[Then there's above the waist, expensive gold watch, check, purple
jacket that doesn't match his slacks, check.  Oh yeah, and a microphone
poised in front of a bulbous nose.  It could be none other than Larry
Doyle.  Pulling a pair of thick glasses from a breast pocket, he slips
them on and gives the fans at home an unsavory smirk.]

LD: Just call me Lazarus 'cause I'm back from the dead, baby!  The old
Grim Reaper tripped on his robe and I stomped his stupid skull in with
this--

[Gestures to his well-known loaded boot.]

LD: --right before my boys put him out in the compost heap to grow my
pentunias!  Why would they do that?  I would think that, by now, it's
pretty damned clear that I don't like to get my own hands dirty.

[Hand swinging out of the pocket and wildly to one side, Doyle becomes
instantly animated as his agitation becomes clear.]

LD: But where have I been?  Where was Larry Doyle?  I was back in LA
livin' it up like I always do, waiting for when my boys were ready to
make a comeback.  

Where were the boys?  None of your business!  Oh sure, there were some
rumors flying about how Rough N Ready put 'em out of the business, but
that was a bunch of horsecrap.  

Where was the Menace!?  Why, he hasn't been seen since then either.  Oh
yeah, there were rumors, that Jackson Haynes busted Menace up and he
went to ground so as to recuperate.  

You people have seen the Menace.  Do you actually think a redneck like
Jackson Haynes could hurt him?  

[It's odd, whereas Doyle was a silly and slightly crazy man before now
he fairly burns with spite and bile.  Standing perfectly still for a
moment his smirk fades slow as the fans fall silent.]

LD: Do you really think that it matters what any of you think!?

[Aaand the heel heat starts up anew.]

LD: You talk amongst yourselves, thinking this and that about your
betters and wasting your lives wondering between shifts at McDonalds
what we're doing.  You don't get to know because I don't want you to
know.  We took a step back, that's true, but the truth, whose details we
keep, is that we came back when the time was right to make an _impact_.

Momentum broken by a team with more muscle than brains, we evaluated
what made us great and what could make us better. That is the mark of a
true genius; not resting on your laurels.  The Bombers hit the gym
double hard and even the Menace took it up a notch.  When the time came
and we saw an opportunity...

[Doyle shakes his head, trembling with anger.]

LD:  And that opportunity came when the AWA decided we didn't exist.

Four weeks ago, you people had a little Awards Night.  

Tell me - did you hear the name "Larry Doyle" mentioned that night?

[Pause.]

LD:  DID YOU?!

No!  No you didn't!

Do you people even know that I, Hollywood Larry Doyle, got voted, out of
all of wrestling as the Best Interviewee of 2010?!

No!  No you didn't!

Did the AWA recognize this tremendous accomplishment?  

No!  No they didn't!  Not a word, not a card, nothing, and none of you
peasants stood up and told them any different!

What a slap in the face!  To me, to the boys!  And the AWA thought we'd
just stand by and take it.  They thought we'd roll over and just whimper
in the tall grass.

They were wrong.

[Doyle is seething now.]

LD:  And coincidentally, just when we were trying to figure out how to
repay the AWA in spades for that insult... we got a call.  Seemed this
"Dragon" character was looking for knives to jab into the spleen of a
certain top heavy tower of power.

That sack of dough put my moneybags back in the black, gave me the
leverage to renegotiate my contract with the Masked Menace and set us on
the path to legendry.

[Doyle pauses, almost mumbling the next line.]

LD:  Good thing too.  I had to give the guy my solid gold wheelchair. 
He actually melted it down and sold it off.  Unbelievable.

[He clears his throat, speaking up.]

LD:  An opportunity to get paid - and paid quite well - to beat the
AWA's new golden child into a bloody, broken, beaten pulp?

Where do I sign?

[Doyle snickers.]

LD:  It was an opportunity I wasn't about to let slide... and neither
were my boys.  Ladies and gentlemen... without further ado, and you know
I love ado, let me just introduce to you ... the NEW Blonde Bombers!

[From stage right comes a bleach Blonde man of average build, spray tan
with a round face in black, blue and white tights, boots and knee pads.]

LD: New?  Oh yeah baby, and improved!  First out we got "Ravishing"
Robert Baldwin!  Say goodbye to Bobby; a boy has become a man.

[Squinting at the camera, the tight-lipped Baldwin looks downright
furious for no apparent reason.  Maybe he's just raring to go. Behind
him comes a slightly taller, thicker man with a more natural tan and
natural Blonde hair who wears matching gear.]

LD: And his partner, you knew him as Johnny Nova, say hello to "the
Machine" Johann Avalon - a man who has embraced his roots, gone into the
shadows of what he once was, and come out a force of nature that you
just don't wanna get too close to.

[Behind them, a 6'6" over-thick beast in a mask stalks out, crossing his
arms behind the Bombers.]

LD: And my MAN, the Masked Menace!  Don't know his real name, don't want
to.  If you listen to him, he is the mask and that body's just the sack
of muscle that moves him around.  I hope he's lying 'cause otherwise,
I'm scared.  Instead, everybody else should be scared. 

Let me just serve notice right now!  If you mess with the Bombers, you
get the Menace!  This man, this MONSTER does my bidding!  This ain't
like what we had before with that glass man Crusher Glenn.  Menace can
get it done, inside the ring and out.

Need more proof that we _are_ the attraction in the AWA?  Stay tuned. 
For now...

[Doyle spreads his arms wide to gesture to his grouping.]

LD:  This union, this right here, this is intensity, united under the
banner of one man ... ME!  We are the attraction!  We are the talent! 
This story told by every man, woman and child in every arena that the
AWA goes to, on every television set, cathode, flat, projector, 2D, 3D,
whatever!   This is _our_ story!

[Doyle looks around with disgust at the jeering crowd.]

LD:  And it doesn't matter one bit what you think about it!  This is our
celebration, ours, not yours.  This marks the most momentous occasion in
the history of the AWA; the return of the Blonde Bombers...

[Menace cocks his head at Doyle.]

LD: Oh, and the Masked Menace too.  

And that's why tonight we're going to celebrate our return the only way
we know how.  We're gonna have a match!

[Pause for effect.]

LD: OH yes, you heard me right.  Match.  The Blonde Bombers have a
match.  Some might call it a challenge, but not me.  Challenge indicates
that one party asks the other for a fight, but dammit, we are the
attraction, we are the show, we are the AWA!  As such the match is MADE!
 

You see, we came back to the AWA to put Alex Martinez on the shelf - to
put the AWA's golden boy on the shelf... but then we got a gift.  It was
Christmas in March for the Bombers!

Because the AWA's sheltered little champion, Juan Vasquez, stuck his
nose into our business too.

[The crowd cheers, starting to see where this is going.]

LD:  So, tonight... we receive the opportunity of a lifetime.  In one
night, in one match, we receive the chance to take out the AWA's poster
boys and cement our place at the top of the food chain!

[Dramatic pause.]

LD:  Tonight its MY Blonde Bombers taking on the team of Alex Martinez
and Juan Vasquez!  

[HUGE CHEER!  Doyle shouts over the cheering crowd.]

LD:  When it's all said and done these ... these ... MEXIPOWERS--

[HUGE CROWD CHEER!  Doyle looks irritated.]

LD:  Now Mexipowers, don't even THINK about backing out!  When my boys
take you down it's a done deal that the Dragon is gonna heap us up in
gold and we'll all be in the Hall of Fame as of tomorrow! We don't wait
in line.  We don't ask.  We are the best, we want it all, and we want it
now!  We're taking it.  Period.  Vasquez, Martinez ... see you later
tonight.

#Reach out and touch faith.#

["Personal Jesus" plays as we watch the quartet making their way off the
stage.]

GM:  That sounds like a challenge to me!

BW:  It's not a challenge.

GM:  The Blonde Bombers wanna take on Alex Martinez and the National
Champion, Juan Vasquez!  Will it happen?  We'll find out as soon as we
can but we've gotta take a quick break, fans!  Don't go away 'cause
we'll be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[We fade to black.

And then fade back up to a black screen with the AWA logo splashed
across it.  A voiceover begins.]

"The American Wrestling Alliance is hotter than ever and as they inch
closer to Memorial Day Mayhem - do not miss your chance to catch your
favorite AWA stars in person before they hit the road for the summer!"

[The logo scales down to the top of the screen as white lettering
appears on the black background.]

"SUNDAY, APRIL 10TH - FORT WORTH NISSAN"

VO:  Don't miss it when Scotty and Marty, the Rockstar Express, come to
Fort Worth for a special personal appearance.  The hottest tag team in
Rock and Roll will be signing autographs and taking photos at Fort Worth
Nissan on Seventh Street!"

[The text changes.]

"TUESDAY, APRIL 12TH - HOUSTON BOYS AND GIRLS CLUB"

VO:  It's a special fundraising night for the Houston Boys And Girls
Club with Eric Preston and Johnny Sone signing autographs!  Plus, a
special three-match card featuring the Moonshiners, the Aces, Tommy
Fierro, and so much more!

"FRIDAY, APRIL 15TH - ARENA EVENT IN DOWNTOWN SAN ANTONIO"

VO:  The AWA comes to San Antonio on April 15th for a special arena show
at the San Antonio Rose Palace!  On the show, you will see Anton Layton,
Robert Donovan, "Playboy" Johnny Casanova, plus the National Tag Team
Titles will be on the line!  The TV cameras will be in the house in San
Antonio and you just never know what's gonna happen!

"SATURDAY, APRIL 16TH - ARENA EVENT IN LAREDO"

VO:  The great wrestling city of Laredo, Texas gets more of the
fantastic action that only the AWA can bring with a special arena event.
 Robert Donovan makes his return to Laredo when he meets the Longhorn
Heritage Champion, Nenshou, in one on one action!  Sweet Daddy Williams
does battle with Sultan Azam Sharif!  And Alex Martinez will be in the
house in Laredo!

[The AWA logo fills up the screen.]

VO:  For more information on there and other upcoming AWA events, visit
the AWA website for all the details and we'll see YOU at the matches!

[Fade to black.

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

GM:  Welcome back, fans, and during the break, Jim Watkins made it
official!  Tonight, in the Main Event, we will see the Blonde Bombers
taking on the team of Alex Martinez and Juan Vasquez - a duo that Larry
Doyle has crassly dubbed the Mexipowers - in tag team action!  I can't
wait for that one.  

BW:  Neither can Hollywood Larry.  The chance to put Vasquez AND
Martinez on the shelf in the same night?  This could be a heck of a
night for the Bombers, daddy!

GM:  But speaking of tag team action... coming up in just a few minutes
we're going to see a rematch from The Main Event, as the Moonshiners
take on Eric Preston and Macht Kraftwerk. And standing with Jason Dane
right now is Eric Preston, moments away from that big match.  Jason?

[Gordon nods from afar at Dane, standing on the interview platform with
Eric Preston. Preston is dressed to wrestle in dark blue tights with a
diamond pattern at the belt line, white boots and a black elbow pad on
his left arm, and a grey Combat Corner t-shirt.]

JD: Eric, you were so close at The Main Event to finally getting a
victory, only to have the match end in a controversial disqualification.


EP: Watch the tape again, Jason, there's no controversy at all. I was
so, so close to busting out of this slump, but Zeke the Moonshiner
punched out the ref at the last second. It's great to have my hand
raised, it's great to be announced the winner, but there's no feeling in
the world like pinning a man to the mat, one two three. I almost forgot
what it was like, and just as I was about to remember...

...you took it away. Just like that, Zeke the Moonshiner, you took away
something that I've been trying to get back for a long time. You stole
it from me, brother, and I don't take real kindly to people taking
what's mine. Just like that, in an instant-

[Preston snaps his fingers.]

EP: -you made it personal, boys, you took it to a whole new level. I
need that three count like you can't imagine, Jason, I need it like I
need oxygen. For these weeks and months, I've been choking, I've been
gasping for air. I need it to live, Jason, I'm starting to fade and
_just_ as I get, just as I _earn_ a much needed victory... it gets taken
away. 

But singin' the blues won't do me any good, Jason, cryin' about it gets
nothing done.

Tonight's a second chance to right a wrong, daddy, and I won't miss the
mark. You took something I needed so badly and ya ran like a yellow dog,
you took the easy way out instead of being a man and taking your
medicine. That's my mistake. That's our mistake, Macht and me. We gave
you a way out.

There won't be a side door tonight, Moonshiners, we won't give you the
opportunity. _I_ won't give you the opportunity to run like little
girls, because once that bell rings, boys, you're gonna find yourselves
in a world a pain. You might have thought you were in for another night
at the fights, but what you are is between a very desperate man...

[Preston points his thumb at himself.]

EP: ...and something he very desperately needs. I can't eat, I can't
sleep, I can just about function like a human being, all because of this
losing streak, all because of this rut. I've been scrambling for so
long, so long, just so I didn't get swallowed up, I paid out of my own
pocket for a damn interview, just so the people wouldn't forget I'm
here.

I was on the verge of losing it, fellas, but now I'm about to lose it on
you. You took my win, you took my moment, you took my peace of mind, and
now you're about to take a beat down. Don't bother looking for the easy
way out, don't look for the side door, because I won't make the same
mistake twice, I won't get fooled again. Saturday Night Wrestling,
daddy, Macht and EP are going to right a wrong and take our pound of
flesh in the process. 

Fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice.... there won't be a next time.


Not tonight, not ever. I'm ready, and so are these people, Jason...

[Preston points to the crowd, cheering their homegrown star.]

EP: Tonight we put six long months in the rear view mirror and turn the
page. Moonshiners, bring your lunch, because you got a long night ahead
of you.

[Preston claps his hands together, heading up to the entrance ramp where
he's joined by Macht Kraftwerk as Audioslave's "Show Me How To Live"
starts up to a big cheer and the voice of Phil Watson fills the air.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is set for one fall with a fifteen
minute time limit.  First, on their way down the aisle... at a total
combined-

[But before Watson can even get going, the Moonshiners strike!]

GM:  Moonshiners!

[Jug and Zeke are instantly on the attack, knocking both Preston and
Kraftwerk down off their feet with a rushing assault.  Mange brings up
the rear, shouting encouragement to his men as they stomp and kick the
downed pair of fan favorites.  After a bit, Jug drags Eric Preston to
his feet...]

"Ya wanna prove somethin', bawh?"

[A hard slap across the face spins Preston around where Zeke hoists him
up into the air...

...and SLAMS him down on the wooden ramp!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HE SLAMMED HIM!  SLAMMED HIM ON THE RAMP!!

[With Preston down, Jug sinks his fingers into the eyehole of
Kraftwerk's mask, dragging him down the ramp towards the ring where he
slings him through the ropes into the squared circle.]

GM:  Zeke sends him in... and now both Moonshiners are in there with
Macht Kraftwerk!

[Jug and Zeke stand over the downed Kraftwerk, shouting insults at him
as the crowd jeers.  The official shouts for them to clear one man out
so he can start the match but a hard double axehandle across the back of
the kneeling German cuts him off.]

GM:  Get one of 'em out, ref!  This isn't supposed to-

BW:  It's not even an official match yet!  They can do whatever they
want!

[A barrage of forearms, fists, and axehandles rain down across the back
of the rising Kraftwerk, knocking him right back down.  A sneering Jug
clears out of the ring, forcing the official to call for the bell to
start the match as Zeke shoves Kraftwerk back to the corner...

...and lunges backwards, cracking his elbow into the jaw of the masked
man!]

GM:  Good grief!  Big elbow to the jaw!

[Grabbing the arm of Kraftwerk, Zeke hurls him across the ring, rushing
in behind...

...and gets knocked flat as Kraftwerk leaps up to the midbuckle,
blinding leaping back off with a cross-body that knocks Zeke down to the
mat!]

GM:  Crossbody for one!  Two!

[But Zeke easily powers out of the pin attempt, leaving Kraftwerk to
attempt to crawl to his corner as Zeke rises up...

...and mockingly applauds the German who reaches the corner to find no
help.]

GM:  Preston's not there!  Eric Preston is still trying to recover from
that slam on the ramp.  He's up to a knee down there...

BW:  A lot of good it does his partner!  And when Eric Preston's sitting
in a soup kitchen somewhere wondering where it all went wrong someday,
moments like these are what he'll remember!  

GM:  Preston sees his partner in trouble!  Preston's up!

[The crowd cheers the Combat Corner graduate as he staggers down the
ramp towards the ring, forcing himself towards the squared circle where
his partner has been dragged into the middle of the ring by Zeke before
he drops a heavy elbow across the back of the head.]

GM:  Big elbow by Zeke...

[Rolling to his feet, Zeke drags Kraftwerk by the foot to the corner
where he slaps the hand of Jug.  Jug promptly steps in, winds up, and
drops a heavy elbow to the back of the head of his own!]

GM:  Another one to the skull!  Kraftwerk's taken two hard elbowdrops to
the head.

[Jug grabs the mask in both hands, SLAMMING Kraftwerk's covered face
into the canvas before rolling him to his back.]

GM:  Jug with a cover for one!  For two!  But that's all!  Kraftwerk
slides a shoulder out of that pinning predicament at two.

[Jug balls up his fist, slamming it repeatedly into the skull of
Kraftwerk to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  He's all over Macht Kraftwerk!  Just beating him to a pulp!

[Reaching up, Jug slaps the hand of Zeke to bring him back into the
match.  The two men stand over Kraftwerk for a moment and then drop a
pair of elbows in tandem on the chest of Kraftwerk!]

GM:  Double elbowdrop!  Goodness!

BW:  The Moonshiners are double tough brawlers who can throw down with
the best of 'em.  And when they get in there with someone smaller than
them like Kraftwerk, they can really do some damage, Gordo.

GM:  They certainly can.  Two of the hardest hitting brawlers I've ever
seen.

[Zeke rolls Kraftwerk to his back, delivering a pair of hard stomps to
the sternum before stepping back and dropping forward, smashing his own
head into the chest of the German with a falling headbutt!]

GM:  Good grief!  And there's a ton of impact on that!

[Zeke applies another press, shouting "Count 'im, ref!" as he does so.]

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

[But Kraftwerk fires a shoulder up at two, refusing to stay down.  An
angry Zeke promptly wraps his hands around the German's throat,
squeezing as he ragdolls Kraftwerk around on the mat.  He breaks the
choke at four, rising to his feet where he slaps the hand of Jug.]

GM:  Both Moonshiners in on the tag...

[Eric Preston arrives on the apron, shouting something to his partner as
the brawlers send Kraftwerk into the ropes...

...and the spunky German cruiserweight ducks under a double clothesline
attempt, leaping to the middle rope, and springing back off!]

GM:  Off the rop- DOUBLE DROPKICK!

[The crowd roars as each of Kraftwerk's feet catch a Moonshiner in the
mush!]

GM:  A beautiful counter by Macht Kraftwerk and he's got the mountain
men from Arkansas reeling!

[Kraftwerk hits the mat, crawling on all fours across the ring...

...but Jug grabs his ankle, preventing a straining Kraftwerk from making
the tag!]

GM:  Look how close he is, Bucky!  Kraftwerk's gotta be literally inches
from the tag!

BW:  Close don't count, Gordo!  He's gotta make the tag!

[A dazed Jug gets to a knee, still holding a struggling Kraftwerk by the
ankle.  Macht promptly rolls to his back, coiling back his free leg...

...and LASHING OUT, driving it into the mush of the brawler!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught him in the face!

BW:  But Jug's hanging on!

[Kraftwerk throws the kick again, catching Jug on the bridge of the
nose.  But a starry-eyed Jug continues to hang on, now getting all the
way to his feet and dragging Kraftwerk up with him who hops on one foot
to steady himself...

...and leaps up, smacking his foot into the back of Jug's head!]

GM:  HEADKICK!  HEADKICK!!

BW:  An enzugiri on target by Kraftwerk and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  TAG!  HE MADE THE TAG!!

[The tag brings in a slightly-wobbly Eric Preston who steps into the
ring, rushing across, and leaping up to land a back elbow on the jaw of
an incoming Zeke, knocking the redneck through the ropes and out to the
floor to a big cheer from the crowd!]

GM:  Preston clears out Zeke!

[Pulling Jug to his feet, Preston drills him with a quartet of haymakers
that backs the Arkansas native into the corner.  Grabbing an arm, he
flings Jug across the ring...]

GM:  Corner to corner comes Preston...

[And leaves his feet, leaping into the air, and smashing home a lunging
clothesline across the chest!  He spins, grabbing the arm again, and
hurling Jug to the opposite corner once more before charging across...

...and landing a second leaping clothesline in the buckles!]

GM:  Two big clotheslines connect!  And listen to these fans, Bucky!

[The roaring fans are in support of Eric Preston as he backs off,
pumping a fist to the cheers of the fans as Jug stumbles out of the
corner...

...and gets dropkicked clean off his feet by Preston to another big
cheer!]

GM:  Preston puts Jug down with a dropkick!

[A fired-up Preston drags Jug off the mat by his wild hair...

...and catches a haymaker to the breadbasket that stops his offense
short!]

GM:  Ohh!  Jug caught him there!

[Grabbing a handful of the youngster's hair, Jug SLAMS his face into the
top turnbuckle!  He spins Preston around, smashing home a pair of
forearms to the chest before sinking his teeth into the forehead!]

GM:  He's biting him!  Jug's biting Eric Preston!

[Jug breaks his illegal assault at four, grabbing Preston by the arm to
fire him across the ring into the buckles.]

GM:  Jug charges in and-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  PRESTON BRINGS THE BOOT UP!!

[With Jug wobbly, Preston springs up to the middle rope, spinning his
arms over one another in a somersault gesture...

...and leaps off the ropes, catching Jug's wild hair as he sails over
him in a front flip, and SMASHES him down to the mat with a
neckbreaker!]

GM:  WHOOOOHAH!  A somersault neckbreaker!

[Preston hurls himself across the chest of the prone Jug.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[The crowd jeers as Zeke throws himself across the back of Preston,
breaking up the pin...

...which brings in Macht Kraftwerk throwing rights and lefts at Zeke,
stunning the bigger man with their intensity.  An angry Preston pulls
Jug up, shoving him back to the corner.]

GM:  Kraftwerk's on Zeke!  Preston's on Jug!

[The Dallas fans cheer wildly for the double pummeling on the
Moonshiners...

...and grow louder as Preston and Kraftwerk each mount a buckle!]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[To another big cheer, the fan favorites hop down to the ring, each
grabbing an arm...

...and send the Moonshiners crashing into one another in the middle of
the ring!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The 'Shiners are dazed!

[And Kraftwerk snaps off a picture perfect superkick that sends Zeke
sailing over the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  DOWN GOES ZEKE!!

[Preston nods his head, hooking Jug in a front facelock... and SNAPPING
him over in a suplex!]

GM:  Big suplex!  He nearly takes Jug out of his boots!

[And the crowd roars as Preston gets to his feet, pointing to the
corner!]

GM:  Preston's going up!  He's heading for the high rent district!

BW:  And this is where it happens, Gordo.  This is where Preston screws
up and loses again!

GM:  You don't know that, Bucky!  Maybe this is the night!  Maybe this
is Eric Preston's night!

[Preston steps to the middle rope, then to the top as Jug starts to stir
on the canvas...

...and Macht Kraftwerk breaks into a sprint, leaving his feet to drive
them into the face of Mange on the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  MACHT TAKES OUT MANGE!

BW:  What?!  Why?!  What right does he have to put his hands on a
manager?!

GM:  Jug's to a knee... to his feet...

[And as he staggers around, Preston takes flight off the top rope,
catching him squarely across the chest and knocking him flat!]

GM:  HIGH CROSS BODY!!  WE'VE GOT ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[The crowd EXPLODES as an almost-shocked Preston pops up to his feet,
looking around in surprise...

...and then breaks into a huge relieved grin as the official raises his
hand!]

GM:  HE DID IT!!  PRESTON DID IT!!

[Kraftwerk regains his feet, falling into an embrace with the young fan
favorite who has struggled for so long to get back on track.]

PW:  Here are your winners... the team of Macht Kraftwerk...

ANNNNNND ERRRRRRRIC PRESSSSSSSTON!

[Preston throws his arms in the air again, this time falling to his
knees as he shakes his head back and forth.]

GM:  I'm not even sure Eric can believe it yet!  He's fought so long, so
hard, to get back to the winner's circle.  Eric Preston with a huge win
here tonight on Saturday Night Wrestling and-  can we get him over here
for some comments?

BW:  Must we ?

GM: Eric Preston, Macht Kraftwerk, come on over here!

[The crowd cheers their heart out as Preston, sweaty but victorious,
catches a towel thrown to him and makes his way to the announce
position, a mile wide smile on his face.  Macht Kraftwerk is nearby,
shaking hands with some of the ringside fans and allowing Preston to
have his moment.]

GM: It's been a long time since we've had a post-match interview after a
victory, Eric.

EP: You're not kidding my man, it feels like forever, but it's just like
I remember it. Six long months, Gordo, damn near half a year where I
couldn't do anything right. Every bump in the road, every banana peel, I
slipped on 'em all.

But through it all, these people have been behind me, Gordon. All over
the country, all over the South, the people have had my back and have
supported me when even I didn't think I deserved it. When I didn't
believe in me, these folks did, and I'll tell you what, I won't forget
it. I won't forget the love and the support, and I'm fixin' to repay
every bit of it. 

[Preston runs his hand through his hair, spraying Myers with a little
sweat.]

EP: I learned my lesson, Gordon. I'm not gonna come out here and predict
the future, I'll leave that to guys like you. But what I will tell you
is that to build somethin' great, you gotta start at the ground floor,
daddy. You gotta lay the foundation one brick at a time, piece by piece.
You can't just go from the ground floor to the penthouse.

So what I'm gonna do, I'm gonna lay the bricks, one at a time. I'm gonna
roll up my sleeves and get the dirty work done, and I'm gonna rebuild
the foundation of Eric Preston. One win at a time, one match at a time,
I am going to right this ship. I owe it to myself, and I owe it to these
beautiful people, daddy, at home, in the stands and around the world.

[Preston turns around, motioning to the people.]

EP: For the people who had my back when I was down and almost out, I've
got something for 'em. I'm gonna repay you for what you've given me.

We start the receipts on the next Saturday Night, Gordo. In more ways
than one.

[Preston happily slaps Myers hard on the back as he leaves, jostling the
revered announcer and making even Bucky Wilde snicker.]

GM:  What a big moment for Eric Preston!  Could this be a turning point
in this young man's career?  And what does he mean that payback starts
in two weeks' time?  Fans, we've gotta take another break but... wow,
what a moment!  We'll be right back, fans!

[We fade to black.

And then back up on an animated Jason Dane... no, he's not just moving a
lot.  He's LITERALLY animated - like Porky Pig style.]

JD:  They say I'm the man with all the answers.

[A cut to a different angle of animated Dane.]

JD:  They say I'm the man who gets all the scoops.

[Another cut.  Another angle.]

JD:  They say I'm- is all this really necessary?  It's not like I'm
Geraldo, guys.

[A voice off camera shouts "CUT!" and animated Jason Dane walks off a
green screen set through a crowded studio.]

JD:  I'm not the "most feared man in America," fans.  What I am is a
pretty good reporter who has an eye for the stories you're gonna want to
know about.  That's why AWA Access has been one of the most downloaded
apps ever and that's why the AWA gave me permission to start my own
website!

I'll be bringing you the hot news, the big stories, and the stuff not
fit to air.

[Animated Dane strokes his animated chin.]

JD:  Maybe I AM the most feared man in America!

[A "BZZZ!" sound of electricity is heard as animated Jason Dane fades
away and a title graphic appears.]

"JASON DANE - COMING TO A BROWSER NEAR YOU!"

[Fade to black.

And then fade back up to live action where Mark Stegglet is standing up
on the interview platform with the crowd cheering.]

MS:  Ladies and gentlemen, my guest at this time is one of the most
popular men in the entire AWA and he says he's got a big announcement to
make for us here tonight.  Please welcome... SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS!

#WHO WAN' SIT ON SWEET DADDY'S LAP TAAANIIIIIGHT?#

[As "I'm Gonna Be Your Sweet Daddy" starts up over the PA, the rotund
fan favorite springs through the curtain to a big cheer.  He points out
to the crowd, jabbering away with words we can't hear as he repeatedly
turns and points to different parts of the Crockett Coliseum.  Williams
is in a pair of blue jeans and a red t-shirt with "SWEET DADDY" written
in white lettering across the front.  He makes his way to Stegglet's
side, shaking the announcer's hand as the music fades.]

MS:  Sweet Daddy Williams, you made quite the showing for yourself two
weeks ago on The Main Event in that Battle Royal.

SDW:  Thanks, baby... and I like to think if just a couple more cookies
had crumbled in ol' Sweet Daddy's direction, I'd be the guy entering the
Rumble at #30 and not that no-good guttersnake Sharif.

[Big cheer!]

MS:  Speaking of Sharif, what do you think of the way he won the Battle
Royal?

[Williams shakes his head.]

SDW:  Look, Kolya Sudakov and I ain't best buddies... but even I know
that Kolya's got more guts than that.  He's been jerked around like a
puppet on a string by Kostovich and Bathwaite... and I can't wait for
those strings to get cut to see what happens, baby.

MS:  Fair enough.  You told me you had a big announcement to make
tonight.

SDW:  That's right, Markus.  For months now, ol' Sweet Daddy's been
tellin' the world that my 2011 plans are clear.  I want some gold around
this big ol' flabby waist.  Whether it's Nenshou... those big ol' Rough
N Ready bulls... or my good friend, Juan Vasquez... I'm takin' on
someone in 2011 and walkin' out with some gold.  Believe that.  

And that's why I went to the Championship Committee two weeks ago and
made it REAL clear that I'M gonna be in the Rumble!

[Big cheer!]

MS:  You're entering the Memorial Day Rumble?

SDW:  That's right.  And I got two goals in there.  The first and the
most important is to win the whole thing and go on to face the National
Champ for that shiny chunk o' gold.

MS:  And the other?

SDW:  The other is to make sure no stinkin' America hater like Sharif
walks out the winner on one of America's most special days!

[HUGE CHEER!]

MS:  Sweet Daddy, it was several weeks ago you told the world that this
would happen - an AWA where men like Sharif and his allies and the
Unholy Alliance and now this group that Mark Langseth has put
together... you told us that they would tear the entire AWA apart trying
to be the top dog!  What do you see now?

[Williams shakes his head.]

SDW:  I been around this business a long time, baby.  So,  the Sweet
Daddy knows what he's talkin' 'bout.  To see what they done to
Supernova... what they done to Von Braun's special lady friend... to see
what they did to Violence Unlimited.  It makes this ol' dog sick to his
stomach, Mark.

MS:  So why not do something about it?  I'm sure Von Braun would love
your help with the Unholy Alli-

[Williams holds up a hand.]

SDW:  I ain't helpin' Von Braun, Mark.  I just don't trust him.  And
this ol' dog's been down that road before if you know what I mean and
all it got me was a briefcase to the noggin and a busted up leg.

MS:  Speaking of which, your old friend and enemy Stevie Scott made his
return at The Main Event.  Any old scores to settle there?

SDW:  You would think there might be, right?  You would think I'd be
gunning to bust up his leg like he did mine - put him on the shelf like
he did to me.  But I was there at SuperClash, remember?  I was right
there at ringside when Juan Vasquez planted him with that piledriver and
put him out.

[Williams shakes his head.]

SDW:  I figure we're even after that.  Unless he jumps on ol' Sweet
Daddy's back, the Hotshot's welcome to go his own way and not worry
about this ol' dog.

MS:  Sweet Daddy Williams - the first man to announce his entry into the
Memorial Day Rumble!  Thanks for stopping by, Sweet Daddy, and now,
let's go down to the ring for more action!

[Crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at this time...
from Apple Springs, Texas... weighing in at 250 pounds... Rick Scott!

[The man with the black mullet and goatee stands on the middle rope,
waving an arm to a mixed reaction.  He hops down, turning to face the
entrance.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[Ugly Kid Joe's "Everything About You" kicks in to a mixed reaction.]

GM:  Here he comes, Bucky - the former National Champion!

BW:  The former National Champion that _I_ brought back to the AWA! 
Stick that in your pipe, Michaelson!

[As the music picks up, the reaction grows louder - but still decidedly
mixed.]

PW:  From St. Louis, Missouri... weighing in at 228 pounds... he is a
former two-time AWA National Champion... 

"HOTSHOT" STEEEEEEEEVIE SCOTT!

[Scott leaps through the entrance curtain, striking a Superman Pose at
the top of the aisle.  He holds for a moment...

...and then points a finger at the ring before breaking into a march
down the aisle.]

GM:  Stevie Scott, fresh off his return at The Main Event, will be
making his first appearance inside an AWA ring in over four months,
Bucky!

BW:  All thanks to me!

[Stevie's clad in full-length tights, with flames airbrushed down the
outside of each leg, his dirty blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. 
He stops a couple of times, looking around at the split crowd, and
breaks into a grin... a STEVIEGRIN~! perhaps?  Upon reaching the ring,
Stevie points at his opponent again, stepping through the ropes...

...and immediately gets charged by Rick Scott who drills him with a
forearm to the ear!]

GM:  Ohh!  Rick Scott caught him coming in!

[The official calls for the bell as Scott throws a pair of haymakers
to... uhh... Scott, knocking him back against the ropes.]

BW:  Do you think these two men are related, Gordo?

GM:  I highly doubt that.

[Rick Scott grabs Stevie by the arm, flinging him across the ring.  He
sets for a backdrop as the Hotshot rebounds...

...but Stevie pulls up short, grabbing Rick Scott by the head, and
SNAPPING him backwards, his head bouncing off the canvas!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big counter by the Hotshot and-

[The crowd cheers a bit as Stevie highsteps across the ring, strutting
his stuff a bit...

...and then drills a rising Scott with a knee to the face.  He drags
Rick Scott off the mat, shoving him back to the corner where he drills
him with a haymaker on the chin.]

GM:  What a shot that was!

[Grabbing Rick Scott by the arm, Stevie goes for a whip...

...but pulls up short, FIRING him back into the corner where he smashes
chestfirst into the buckles, stumbling back out...]

GM:  Stevie hooks him... lifts him up...

[And drops him down in an atomic drop, sending Rick Scott sailing over
the ropes and crashing down to the floor below!]

GM:  ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE FLOOR!!

[Wasting no time, Stevie steps out to the apron, dropping down to the
floor.  He leans down, dragging Rick Scott off the floor by the mullet,
grabbing the arm...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"


GM:  He FIRES him into the steel barricade!  And we're seeing a bit of a
wild side out of Stevie Scott here tonight!  We're used to the cold and
calculating Stevie Scott - the Southern Syndicate Stevie Scott who wore
fancy suits, stayed in penthouse suites, and drove around in stretch
limousines.  This is obviously a very different Stevie Scott.

[Dragging Scott off the floor, Stevie blasts him with a right hand on
the jaw again, sending him falling back into the barricade.  He grabs a
handful of Rick Scott's hair, pulling him towards the ring...

...and SMASHES his face into the ring apron!]

GM:  Goodness!  

[The Hotshot shoves Rick Scott under the ropes, rolling in after him...]

GM:  Both men are back in now... big stomp... another stomp... a
third...

[Scott drops to his knees, grabbing a handful of hair, and smashes home
a series of right hands to the mush of Rick Scott as the referee shouts
at him, trying to get him to break off the attack.]

GM:  Stevie drags him back up... 

[Hooking a front facelock, Stevie slings Rick Scott's arm over his neck,
hoisting him off the mat...

...and dropping him down facefirst to the canvas!]

GM:  Whoooa my!  That'll do it!

[The former National Champion rolls Rick Scott to his back, dropping
down in a lateral press for a one, two, and three.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  Wow!  What an impressive victory for the returning Stevie Scott,
Bucky!

BW:  He hasn't lost a step, has he?  And if I'm Juan Vasquez, I just got
more than a little bit nervous.  He may not be looking at facing
Mizusawa or Dufresne anytime soon but the former champ is back and he
wants his title back!

GM:  You may be right, Bucky.  We're going to try and get a quick word
here.  Stevie?  Stevie, over here!

[The victorious Hotshot, having wrapped up his return victory,
confidently strides over to the announce position where he is greeted.]

GM: Stevie, allow me to welcome you back to the AWA although your
appearance on The Call of the Wilde at The Main Event...well, it left a
lot of people still wondering exactly where you've been and why you're
back in Crockett Coliseum tonight.

BW: Yeah, daddy!  What's up with that?  We had a deal!  You made me look
like a buffoon!

[Stevie smirks (a Steviesmirk~! perhaps?) as he listens, pausing for
effect before he responds.]

HSS: First of all, Gordo...great to see you again!  Lookin' good,
bro...really, Bucky, he doesn't look a day over 73, does he?

[Myers goes :/ ... really, I don't know how to explain it otherwise.]

GM: I'm 64.

HSS: Course ya are, big guy.  And you, Buckster...that outfit you're
wearing does a much better job of making you look like a buffoon than I
ever could?  What'd you do, steal some curtains from Graceland and get
Stevie Wonder to sew your clothes?

[Now it's Bucky's turn to get upset, visibly moreso than Myers.  Stevie
can't hold back a little chuckle before he continues.]

HSS: Buuuuuuut...since the Hotshot is a nice gentleman AND in a giving
mood tonight, let's talk a little bit.  Whadda ya wanna know?

[Confused as to why he has to repeat the question, Myers slowly does it
anyway.]

GM: Let's start with where you've been since Juan Vasquez put you on the
shelf.

[Stevie rubs his chin with his thumb and index finger.]

HSS: Where have I been?  Where...have...I...been?  Good question, Gords.
 So here's the real scoop.  See, after Juanny piledrove...piledrived? 
Piledroved?  Anyway, after he dumped me on the ol' noggin here, it seems
that I suffered from a case of amnesia.

[Myers and Wilde both look surprised.]

GM: Amnesia?

HSS: Yeah, man, it was rough.  For a while there, I thought I was Justin
Timberlake.  And then I thought I was Justin Bieber.  And THEN I got
_really_ messed up and thought I was a rapping western artist called
Country Mike.

[Finally, Stevie slumps his shoulders and looks exasperated.]

HSS: Where do you think I was?  I was rehabbing my neck, you morons.  I
had three compressed vertebrae.  It was either that, or spend the rest
of my life with about 50 percent usage of my arms and legs.  Returning
to the AWA wasn't a blip on the radar for a long while there.  And I
admit it...I even entertained the thought of calling it a career.

[Gordon raises his eyebrows, more surprise.  Catching this reaction,
Stevie looks directly at the longtime broadcaster.]

HSS: Dude, I cannot begin to explain to you how intense rehab for a
screwed-up neck is.  It's nothing like the water aerobics you do every
morning at 6:30, Oldilocks.

[Myers seems a little shocked that Stevie actually knew that.  Bucky, of
course, gets a chuckle out of the insult, as does some of the crowd.]

HSS: But, being the superior athlete I am, I got it done twice as fast
as the doctors said I had any right to.  I mean, it shocked _them_, but
it shouldn't be a shock to anyone who knows the Hotshot.  So once that
got out of the way, that's when my thoughts went back to Dallas, Texas,
and the American Wrestling Alliance.

[AWA pop!]

HSS: And...

...to Juan Vasquez.

[Well, that got the crowd's attention, as well as Myers and Wilde's.]

BW: So you _are_ here for Vasquez!  Why didn't you just say so on The
Call of the Wilde, daddy?

HSS: Because, Buck-o, how obvious would that have been?  If there is
anything the Hotshot is...and he's a whole damn lotta things...but if
there's anything the Hotshot is?

It ain't predictable.

[Another smirk.]

HSS: Yes, gentlemen, if you must know...I _am_ back for Juan Vasquez. 
In fact...

...I got a little message for him that I'mma deliver _real_ soon.

[And with that, the former two-time National Champion simply walks
away.]

GM:  Well, that shed a LITTLE more light on Stevie Scott's
motivations... I think.  He has a message of some sorts for Juan
Vasquez.

BW:  And by message, you know he means a piledriver that'll put Vasquez'
rear end on the shelf just like he did to the Hotshot, daddy!  I can't
wait to see that!

GM:  Jason Dane is standing by with the ever-disturbing Percy Childes! 
Jason?

[Jason Dane stands by once again with Percy Childes, the "Collector Of
Oddities".  The rotund, bald manager is wearing a dark purple polo vest
over a white undershirt and black pants.  He clutches the Longhorn
Heritage Championship under his left arm, with the crystal ball atop his
walking stick tucked into his left hand.  He slowly stroes his Van Dyke
goatee with his other hand, an evil smile upon his face.]

JD: Percy Childes, on The Main Event, we all saw how you more or less
ducked out of Nenshou's championship match against Brian Von Braun!  How
could you justify ordering Nenshou to assault an innocent woman?

PC: Innocents don't take sides in war, Dane.  She was there, she came
out for a match, so clearly she understood the risks... isn't that a
fair assumption?  And even if she didn't, you know, ignorance of risk
does not mitigate risk.  If you don't believe me, read your insurance
policy... those of you who can read, anyway.  

As far as I'm concerned, Nenshou defended my Longhorn Heritage
Championship at The Main Event.  Von Braun came to the ring, and left
without the title.  I'll call it a countout.  And in so doing, he has
earned a night off.  He has other business to see to, Dane, business
which doesn't concern you.

[Jason's tone goes low, as he broaches a sensitive subject.]

JD: I... assume you're referring to the devastation in his home country
of Japan.

PC: That was a tragedy.  My heart goes out to Mr. Matsui... he was
affected most of all.

JD: Louis Matsui?  Did he lose loved ones?

PC: No, no... far more than that!

JD: His home?  His... immediate family?

PC: If only the price had been so low.  No, the true tragedy was how
that random natural disaster cost Mr. Matsui his justly-deserved
National Championship.  Clearly, you all saw how distracted Mizusawa
was, and how Vasquez took advantage of it to steal a win he otherwi-

JD: WHAT?!

[The fans boo violently, and Dane is furious.  Percy seems puzzled by
the reaction.]

PC: The National Championship.  It's why we're all _here_, Dane.  He had
to wait almost two years to get a sh-

JD: How can you call THAT a tragedy when... when...

PC: When thousands of people died and lost their homes?  What about it? 
It happens _every day_, Dane.  Should I walk around in an insensiate
stupor because of the thousands of people that die each week in
automobile accidents?  Or heart failure?  Or watching too many old
Robert Donovan matches?

Dane, what we saw at The Main Event was that the giant Mizusawa had a
weakness that no one knew about.  He was soft inside.  And it wouldn't
have mattered, because Juan Vasquez was incapable of attacking him that
way.  For a freak accident to destroy years of planning for a man...
that is the real tragedy, because let's face it... human life isn't
nearly as sacred as you seem to think it is.  And as evidence, I submit
to you this: name me one single person who didn't lose theirs in the
end.

JD: ...you're a monster.  You're worse than Monosso!

[Percy can only smile at that.]

PC: Ah, if only that were true.  But my point, Dane.  No, Nenshou is not
grieving Japan.  To him, it was an inconvienience, as his property was
in the North and he had to return home to ensure that none of his
secrets had become... vulnerable.  Thankfully, he found that not to be
the case, and has already returned to the United States.  I believe I
mentioned this very very recently, Dane... but Nenshou has no
attachments.  None.  There is no one he cares about.  Not even me, and I
prefer it that way... it would be too easy for some thug to strike me
for an advantage if that were the case.  Attachments make a man weak,
Dane.  They make him vulnerable...

[And the smile grows broader as it all connects:]

PC: ...as Brian Von Braun just found out!  Ahahahaha!

[Percy laughs, a deep belly laugh that expresses just how much joy he
finds in the suffering of others.]

PC: You see, what happened to Ms. Megan was not a freak accident.  Not a
random bizarre fluke.  Not the so-called "hand of fate".  No, that was
the hand of Nenshou, and now Von Braun will never get a chance at my
title again!  You lost, Von Braun... you chose to walk away from the
thing you said you wanted the most.  Just as I predicted, Brian... just
as I predicted.  You left something else undone.

So now, Dane... now do you know what wll happen next?  

JD: Brian Von Braun is going to be out here any moment.

PC: I know.  And I will be seated at ringside, watching.  Watching...
not to scout him.  After all, he's already used up his title match.  No,
I'll be watching because I want to see the look on his face first-hand
when he sees me with my Longhorn Heritage Title, and realizes that he's
failed.  Again.

[With those words, Percy Childes strides down the rampway towards the
ring with a sneer on his face.]

JD: That man has a death wish... and I can't help but hope that he gets
it granted!  Back to you, Gordon.

[We crossfade to the ringside area where Gordon Myers looks absolutely
disgusted.]

GM:  Fans, I- I can't- I'm speechless.  I'm truly speechless.  On behalf
of the entire AWA, I want to apologize for the words of Percy Childes. 
We here at the AWA were greatly stunned by the recent tragedy in Japan
and have made contributions towards relief funds and for Percy Childes,
that son of a-

BW:  Easy, Gordo.

GM:  Easy?  EASY?!  I can't- let's go to a break.

[Fade from Myers' red face to a black screen.

Slowly, the words "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM" appears on the screen in white
lettering.  The letters slowly fade to be replaced by "2008."  The
screen stays dark, we can only hear the sounds.]

"Ladies and gentlemen... after twenty-eight minutes and six seconds of
hard-fought action... your winner of the match...  And the FIRST AWA
NATIONAL CHAMPION... MAAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUUSSARRRRRRD!"

[The sounds fade as the lettering does - both replaced by "2009."]

"OH MY STARS!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT! 
STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!"

[The sounds fade again as "2009" is replaced by "2010."]

"Both men on the apron!  Both men on the apron!  Rhodes is down!  Rhodes
is on a knee on the apron!  RUNNING KNEEEEEEEE!"

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

"Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner of the Memorial Day
Rumble...
RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODES!!"

[The sounds fade.  The letters fade.  A completely black screen remains.
 Slowly one final batch of text arrives.]

"What will 2011 bring?"

[And then we fade all the way to black.

We fade back up on the announce position where Gordon Myers is obviously
still fuming much to the amusement of Bucky Wilde.]

GM:  Fans, welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling.  I'd like to
apologize for my demeanor before the break but to be honest, I just
couldn't help myself.  Bucky, tell me you can't excuse Percy Childes for
what he just said.  Please tell me that.

BW:  Of course not, Gordo.  I've got a heart too.  I feel for the people
of Japan and all those affected by what happened there.  But you have to
give Percy Childes credit for knowing how to push some buttons.  You
have to give Percy Childes credit for being able to get into someone's
head.  He's got you all worked up - imagine all the other people he's
got fired up in the back.

GM:  And speaking of fired up, Brian Von Braun's about to come out here
and I hope he cleans Childes' clock!

[Almost on cue, the sounds of "Ain't No Rest for the Wicked" by Cage the
Elephant starts up to a big cheer from the fans.  After just a moment,
Brian Von Braun storms through the entranceway, his cane clutched in his
white-knuckled hand.  He points the cane down the ramp, heading quickly
down the elevated platform.]

GM:  Von Braun's coming out here!

BW:  Why?  He hasn't been announced!  We don't have his opponent out
here yet!  We don't even have a referee out here yet!  What does he
want?

GM:  I'll give you one guess!

[As Von Braun storms down the ramp, we can see him muttering to himself
as he draws closer.  Percy Childes suddenly looks a bit concerned,
pointing his own crystal-topped cane in Von Braun's direction, shouting
at the Invader.]

GM:  Von Braun's comin' for Childes!  He's comin' for Childes!

[Von Braun reaches the end of the ramp, hopping down off the platform. 
He charges around the ring where Childes was seated.  Now, the manager
is backing away, still pointing his cane...]

GM:  Get him, Brian!

[Von Braun tosses his cane over his head into the ring, reaching out...

...and gets Childes' cane jabbed into his midsection!]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught Von Braun in the gut!

[Winding up with the cane, Childes looks to bust it over the back of Von
Braun...

...who brings his hands up, blocking the swing.  He buries a boot into
Childes' gut to the cheers of the crowd.  Throwing that cane into the
ring as well, Von Braun drags Childes by the arm, throwing him under the
ropes into the ring to a huge cheer!]

GM:  Yeah!  Listen to these fans!  They're gonna get to see Childes get
his!

[Von Braun rolls under the ropes, snatching up his own cane as he
approaches Childes who is crawling away...

...and SMASHES the cane down across Childes' ankle!]

GM:  OHHHH!

[Childes screams out in pain, rolling back and forth as he grabs at the
ankle he just had smashed.]

BW:  Von Braun's trying to hobble him!  He's trying to stop him in his
tracks, prevent him from getting away!

[A furious Von Braun stands over the screaming Childes, cane still in
hand...

...and SLAMS it down across the midsection of Childes!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  He hits him again!

BW:  This isn't right, Gordo!  This isn't fair!  Percy Childes is NOT a
wrestler!

GM:  He wants to get involved?  He wants to call people out?  This is
what he gets!

BW:  Where's Nenshou?  Where's Monosso?  Get some help out here for
Percy!

[Von Braun drops down to his knees, pressing the wooden cane against the
throat of the manager, choking the air out of him!]

GM:  He's choking him!  He's choking Percy Childes!

[And suddenly...]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  NENSHOU!  HE WAS UNDER THE RING!!

GM:  Another setup!  This is was another setup!

[Nenshou rolls under the ropes behind the back of Von Braun, completely
out of sight.  He tugs off his cloth mask, grabbing at his own throat
with his thumb and forefinger, taking a wide stance...]

GM:  Look out!  Look out, Brian!

[Von Braun straightens up, still holding the cane as he turns around...

...and has his face COVERED in a black substance spewed out of the mouth
of Nenshou!]

GM:  AHHHHH!  WHAT IS THAT?!?

BW:  It was black!  We've never seen him spit anything black!

[We instantly know that the black mist is something far different as Von
Braun screams out in pain, rolling back and forth with his hands rubbing
at his eyes.  His cries are chilling as Nenshou stands over him, black
liquid dribbling down the corner of his mouth as he moves to help his
manager off the mat.]

GM:  Nenshou has struck and- oh no...

[The crowd explodes in jeers as Anton Layton, James Monosso, and the
monstrous Polemos come walking through the curtain!]

GM:  Here comes the Unholy Alliance!  All of them in full force!

BW:  And you called it a setup, Gordo... it sure is!  The Unholy
Alliance had this planned all along!  They said they were gonna take out
Von Braun for getting in their business and we may be about to see that
happen right now!

[Upon reaching the ring, Layton pauses, saying something to Polemos who
nods, turning his back to the ring as Monosso and Layton enter,
immediately stomping the blinded Von Braun!]

GM:  The Unholy Alliance - a three on one assault on Brian Von Braun!

[Dragging Von Braun off the mat, Monosso wraps his arms around the
waist, hoisting him up and DUMPING him on the back of his head and neck
with the Descent Into Madness backdrop driver.]

GM:  GAHHH!  Right on the head and neck!  

BW:  This is it, Gordo!  You're witnessing the end of Brian Von Braun
right here tonight!

GM:  We need some help out here!  We need some help for Brian Von Braun!

[Anton Layton leaps into the air, driving both feet down into the
midsection of Von Braun before Nenshou drops to his knees, wrapping his
hands around the throat of the Invader as Percy Childes leans in the
corner, waving for Layton to hand him his cane.]

GM:  What is th-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  DONOVAN!  ROBERT DONOVAN IS COMIN' TO THE RING!!

[The seven footer is full of fire as he marches down the ramp towards
the ring.]

BW:  Layton knew!  Layton knew Donovan would try to stop this and that's
why he left Polemos out there with him!  The God of War is standing
between Robert Donovan and the ring!

[The big man winds up, throwing a huge haymaker that lands on the masked
man to the roars of the crowd!]

GM:  Donovan rocks Polemos!

[Inside the ring, Childes waves for Layton and Monosso to hold Von Braun
up...

...and SMASHES Von Braun's own cane over his skull!]

GM:  OHHHHH!  HE SHATTERED THE CANE ON THE MAN'S HEAD!!!

[Von Braun falls limply to the canvas as Childes shouts instructions to
the men in the ring who circle the downed Von Braun.  Out on the ramp,
Polemos fires back with a right hand of his own - the crowd roaring as
the two giant stand and trade heavy blows on the ramp!]

GM:  Donovan can't get past Polemos!  Polemos is keeping him at bay
while his partners do the damage on Von Braun!

[Nenshou and Layton take turns stomping the downed Von Braun as Childes
shouts an instruction at James Monosso, holding the crystal-topped cane
high enough for Monosso to see it.  The madman nods, gesturing to Layton
who grabs Von Braun by the leg, pinning his ankle to the mat...]

GM:  No, no!

BW:  We've see this before!

GM:  This is what they did to Vernon Riley!  This is how they took out
Riley!

[With a loud bellow, James Monosso leaps into the air, dropping the King
Kong kneedrop down on the pinned leg!  Von Braun screams out in pain,
grabbing his leg as Layton and Nenshou stomp the knee.  Out on the ramp,
Donovan is fighting harder, throwing a barrage of haymakers that force
Polemos backwards...

...until the God of War reaches out, wrapping his hand around the throat
of Donovan!]

GM:  Brian Von Braun's been-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS!!  SWEET DADDY WILLIAMS!!

[The fan favorite comes charging down the aisle, a piece of wood gripped
in his hands.  He rushes the ramp...

...and SMASHES the board over the back of Polemos, breaking his grip on
the seven footer!]

GM:  OH YEAH!!

[With Donovan freed, both fan favorites hit the ring hard, the board
swinging and Donovan throwing big blows, clearing the ring within
moments.  An angry Donovan stands guard, shouting at the fleeing Unholy
Alliance from inside the ring as Williams drops down next to Von Braun,
resting a comforting hand on the wounded man's arm.]

GM:  They cleared the ring.  Donovan and Williams cleared the ring but
it's- I think it might be too late, Bucky.

BW:  Between that horrible black mist and the kneedrop on the leg... I
think Von Braun's done for, Gordo.

[Sweet Daddy Williams, angry as can be, gets to his feet, grabbing the
house mic from Phil Watson.]

SDW:  Hey!  Hey, you yella buncha backjumpin' dogs!

[Big cheer!]

SDW:  I told myself I wasn't gettin' involved with this.  I said it
wasn't none'a mah business!  But what IS my business is what you did to
my good friend Vernon Riley.  You busted up his leg... and I ain't
forgot that.

And when I sat back there and watched you do the same damn thing to this
man?

[Williams shakes his head.]

SDW:  I couldn't take it.  I just couldn't take it. 

Now, big man...

[Williams turns to Donovan.]

SDW:  We don't know each other one bit.  But I'm guessin' we got at
least one thing in common... we both want to bust up those pieces of
trash runnin' up the aisle right now...

[BIG CHEER!]

SDW:  I say the two of us climb in this ring in two weeks... and we take
on ANY TWO OF THEM WHO WANNA SHOW UP!

[HUUUUGE CHEER!]

SDW:  And it sounds like these people agree.  You in, big man?

[Donovan nods.]

SDW:  Consider it a challenge.

[Williams tosses the mic down, returning to Von Braun's side as AWA
medical team members arrive on the scene.]

GM:  That's a challenge for the next SNW!  Williams and Donovan against
the Unholy Alliance and you can bet, I for one, want to see that, fans! 
Fans, we'll be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[The camera holds on the medical team working on Brian Von Braun for a
moment, trying to rinse out his eyes, 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 live action where the interview platform
is full as once again, Jason Dane is preparing to interview the foreign
contingent: the Russians, Vladimir Velikov and former National Champion
Kolya Sudakov, along with their... manager?  handler?  boss?... Ivan
Kostovich.  And with them, their allies Count Adrian Bathwaite and
Sultan Azam Sharif.

Ivan Kostovich stands in front of his two warriors, dressed in a stylish
olive green suit over a dark crimson dress shirt.  He strokes his goatee
lightly as the camera rests on him.  Behind him stand the Russians, both
already dressed to compete in matching black singlets with a golden
hammer and sickle splashed across the front.  The heavy Russian chain is
draped over Velikov's shoulders while Kolya looks on passively.

Bathwaite is next to Dane, wearing a paisley-and-maroon dress shirt that
looks like it either cost five hundred dollars or fifty cents, depending
on where he got it.  The Elder Of Etiquette, who is a silver-haired
Eurasian man with an odd blend of ethnic features, taps his cane
impatiently on the platform.  And off to the far right is the
cloth-draped shape of Sultan Azam Sharif.  Mostly obscured by his
reddish-brown bisht and white kaffiyeh, the Sultan is waving his
enormous Iranian flag.  He has short black hair and a well-groomed
mustache and goatee on his weatherbeaten visage.]

JD: Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans, and gentlemen, later
on tonight, you face the team of Supernova, Corax, and the "Louisville
Slugger" Tyler Lee in a six-man tag team encounter.  Could this be the
night that this war finally ends?

IK:  War?  WAR?!

[Kostovich's anger rises.]

IK:  What do YOU know about war, little man?  Let me tell you about war.
 When I first came to your country to compete as a professional
wrestler, I was a proud Russian athlete.  I came here to show the world
that the Russian warrior was head and shoulders above the rest of the
world.  I came here to compete.  

And I was treated like a criminal for it.  

I was spit on by your American people.  I was treated like trash!  I was
nothing more than dog excrement on your shoes!

And so I fought back.  I fought the only way I knew how - with true
Russian fighting spirit.

That is war, Dane.

JD:  I apologize.  Well, Mr. Kostovich, I suppose I'll have to ask you
first; can I ask a question to Kolya Sudakov?

IK:  You may.  But choose wisely.

[Dane nods, turning to Sudakov.]

JD:  Kolya Sudakov, what are your feelings about having to GIVE UP a
potential spot in the Rumb-

[Kostovich grabs Dane's wrist, pulling it down.]

IK:  You have abused your privilege to ask a question to my servant. 
You will no longer be permitted to address him during this interview.

[Sudakov glares at Kostovich's back and we know EXACTLY how he feels
about giving up a potential Rumble spot.]

JD:  Then I'll move along to Vladimir Velikov.  Mr. Velikov, you seem to
have some kind of personal issue with Tyler Lee.

VV:  My comrade speaks of war.  Few wars in my career have been as
difficult as the one I have had for decades with the Lee family.  His
father, his uncle - both worthy adversaries for Vladimir.  And now, he
wants to take up their fight?

[Velikov scoffs.]

VV:  How you say... bring it on, little man...

[Velikov and Kostovich chuckle as a head-shaking Dane turns away.]

JD: Finally, Count Adrian Bathwaite... please don't jab me with the
cane.

CAB: I wouldn't waste it on you.

JD: Your man, Sultan Azam Sharif, was victorious in the big battle royal
at the Main Event.  But you still have Supernova looming, and now he's
got backu... OW!

[Angry old man cane jabbing!]

JD: I THOUGHT YOU SAID-

CAB: I changed my mind.  I want you to wake up and see what kind of
trash that Supernova is!  He's the kind of scum who raises his hand
against his betters.  He brought in his friend, who is apparently the
birdkeeper at the Dallas zoo, and his other friend, who he likely pulled
out of the gorilla cage at the same place.  He did that so that he can
continue to lie and cheat and beat up old men who have earned a rest!  I
was a World Champion...

JD: Uh, no, you weren't.  I looked it up; you had a lot of regional
titl... OW!  OW!

[LOTS of angry old man cane jabbing.]

CAB: YOU DISRESPECTFUL WORM!  HOW DARE YOU INTERRUPT ME!

[The Sultan steps in with an outstretched hand, speaking softly to try
and defuse the situation.]

SAS: Mistair Count Batwaite, la taqlaq!  You diddunt need to attock
Mistair Jahsun Dan, he diddunt know.  But Mistair Jahsun Dan, now you
bettair remembah!  Alvays show raspec to Mistair Count Batwaite!  Laqad
'aezara man anzar!  But as far as dot Supairnova go, gholobt aeaaleg
feek wet-tabe feek ghaaleb, we deil el-kalb ba yeneedel we law'ethattelo
'aaleb!

JD: Please, speak English... as best you can.

SAS: Dot mean dot Supairnova, he vuzn't gonna shange his vays.  So
tonight, Mistair Koolya Sudokopff, Mistair Vladmir Velkupff, un Sultan
Azam Sharif... ve gonna mahk sure dot evairyvun know!  Tousan-tousan
peepell here in Dahllus Texus, dey gonna know dot "beet in-nattaash
mayielaash"!  Un den nobody vas gonna beat up old man again!  Ya!  

JD: Sultan Azam Sharif, gentlemen... thank you very much.  The big
six-man tag is later tonight, but let's go back to down to the ring for
our next matchup!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring.  From
Catania, Sicily Italy, weighing in tonight at two hundred and fifty
pounds... THE SICILIAN STUD!

[The crowds reaction is tepid, a few people booing, some cheering, but
a great many indifferent towards the young Stud.]

PW:  And his partner, from Philadelphia, PA, tonight he weighs two
hundred and forty three pounds, here is... THE SOUTH PHILLY PHIGHTER!!!

[This time, the crowd boos loudly, spotting the Phighters Dallas
Sucks t-shirt.  Playing to the crowd, Phighter steps to the second
turnbuckle, making rude gestures to the fans while chomping on his unlit
cigar.

Stranglehold by Ted Nugent hits the speakers to a HUGE reaction!]
 
PW: And now, their opponents... at a total combined weight of four
hundred and eighty-five pounds... from Dallas, Texas...

JAMES AND JACK... THE LYNCH BROTHERS!

[The curtain pulls back to reveal the middle Lynch brother James Lynch,
the dirty brown hair, clean cut, young Texan.  James wears a grey
lightly zipped jacket and yellow speedo wrestling trunks.  He's also
barefoot.

By his side is the tall, lanky form of Jack Lynch.  The eldest Lynch, as
always, is dressed all in black.  Atop his head is a black cowboy hat. 
His body is covered by a long black coat.  It's open, and beneath it, we
can see black wrestling trunks, and a black pad on his right knee.  The
only color is the silver trim on the toes of his black cowboy boots.  On
his right hand is a fingerless glove made of black leather.

With a grin at the roaring crowd, the two Lynch boys make their way down
the elevated ramp together, leaning off the edge of the ramp to slap the
outstretched hands of the fans.]

GM:  Listen to the reaction for these two young men!  The Lynch family
truly are Texas heroes, Bucky!

BW:  I feel sick.

[Jack and James step through the ropes into the ring, Jack pausing to
remove his coat as James pulls off his zipped jacket as the official
steps between the two teams, ready to call for the bell.]

GM:  Earlier tonight, we saw young Travis Lynch make his debut.  And
now, were going to see the AWA debut of his brothers, Jack and James
Lynch. 

BW:  Oh brother.  Whatre they going to go, drink milk and hug babies? 

GM:  Bucky!  All of the Lynches are accomplished athletes, both in the
ring and in other sports as well.  

BW: Whatever Gordo. 

GM: It looks like the South Philly Phighter will start for his team,
while Jack Lynch is going to be starting for his team. 

[Jack stands in the center of the ring, loosening up, while the Phighter
stands in his corner, pointing to his shirt.   Thats enough to get Jack
riled up, and he comes charging at the Phighter, who moves out of the
way.  Lynch hits the turnbuckle chest first, the ropes shaking with the
impact.  He turns, and gets kicked in the gut by the Phighter as the
official calls for the bell.]

BW:  Hahahahahaha... I cant believe Lynch fell for that!  

GM:  Jack Lynch, from my understanding, normally is fairly even
tempered, until someone gets under his skin, then his temper can get
away from him.  You have to believe that the Phighters tactics did just
that. 

[The Phighter keeps Lynch in his corner, but instead of following up
with an actual offensive maneuver, he slaps the eldest Lynch brother
across the face, drawing a loud Oooooooo from the crowd.]

BW:  Thats it! Slap him around!  

GM:  I dont think thats the best idea Bucky!  That seemed to wake up
Jack Lynch who is now firing away at the Phighter with right hands!

[The Phighter staggers out of the corner.  Angered now, Lynch drives his
elbow into the side of the Studs face, who falls off the apron from the
force.   Lynch charges after the Phighter, scooping him up and slamming
him down hard on the mat.]

GM:  Big bodyslam by Jack Lynch!

[Leaning down, Lynch sends the Phighter into the ropes and then lunges
at him knee lifted in the air.]

GM:  RUNNING KNEE STRIKE!! Jack Lynchs knee just smashed the face of
the Phighter!  One of his fathers patented moves. 

BW:  Okay Gordo, that was pretty impressive.  But this match isnt over
yet. 

[Lynch stands over the prone Phighter, and begins putting the boots to
him, before falling over him, launching a series of mounted punches to
the Phighter.]

GM:  Travis Lynch is the technician in the family, while James Lynch is
the high flyer.  Jack Lynch is just... mean, as were seeing here. 
Again, shades of his very famous father, Blackjack Lynch.  

BW:  Hes cheating, and I cant believe these fans are cheering for him.
 

[Finally, Jack lifts the Phighter from the mat, and drags him towards
his corner of the ring.  Lynch grabs the Phighters arm, and turns it in
an arm wringer, clutching the Phighters wrist.  Jacks hand extends
towards his younger brother.]

GM:  Tag!

[James grabs the top rope and catapults himself over, dropping his leg
across the prone Phighters arm.]

GM:  What grace!  No one flies better than James Lynch!

BW:  Itll cost him, you mark my words. 

[James sends the Phighter into the ropes, and when the Phighter bounces
back, James bare feet both connect with the Phighters mouth, as he
executes a beautiful dropkick.]

BW:  Now I ask you, what sort of wrestler comes into the ring barefoot? 

GM:  Its very unorthodox, to be sure. 

BW:  If it were me, Id just stomp on his toes until they were all
broken.  But thats just me. 

[A wobbly Phighter gets back to his feet, only to get another bare foot
in the face, when James kicks him.   Bouncing off the ropes, James drops
a fist into the Phighters chest and covers the Phighter, who has enough
in him to kick out at two.]

GM:  Theres still some fight left in the Phighter. 

BW:  Stomp on his toes!  Stomp on his toes!!

[James steps back, waiting for the Phighter to get back to his feet,
when he does, James rushes forward, bringing the Phighter down with a
body tackle.]

GM:  James Lynch played college football, and here were seeing some of
that background come in to play. 

[With the Phighter down, James ascends to the second turnbuckle, and
flies through the air, looking to drop an elbow into the Phighters
chest.  The crowd roars as...]

BW:  THE PHIGHTER ROLLS OUT OF THE WAY!  THATS IT, NOW, STOMP ON HIS
FEET!

[But instead, the Phighter rolls into his corner, tagging out to the
Stud.  The Stud enters and begins to go to work on the injured James.]

GM:  A series of stomps to the upper body!  The Stud is all over James
Lynch!

[Hauling Lynch to his feet, the Stud whips him into the ropes...

...and knocks him flat with a back elbow under the chin!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot to the kisser!

[The Stud drags Lynch by the bare foot to the corner where he tags the
Phighter back in.  The Phighter rears back his right hand and drops a
fist into the forehead of the downed Lynch!]

GM:  Fistdrop on the money!  The Phighter really got him with that...

[Dragging Lynch to his feet, the Phighter shoves him back into the
corner, reaching over to slap the Stud's hand.  The Sicilian Stud pops
into the ring, burying a right hand into the midsection of James Lynch. 
A right hand to the jaw follows, keeping Lynch trapped in the buckles.] 

BW:  James Lynch desperately needs to tag his brother in.  The Stud and
the Phighter have really worn the young Lynch out. 

[The Stud slaps the Phighter's hand again, tagging him back in.  The
Phighter wastes no time in slamming Lynch's head into the turnbuckles
before slapping on a chokehold!  The fans jeer and the official gets on
his case, quickly forcing a break.  Another tag brings the Stud back
in.]

GM:  In and out - these two are working very well together...

[Each man grabs an arm, pulling James Lynch a few feet from the
corner...

...and HURLING him back into the buckles!]

GM:  Ohh!  A brutal and effective double team from the Stud and the
Phighter!

[The Phighter steps back out of the ring as the Stud buries kick after
kick into the midsection of James Lynch.  A haymaker between the eyes
knocks Lynch down to a knee and allows for another tag and exchange to
be made.]

GM:  Both men in the ring now...

[The Stud pulls Lynch to his feet, holding the arms of James Lynch
behind him as the Phighter winds up and BLASTS Lynch with a right hand
to the face that knocks him flat.  The duo stomp the downed Lynch in
tandem, the referee protesting the whole time.  The referee begins his
count, but the Stud exits before Meekly reaches five, only to enter the
ring a few moments later.]

GM:  We normally dont see the Stud bending the rules like this!

BW:  Ha!  I bet getting an elbow in the mush earlier was enough to make
him change his ways, daddy. 

[And Jack Lynch can take no more, as he enters the ring, storming across
to break things up.  But Meekly is quick to stop Jack in his tracks,
pushing him back into his corner.]

GM:  Jack Lynch better get hold of his temper, or hes going to end up
costing he and his brother the match. 

BW:  This is wonderful.  If only theyd start stomping on that kids
feet!

[Perhaps hearing Bucky, the Phighter, now the legal man, does just that,
to a large Ohhhhhh from the crowd,   The Phighter tags in the Stud,
and lifts James up, holding him, as the Stud bounces off the ropes,
coming at the prone James with a flying forearm.]

GM:  James Lynch ducks!  The Phighter goes down!  James scrambling
across the ring, he drives forward and tags in his brother.

[Jack storms the ring, going after the Stud first, sending him into the
ropes, and bringing him to the mat with a clothesline.  The Stud is
lifted up and Lynch bodyslams him hard into the mat.]

GM:  JACK LYNCH IS A HOUSE OF FIRE!

[Lynch levels the Stud with a high knee, and then turns, clotheslining
the Phighter as he gets to his feet.  Jack sends the Stud to the ropes
and catches him with a waistlock as he bounces off, using a belly to
belly suplex to send him to the mat.  Lynch backs up, waiting for the
Stud to get up.  Jacks hand is in the air, and his fingers are curled
forward as the crowd roars.  Jack waits for just the right moment and
then...]

GM:  IRON CLAW!  Thats a Lynch family trademark!

BW:  Come on, fight out of it! 

GM:  Those fingers are locked, and Jack has his other hand against the
back of the Studs head.  Theres no escaping the Iron Claw when its
hooked in like this!

[Lynch has the Iron Claw locked in on the Stud, who flails wildly, as he
tries to escape the hold.   The Stud bends backwards as Jack looms over
him, squeezing as hard as he can, Jacks body bent forward over the
Studs.  Behind him, unseen by the elder Lynch, the Phighter enters the
ring.] 

BW:  Thats it! Get him!

GM:  Wait a minute,  James Lynch is on the top rope...

[Graceful as an eagle, James leaps from the top rope, soaring over the
bent forms of the Stud and his brother Jack, and connects with a cross
body against the Phighter.]

GM:  DID YOU SEE THAT?  AN AMAZING DISPLAY OF AERIAL SKILLS BY JAMES
LYNCH!

[With his brother having saved him from a sneak attack, Jack clamps down
harder, pinning the Stud to the mat.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!  It's all over!

[Jack Lynch hops to his feet, embracing his younger brother to the
cheers of the crowd as Phil Watson makes it official.]

PW:  Here are your winners.... JAMES AND JACK LYNCH!!!

[Another big cheer for the Texans as they celebrate their win.]

GM:  An impressive win for the Lynch brothers.  I understand that Mark
Stegglet is at ringside to interview all three of the Lynch brothers.

BW:  Havent we seen enough of these kids?

GM:  Bucky!  Will you stop?

[Travis Lynch has joined his two brothers at ringside.  The three of
them stand in a semicircle behind Stegglet.]

MS:  Impressive wins for all three of you tonight.  Tell me, how do you
feel, on this, your first night actually scheduled to compete for the
AWA? 

[Jack Lynch takes the microphone first.]

JL:  Well, let me just say...

[But Jack is cut off, when a female fan screams MARRY ME TRAVIS at the
top of her lungs.  Jack shakes his head and places his black hat on his
head before he speaks again.]

JL:  Now ladies, dont be greedy.  Yall gotta share him.

[The eldest Lynch brother smirks at his heart throb sibling.]
 
JL:  What you saw tonight, well, aside from the fact that my brother
here is something of an exhibitionist...
 
[The camera cuts to the scantily dressed James, as Jack teasingly
punches him in the shoulder.]
 
JL: ...is that we are serious about competing here in the AWA.  Its been
said before, but it bears repeating.  You cant have wrestling in Texas
without the Lynch family.  We are here, and were here to compete.
 
What you saw tonight was just a taste.  What I want is for everyone to
know that were looking for matches.  Any one of us will take on any man
willing to get in the ring with us.  And any two of us will be honored
to compete against any of the fine tag teams here in the AWA.  And if
you get all three of us in there together?  Whoo, brother.

[Lynch grins at the cheering crowd.]
 
JL:  Like I said, were looking for competition.  And I know, deep in my
heart, that the AWA isnt gonna let us down.
 
[Loud cheers from the crowd.]
 
JL:  Now, I heard some people saying that I mightve run off at the
mouth a bit too long at the Main Event.  And its true, sometimes, I
dont know when to shut up.  So, what I think Im gonna do is hand this
mic over to Trav before I wear out my welcome.  
 
Trav, say something to these fine folks.
 
[Travis grabs a hold of the microphone from Jack and smirks as the women
in the crowd once again begin to scream wildly.]

TL: What you saw tonight was hotter than a two dollar pistol at an all
night shootout. 

[A woman screams YOURE STILL HOTTER TRAVIS and Travis winks towards
the camera with a pearly white smile upon his face.]

TL: As you can see by the small taste we just gave yall this isnt our
first rodeo. James and I have set the ring ablaze all throughout Texas
and good ol Jack has made Lynch a household name throughout Japan.

[Travis pats Jack on the shoulder and nods at him.]

TL: But were not done expanding the legacy that Blackjack started. Oh
far from it! The AWA is the new home of the Lynch boys  the next stage
of the Lynch legacy.

[Travis looks at Jack and James and smiles as his brothers smile back.
Travis hands the microphone to James.]

JL: I just have to say its good to be back inside this ring and its
even better sharing it with my brothers.  We do appreciate the warm
welcome the AWA fans have given us.  We love every-bit of this industry
and we hope we can bring a little Texas Lynch Pride and kick a little
butt here in the AWA!

[POP!]

JL: We invite each and every challenge in the back locker room.  We know
this is the place to be in the wrestling world.  Be it one on one  tag
team wrestling  or heck three on three we are here to fight!

[James hands the microphone back to the ring announcer as the Lynch
brothers begin to leave the ring one after another.]

MS:  There you hear it.  The Lynch brothers are here, and they want to
make their mark.  And let's go back up to the interview platform where
my good friend, Jason Dane, has got some special guests!

[We crossfade back to the interview platform where Jason Dane is
standing with Marty Morgan and Scotty Storm, the Rockstar Express, who
are both dressed in jeans with AWA t-shirts.]

JD:  Thanks, Mark.  Scotty, Marty... you guys didn't have the best of
nights two weeks ago at The Main Event.  First, you were assaulted by-

MM: Hold up there one minute, JD.  First off, we want to say hello to
all of these great fans here in Dallas, Texas!

[Big hometown cheer!]

SS:  That's right.  And we want to give a big ol' AWA welcome to the
Lynch family. 

[Another big cheer!]

SS:  They had a heck of a night here tonight - and at The Main Event too
for that matter - and as a longtime fan of their papa, I can tell you
it's a great thing to have them as part of the AWA and if they ever need
anything... whether it's a partner or an opponent... give the Rockstars
a call.

MM:  Now, go ahead, Jason...

[Dane continues.]

JD:  As I was saying, at The Main Event, your match with The Aces took a
hard turn when you were brutally assaulted by The First Family - both of
you! - before the bell!  Before the match even started!

SS:  That's right.  'Cause that was the only way they could do it,
right?  The only way they could get their hands on the Rockstars was to
do it before or after the bell.  And for some reason, we just thought
it'd come after and we weren't ready for it.  We made that mistake
once... we won't make it again.

MM:  First Family, you holy rollin' nutjobs... we told you once... if
you want us, you bring it straight on!  You come face to face at us and
we'll have one heck of a match, I'm sure.  

JD:  What about the Aces?

[Storm shakes his head.]

SS:  We've had our share of tussles with the Aces.  But at the end of
the day, we respect them.  They beat us at The Main Event.  We'll give
'em that.  And in the process, it sounds like the Committee just might
give them a shot at the National Tag Team Titles.

So, someday?  We want a rematch.  But not now.  You take that shot,
boys.  You take it and you give Rough N Ready all they can handle and
then some.  And then?  When those belts are around YOUR waists...

[Storm grins.]

SS:  That's when we'll come a-knockin' one more time.

[The Rockstars make their exit to the cheers of the crowd, leaving Jason
Dane behind.]

JD:  Fans, let's go back to the ring for more action here on Saturday
Night Wrestling!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall.  In the ring at
this time, from Cambridge, Massachusetts, weighing in at 257 pounds,
MATT GINN!

[The tall, lanky Ginn growls and thrusts his arms into the air, waiting
for the recognition from the crowd that never comes.]

PW:  And his opponent...

[The upbeat French rock music "Compter Les Corps" by Vulgaires Machins
blares through the sound system. The crowd is confused, but intrigued.]

PW: From Montreal, Quebec, Canada, weighing in at 227 pounds, RENE
ROUSSEAU!

[A smattering of cheers turns into squeals of delight, as the
dark-haired, well-built, and quite handsome French-Canadian Rousseau
steps though the curtain to make his way to the ring.  He is wearing
white trunks with a white ring jacket with his name embroidered on the
back, and a great big-smile, holding his hands out for high-fives from
the crowd and receiving several, mostly from the women.]

BW: What the heck is this music, Gordo?  I can't understand a damned
thing they're saying!

GM: As I understand it, this song is from a very popular French-Canadian
rock band.

BW: _French_ Canadian?  Gordo, everyone knows there are only two kinds
of Canadians, those who live in Toronto, and Eskimos!

GM: Will you stop!

[Rousseau makes his way into the ring and takes off his jacket, getting
ready for the business at hand.]

GM: Fans, this is Mr. Rousseau's first appearance on AWA television, but
I have seen this young man on a few of our live shows, and I have been
very impressed.  I'm not sure there's a single AWA wrestler who could
find their way out of his high-angle Quebec Crab once he's got it fully
cinched in.

BW: Yeah, but he's got to get the other guy flat on his back to do it! 
Matt Ginn's got a good six inch height advantage on him, so we'll see if
this French-whatever has got the goods to back up his flashy entrance.

[Referee Mickey Meekly quickly finishes his instructions, and gives the
signal to ring the bell.  Rousseau immediately rushes in for a
collar-and-elbow tie-up.  The larger Ginn comes out ahead with a
hammerlock, but Rene quickly slips behind and reverses into a hammerlock
of his own, to the delight of the ladies in the crowd.]

GM: I'm told that Rene Rousseau is a former three time Canadian Roundup
Wrestling Heavyweight Champion, and he's come to the AWA to try and take
his skills to the next level.

BW: A hammerlock's not going to do it Gordon!  He's gotta do
somethi...see, you're not gonna keep a guy in control for long with
that!

[Bucky reacts to the back elbow smash to the face that Ginn has used to
escape the hold, which gets Ginn a highly negative reaction from the
ladies.  Ginn backs Rousseau into the ropes with a few overhead forearm
smashes.]

GM: Matt Ginn in control now, whipping Rousseau...no, reverse by
Rousseau, Ginn off the ropes...*nice* armdrag takedown by Rousseau!  And
Rousseau stays on his man with a deep armbar!

BW: Alright, he's got a funny name, but I'll admit that this Rene guy
knows his way around the ring.

[Slowly, Ginn works his way back up to his feet, and again uses his size
advantage to force Rousseau into the ropes.  He tries again to shoot his
opponent into the far ropes, this time with success.]

GM: Well, let's see what Ginn has in mind this time around. Ginn goes
for the clothesline, *ducked* by Rousseau!  He tries again on the
rebound...ducked again!  Rousseau with a big head of steam the third
time around...*big* flying bodypress!  One...two...oh, that was a close
call there for Ginn!

[Not dwelling on his missed opportunity, Rousseau immediately gets back
on his opponent after the kickout, standing over Ginn and again
leveraging a tight armbar from above.  Ginn and Rousseau are both facing
away from the entrance ramp, which is unfortunate for both of them.]

GM: Rousseau showing his skill at getting around the height and weight
advantage of Matt Ginn, as he's got that armbar...oh, now, what is
this!?

BW: "This" is being graced by an appearance from wrestling's Royalty,
Gordon!

[The camera cuts to a shot of Joe Petrow and Rough 'n Ready rushing to
the ring.  Petrow can be heard yelling to his charge, "Do it in the
ring, men, just like Mr. Watkins told us!"]

GM: What are Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers doing?

BW: Its quite clear they want to make yet another statement!

GM: We saw what went down at The Main Event what in the-

[Dave is first to hit the ring, pulling Rousseau off Ginn and shoving
him into the corner, where he repeatedly pummels him with forearms. 
Somers enters next, going right for Ginn, who tries to fend him off.]

GM: This is uncalled for!  Rough N Ready and Petrow have no business
being out here!

BW: Wrestlings Royalty demands the center stage, Gordon!

GM: Somers grabs Ginn by the throat vicious chokeslam!  But look at
Rousseau fight back against Cooper!

BW: His mistake he should have taken his beating like a man!

GM: Somers turning around now he charges Cooper moves as Rousseau gets
clotheslined right into the corner!

[As Rousseau slumps over, Cooper stomps away on Ginn, before motioning
to his partner.]

GM: Now what Cooper going to the second rope

[Somers grabs Ginn around the head and neck, powering him into the air,
and sending him crashing down to the canvas as Cooper leaps off the
middle rope, dropping a knee on the skull of the downed Ginn!]

BW: Rough Housing! So much for Matt Ginn!

[The French-Canadian grappler charges Somers from behind, throwing a big
forearm across his back... and another... and another...]

GM: Rousseau charging at Somers pummeling him in the back!

BW: But here comes Cooper 

[The technician spins Rousseau around, burying a boot into the gut.  He
grabs the arm, hurling him across the ring...

...and hoists Rousseau up around the legs, spinning and DRIVING him into
the canvas with a spinebuster!]

GM:  SPINEBUSTER!!  SPINEBUSTER ON ROUSSEAU!

[Petrow has kicked Ginn out of the ring as now Cooper drags Rousseau up.
 The National Tag Team Champions drag Rousseau to the ropes, tying him
up as Petrow calls for a microphone, which is given to him, no doubt
because the ring announcer realizes he wont take no for an answer.
Petrow then turns the mic over to Cooper.]

GM: Wow, Petrow will actually let someone else do the talking first.

BW: Its called being a gentleman, Gordo!

GM: Joe Petrow is NOT someone who I would call a gentleman.

[The fans are booing the trio and their boos dont subside as Cooper
raises the mic to his lips.]

DC:  I shouldnt expect any less from a bunch of people who have no
respect for their elders just like Violence Unlimited just like these
two punks who had what they called a match and just like nearly
everyone on the AWA roster!

[That remarks doesnt make the booing subside.]

DC: Everyone wants to know why why would the greatest tag team in the
world today hook up with Joe Petrow again? First of all, if youll
remember, Petrow was the one who came to us in the first place, seeing
what we had to offer and knowing full well the disrespect being given to
us, given how everything was handled in our pursuit of the National Tag
Team Titles.

But after we won the titles we deserved our association wasnt done
yet.

We truly appreciated with Petrow did for us and we would stay loyal to
him, but he told us, because he did a favor for us, we needed to do a
favor for him and that was to wait.

[Somers, meanwhile, has slapped Rousseau in response to his protests to
be released from the ropes.]

DC: Because Petrow wanted to do business with yet another man but he
believed it might take more effort to sell him on the idea. So he asked
that we just be patient and let him do what needed to be done.

And you all know by now that Mark Langseth was sold on his idea. Once
that happened, it didnt take much to convince Eric and I to go along
with it.

Because what you are now witness to is not just the greatest group of
talent to be put together in AWA history its also represents what
greatness is truly all about! Not just a group of young punks trying to
make a name for themselves or a bunch of lesser talent thinking that
being together makes them great.

This is truly what greatness is the best tag team in the world today
the hands-down greatest singles wrestler of all time and believe me,
heads are most definitely going to roll!

[The fans boo as Cooper hands the mic over to Petrow, a big satisfied
smile on both of their faces.]

JP: What more can I say?  I was there the day that these men decided to
separate themselves from the pack and become champions, and I'll be with
them now as the evolve from champions into _legends_.

NOW! Speaking of legends! There's an undisputed, undefeated, Hall of
Fame King of wrestling who is waiting for some of the _proper respect_
that has been denied him for far too long!

[Petrow walks over to the fallen Ginn, grabbing him by the hair and
looking at him in disgust.]

JP: Who are _you_!? You are _nothing_!  You aren't even _worthy_ of
giving the proper respect!  Get this bum out of our ring!

[Petrow leaves Ginn to Rough 'n Ready, who drag Ginn upright and
unceremoniously dump him over the top rope on the far side of the ring. 
Meanwhile, Rousseau has struggled to his feet in a far corner and,
seeing himself trapped in a ring with three other violent men,
instinctly lifts his fists over his head preparing for an attack, a move
which catches Petrow's attention.]

JP: Whoa whoa whoa!  Calm down, pal.  It's okay.  I recognize you!  I've
seen you on a TV show a while back.  Canadian champion, right?  Well,
you don't deserve to be treated like _that_ [points down to the floor] 
You are _worthy_ of giving the proper respect to the Hall of Fame
legend!  And you'll get the chance to do so right now!  Ladies and
gent-...

[Just as it appears that Petrow is about to introduce the "king" of
wrestling, the ceremony is rudely interrupted by...]

GM: VIOLENCE UNLIMITED! HAYNES AND MORTON ARE HERE!

BW: What the heck is that maniac holding!?

[Barreling out from behind the curtains like a bat out of hell, Jackson
Haynes and Danny Morton charge towards the ring.  Petrow and Rough N
Ready seem to be up to the challenge, but they soon change their tune,
once they catch a glimpse of the branding iron in Hayne's hand! The trio
make a quick exit out of the ring as soon as Violence Unlimited slide
in, with Petrow narrowly avoiding a wild swing from Haynes! With the
crowd going wild, Morton picks up the microphone and points a menacing
finger at the retreating Petrow and Rough N Ready.]

DM: HEY BOYS! You want your proper respect? Then come back into the ring
so we can give it to you!

[He puts up his dukes as the crowd roars in approval. Meanwhile, an
irate Jackson Haynes grabs the microphone from Morton.]

JH: I'M GONNA' KILL ALL YOU BASTARDS!!!

[There's a HUGE roar from the crowd for that one. Haynes isn't one to
mince words. Meanwhile, Petrow and the tag champs can only look on in
disbelief.]

JH: Kiss your feet!? KISS YOUR FEET!!?!?!

[Haynes swings the branding iron into the canvas angrily and then stares
at Royalty with a crazed look in his eyes.]

JH: When we get through with you, you're all gonna' be kissin' my as-

DM: Hey! HEY! Settle down, Jack! Kids are watching!

[Morton stops his tag team partner, before a few FCC fines can be
levied. He calmly takes the microphone and turns back to Royalty.]

DM: Rough N Ready! We thought you wanted to settle our differences
inside the ring like real men would, but it's obvious now that it was a
mistake to think that you were real men to begin with!

[POP! There's some choice words from Cooper and Somers, but thankfully
none of them can be heard.]

DM: You got us good at The Main Event. You got us _real_ good...but that
was before we knew that you wanted more than just a fight! If it's a war
that you boys want...

...THEN IT'S A WAR YOU GOT!

[The crowd roars as Danny Morton points a warning finger at the
retreating National Tag Team Champions and Joe Petrow as we fade to
black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

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

And then come up backstage, where Jason Dane stands, microphone in hand.
Looming behind him is the large frame of Alex Martinez.  Martinez is
shirtless, wearing his black leather jacket over his bare chest.  His
eyes, as always, are covered by a pair of mirrored sunglasses, and hes
wearing a pair of black jeans.  Theres a scabbed over cut on the bridge
of Martinez nose, and his face looks swollen, no doubt a legacy of his
match against James Monosso.]

JD:  Since coming to the AWA, Mr. Martinez, youve been under siegeby
the mysterious Dragon.  And for the last few weeks, youve claimed to
know who the Dragon is.  The world wants to know,  Mr. Martinez, who is
behind the attacks on you?

AM:  Two weeks.

JD:  Excuse me?

AM:  Two weeks, thats when Ill tell ya.  On May seventh, all the world
will know who the Dragon is.

JD: Why do we have to wait two weeks to find out who he is?

[Martinez smirks, and pulls off his sunglasses.  Both of his eyes are
swollen, black and purple blotches circling them.]

AM:  Who says the Dragon is a he, Dane?  Hell hath no fury like a
woman scorned, aint that right?

JD:  Are you saying its Veron-

AM: Im sayin Dane, that Ill tell ya, and Ill tell the whole world,
who the Dragon is, come May seventh, and not a moment before.

Reason bein, I got some Dragon related business to take care of first.
Tonight, Im gonna have to deal with a couple of men who decided to pick
up where Monosso left off.

JD:  You mean the challenge laid out by Larry Doyle and the Blonde
Bombers?

[Martinez nods.]

JD:  After your war with James Monosso, I have a hard time believing
that even you would accept a challenge from one of the AWAs premier tag
teams.

AM:  Theres one thing Ive always prided myself on.  Aint no man in
the world has ever had to challenge me to a fight twice.

[Martinez pulls off his jacket, setting it aside.  His arm and shoulder
are wrapped tightly in white tape, and movements in taking the jacket
off were stiff, betraying the pain in his body.]

AM:  Now listen, lets understand somethin.  I am beat up all to hell.
My arm and shoulder may never be the same.  Monosso took me to the
limit, and then about fifty miles past it.  I dont like the man, but he
proved that hes as tough as they come.

The doctors tell me that I need to take it easy.  Theyre sayin to me
that I should just take a month and do nothin more strenuous than drop
myself into a hot tub.

But that just aint who I am.

Heres the deal though.  This aint my challenge to accept. At least,
half of it aint.  So, before you came in to the locker room to speak
with me, I sent one of the production guys to go find the man who saved
my butt at The Main Event. 

JD:  Youre talking about Juan Vasquez?

[Martinez nods.]

AM:  The one and only.

[At that moment, Juan Vasquez steps into the picture, cradling the
National Title in his right arm. Juan is wearing a black skeleton
hoodie, unzipped to reveal an old Chris Courtade "Legend Killer" t-shirt
underneath. He's got one heck of a shiner on his left eye, a visible
reminder of his match with MAMMOTH Mizusawa. The champion acknowledges
Martinez with a head nod.]

JV: So, I hear that you had something to ask me.

[Martinez turns and looks at Juan, meeting the champions eyes.  Theres
a long moment of silence, as the two men seem to size each other up.]

AM:  Juan Vasquez.  You are the National Champion.  And I was there, in
the ring, when it happened. I know how good you are, and I know that
youve earned the right to be called the best wrestler in the business
right now.  All of that is true.   Youre also the man who saved my
backside when I needed it.

So the first thing to say is, thank you.

[Juan smirks and nods.]

AM:  But its one thing to be the best wrestler of the _year_.   Its a
whole other thing to be a legend.  And though I try to keep myself
humble, between you and me, theres one of us that might be a legend
some day.

And theres one of us that already is.

[Tension fills the air, as the men stare at each other again.]

AM:  This is the moment, Juan.  This is the moment when we can go to war
with each other.  We can burn the AWA down to the ashes and fight over
whats left until one of us is the only one standin. Or...

We can continue what we started at The Main Event.  We can go out there
like two gunslingers ridin in to town to chase the bad guys off.

Now I know youre hurt.  Those ribs of yours cant feel any better than
my arm does. And the Bombers are fresh and ready to go.  But I think
Vasquez and Martinez are just the sorta desperadoes needed to get the
job done.

So Vasquez, tell me, whats it gonna be?

[Martinez extends his hand, waiting for the National Champion to take
it. After a moment of uneasy tension, Vasquez breaks the silence.]

JV: First off, that's _back-to-back_ wrestler of the year, amigo.

[Juan smirks and looks down at Martinez's out-stretched hand, before
looking back up and holding up two fingers.]

JV: Second, I don't go running out to save men that I wanna' go to war
with. Believe me, Martinez, you're the last hombre that I want to have
on their bad side. If anything, you're exactly the sorta' person I'd
want to have my back in a fight.

[He pats his side.]

JV: But you're right. My ribs are achin', my back's killin' me, and my
body's tellin' me to take a rest, but you know me...I ain't ever gonna'
pass up a challenge. You wanna' go out there guns ablazin' to send The
Blonde Bombers back to that gutter they crawled out of?

[Vasquez chuckles...and then shakes Martinez's hand!]

JV: Then amigo...you got yourself a tag team partner!

[Dane grins widely and you can hear the roar from inside the Crockett
Coliseum at the big handshake.  The two fan favorites walk their
separate ways, leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  Somehow, I think I may have just witnessed AWA history.  Now, let's
head up to The Money Pit!

[We crossfade inside the Crockett Coliseum to a nice panning shot of the
full arena crowd when suddenly, the O'Jays' "For the Love of Money"
blasts over the PA 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.  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 cheer!]

TM:  And tonight, tonight my guests are two individuals who are looking
to make a big impact on the AWA as they try to work their way up the
ladder.  It was just a few weeks ago now that we saw him take on the
National Champion in a heck of a match that opened a lot of eyes. 

He asked for this time tonight on the Pit and we are here to oblige.

Ladies and gentlemen... my guests tonight are "PLAYBOY" JOHNNY CASANOVA
and his main squeeze, BIG MAMA!

[The crowd erupts in a chorus of boos as the Playboy, looking
uncharacteristically smart in a rather loud blue lounge suit rather than
his wrestling gear, accompanied by his lovely manager Big Mama in yet
another black evening dress, stroll down to the interview area. 
Casanova happily shakes hands with Michaelson who nods in respect to Big
Mama as well.]

JC: Thank ya kindly, Todd! It's great to be here with ya today.

Now, I'm a busy man, and my sweet little pumpkin here is an extremely
busy lady, but I wanted to take the time to address some rumors going
around the AWA at the moment. I keep hearing that Big Mama here, my baby
doll, has inherited a large sum of money. I keep hearing that she spent
so long on holiday because she was gambling that large sum of money and
turning it into a truly gigantic sum of money. I keep hearing that we
are probably the richest people in the entire AWA.

I got one thing to say to all of those rumors.

[Dramatic pause.]

JC:  They're true, Todd!

[A pair of broad grins.]

JC: Yup, Big Mama here is a wealthy woman, and Johnny C is enjoying the
profits of my good lady's blackjack skills! 

Now, we're also figuring we might as well share that wealth out, so...

[Mama takes out a hundred dollar bill from her ample cleavage and waves
it around, smirking at the fans.]

JC: We're announcing here that Playboy Enterprises are officially
hiring! 

Ya see, given my recent success, the way I came so close to beating
Johnny Boy Vasquez, and reaching the final four of the Battle Royal, I'm
becoming something of a marked man. I know from recent years in the AWA
that once a man reaches the heights I have, people start coming after
him. I know I can handle myself in a fair fight, and Big Mama here can
take care of herself too - but what'd happen if these ingrates jumped
me? 

[Casanova visibly and dramatically shudders.]

JC:  Seems to me, there's one thing we need right now... and that's a
bodyguard!

[The crowd buzzes at that announcement.]

TM:  A bodyguard?  Well, the AWA certainly can be a tough environment
when you get a bullseye on your chest.  You got anybody in mind? 
There's a lot of bruisers back in that locker room who might take a
position that offers the kind of money you're talking about.  But
there's also more than a handful who wouldn't put themselves in front of
a bullet aimed for you no matter how much cash you wave at 'em.  Any
candidates jump to mind?

[Casanova clears his throat.]

JC:  You're exactly right, Todd!  There ARE a lot of people lookin' to
make the kind of money we're talkin' about.  Now me and Big Mama took a
good, long look at the talent in the back and one man stood out to me. 

[The Playboy holds up one finger.]

JC:  One man had the grit, the grim and serious manner, and the
toughness I'm lookin' for.  And more than that, he's down on his luck
enough to do any-thing I
want. 

[A big grin crosses Casanova's face.]

JC:  So Gentleman Jack, get ya butt on down here!

[The crowd buzzes at the dropping of that name.]

TM:  Gentl- Jack Holland?  You want to hire Jack Holland?

[A few seconds go by before Jack Holland makes his appearance, walking
through the curtain and down the aisle. He's dressed in his black
leather jacket, black shirt, and blue jeans. He walks onto the set of
the Money Pit, glaring at the grinning Casanova.  Holland looks none too
pleased to be out here.]

JC: Jacky boy, we all heard ya sob story at The Main Event about ya
mommy fallin' down and breakin' her hip, boo hoo, we feel for ya,
brother.

[Big Mama puts on an exaggerated pout and winds her fists at her cheeks
as if wiping away tears. Holland's scowl deepens.]

JC: And I _know_ ya wanna make that right. And to do that, ya need cash
money moolah dinero, baby. 

So let me ask you one simple question: do ya want my money?

[Holland turns away from Casanova for the moment, looking out at the
crowd. He exhales through his nostrils then, slowly, nods.]

GJH: Yeah.

[Casanova leans in, almost nose to nose with Holland.]

JC: Do you NEED my money?

[Holland's eyes turn to Casanova's, glaring at the Playboy.]

GJH: ... yes.

[A smirking Casanova backs off for a moment, then leans in again.]

JC: Are ya willing to put ya body on the line to keep all those jealous
baddies from putting their hands on me and Big Mama?

[Holland's teeth are clenched, his eyes cold.]

GJH: Yes, Johnny, yes! Jesus H-

[Holland pauses, his head dropping down.]

GJH:  I'll take the job.

[Big Mama steps forward and whispers something to Johnny C.]

JC: Whoa, whoa, whoa! Nice of ya to put yaself forward, Mr Holland. 
However, my lovely associate here has just reminded me of something.  

Turns out that real recently ya got yourself beat by Kendall Stanton. 

[Holland doesn't lift his head, not wanting to acknowledge that loss
again.]

JC:  So I have to wonder... do I really want someone who can't beat HIM
on my
side?

[Holland drags his hand over his face from north to south as if trying
to scrub away that memory.  He lifts his head to look Casanova in the
eye, an almost desperate look on his face now.]

GJH: That was a one time thing, I got caught off guard. It ain't gonna
happen again, I promise you that.

[Casanova nods, smirking.]

JC: Well, I'll give ya a chance to prove yaself.  Next time around, ya
take on Kendall Stanton again. 

If ya can beat him, ya get yaself hired.

[Holland nods.]

GJH: I got-

[Casanova lifts his hand up, silencing Holland.]

JC: But I'm warning ya, Holland. I'm a busy man. Spending this money
takes too much time for me to waste much of it watching ya try and get
past Stanton. 

So let's make it a FIVE MINUTE TIME LIMIT MATCH!

[Holland plants his hands on his hips. He looks up at the sky. Then,
finally, he puts out his hand... and Casanova shakes it! Big Mama claps
giddily at the newly-minted combination as Robert Palmer's "Addicted To
Love" plays over the PA system!]

TM:  Well, fans, it looks like we've got ourselves a match... made in
Hell.  Can Jack Holland defeat Kendall Stanton in five minutes and earn
himself a spot in Playboy Enterprises?  We'll find out soon enough! 
We'll-

[Michaelson pauses, watching Casanova, Big Mama, and Holland vanish from
view.]

TM:  That's enough of that.

[Michaelson glares at the camera, the crowd buzzing with confusion.]

TM:  See, when I told the front office who I REALLY wanted to have on
The Money Pit tonight, they shot me down cold.  They told me that I was
asking - begging - for trouble and they invited Casanova on instead.

But Johnny Casanova is NOT who I wanted to talk to tonight.

[Michaelson seems pretty worked up.]

TM:  I wanted to talk to... James Monosso!

[The crowd EXPLODES in shock!]

TM:  I wanted to stand here face to face with that maniac and ask him
one very important question.

So, Monosso, you nutball... I know you're back there.  I know you're
listening.  Get your crazy butt out here!

[Michaelson waits a moment, pacing back and forth on the set of The
Money Pit until James Monosso slowly emerges alone from the backstage
area.  He glares at the waiting Michaelson who has stopped paced and is
now staring off-camera at Monosso.  He waves him forward, calling him to
the interview platform.]

GM:  I don't like the looks of this.

BW:  Michaelson's lost his mind.  Getting outshined by me two weeks ago
has driven him over the edge.

[Monosso slowly walks onto the Money Pit set, glaring down at Michaelson
who returns the stare.  Monosso has absolutely no emotion on his face,
just a cold gaze.]

TM:  I've got one question for you, Monosso...

[Dramatic pause.]

TM:  Just what the HELL were you thinking when you put your hands on my
wife?!

[Monosso continues to stare stoically at Michaelson for a long period of
time, the crowd buzzing...

...and then throws back his head in a disturbing laugh!]

GM:  What the-?

BW:  He's laughing at Michaelson!  Michaelson's furious and Monosso's
laughing at him!

[Michaelson looks shocked, glaring at Monosso...

...who suddenly lashes out with his left arm, knocking over the stool
that Michaelson was sitting on!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!

[Spinning to the side, Monosso puts a boot into a wooden stand, knocking
it flat and sending the "bags of money" on top of it all over the place.
 Monosso turns again, smashing a double axehandle into another table
that flattens it.]

GM:  Monosso's wrecking the set of the Money Pit!

[Trying to stop him, Michaelson grabs him by the shoulder...

...and gets FLATTENED with a right hand!]

GM:  Ohh!  Monosso drilled Michaelson!  He floored the former World
Champion!

[The madman stands over the downed Michaelson, the crowd jeering
wildly...

...and then reaches to pick up the wooden stool, gripping it in his
hands as he raises it high overhead!]

GM:  No, no, no!  He's gonna hit Michaelson with the stool!  He's gonna-

[BIG CHEER!  Suddenly, Eric Preston comes charging into view, throwing
himself between the stool-wielding Monosso and the downed Todd
Michaelson!]

GM:  Preston!  Eric Preston's put himself as a shield for his former
teacher!  He's telling Monosso that if he wants Michaelson, he's gotta
go through him!

BW:  Preston's a bigger nutcase that Monosso!  After all the wars that
he and Monosso have been through, why in the world would he possibly
want more of him?

[The madman's eyes shift from the downed Michaelson to the guarding
Preston.  A sparkle of recognition hits his eyes and the sneer on his
face turns into a smile...

...and again, he starts to laugh.]

GM:  How unsettling is the laugh of James Monosso?  The man is twisted! 
Completely unstable!

[But the madman slowly backs away, tossing the wooden stool to the side
as Preston stands over his mentor, fists at the ready to fight back. 
But Monosso keeps backing away, vanishing through the curtain.]

GM:  It looks like James Monosso decided he wanted no part of Eric
Preston here tonight in Dallas, fans!

[Leaning over, Preston pulls his mentor back to his feet, leaning him
against the wall of the Money Pit.  Michaelson nods his head to his
student, shaking his hand.  The camera zooms in close enough to hear
Michaelson say, "This is still your fight.  You're still on your own,
kid... but thanks."  Preston grins, patting his mentor on the shoulder
and says, "Now we're even.  And thanks."

Fade to black.

...and then back up on a shot of the AWA National Title belt.  The
super-excited voice of Mark Stegglet is heard over it.]

"You've seen it on Saturday Night Wrestling!"

[A shot of Marcus Broussard with the belt over his shoulder.]

"You've seen it on AWA supercards like Memorial Day Mayhem and The Last
Stampede!"

[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 backstage where we find Mark Stegglet
standing between Supernova and "The Louisville Slugger" Tyler Lee. Both
are already dressed in their wrestling attire, Supernova's face painted
and Lee with his trusty ball bat slung over his shoulder.]
 
MS: Fans, tonight these two men will team up with Corax for six-man tag
team action against Sultan Azam Sharif and The Russians in mere
moments... and after what went down at The Main Event, it sure looks
like we're in for a war.
 
TL: You better believe it's a war, Mark... like I said, I never met a
Russian I could trust. Sudakov, if you had any honor, you'd be telling
those guys you don't need this and get out of there!
 
MS: But you weren't here when Sudakov lost that match, Tyler.
 
TL: Regardless of what happened, if Sudakov really considered Supernova
a friend, he would have told Kostovich where to stick it! He may be
retired, but I still got a score to settle with him... but if he wants
to sends Sudakov and Velikov at me, that's just fine! And as far as the
Sultan of Salami goes, I don't buy any of this honor garbage he talks
about. The only way to honor him is for me to take my Louisville Slugger
to him and put it right where the sun don't shine... big boy!
 
MS: Supernova... what about it?
 
[Supernova sighs deeply.]
 
S: Mark... I've tried to be understanding with Koyla, even as Tyler here
tells me not to trust him... for I honestly believe Koyla wants to do
the right thing.
 
[He shakes his head.]
 
S: But after what went down at The Main Event... it does make me wonder,
you know?
 
It's one thing for Koyla to have to do whatever Kostovich says... but to
just allow Sharif to have the victory? That I just don't get.
 
[Another deep sigh.]
 
S: Well, if this is what it's coming to, then I guess all bets are off!
I already had plenty of motivation to tear Sharif a new one and
certainly Velikov knows what it's like to face my wrath. But Koyla
Sudakov... I really wish it didn't have to come to this, but if he's
going to keep acting like he has no choice in the matter, then what else
should he expect from me?
 
I'll tell you this right now, Koyla... you have a choice whether you
realize it or not. It's up to you to stand up to the likes of Ivan
Kostovich and Adrian Bathwaite and make that choice! If you let them
keep making choices for you... then there's not a whole lot left for me
to say.
 
MS: What about Corax... it's the first time you and Lee will be teaming
with him.
 
S: Mark, I guess it's time I said it... Corax and I were trained by the
same guy and we even had a brief partnership. I hadn't seen him for
years and had no idea he was planning to come to AWA. Now, I don't have
a problem with the guy, but... let's just say he's got different ideas
on how to approach a problem than I do. 
 
But he's our partner and we're gonna work with him the best we can...
because on the other side, there are two people in particular who I've
had enough of, and a third one I'm starting to have my doubts about
unless he shows me something... and that can only mean one thing.
 
[He then turns to the camera and raises his voice.]
 
S: IT'S TIME TO SEE WHO CAN TAKE THE HEAT!
 
[Lee salutes the camera in response and then he and Supernova depart the
interview set.]
 
MS: Interesting stuff, fans... are things going to come to a head
tonight between Supernova and Sudakov?  We're about to find out as we
head down to Phil Watson for six man tag team action!

[We crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing, the Russians
and Sultan Azam Sharif, already in the ring along with Count Adrian
Bathwaite and Ivan Kostovich.]

PW:  The following six man tag team matchup is scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the
ring at this time... accompanied by their managers Ivan Kostovich and
Count Adrian Bathwaite... they are the team of...

VLAAAADIMIR VELLLLIKOV!  KOLLLLYAAAA SUUUUDAKOV!  AND SULTAN AZAM
SHAAAAARIF!

[The crowd explodes in jeers for the foreign contingent as Sharif waves
the Iranian flag back and forth.  Vladimir Velikov shrugs out of the
heavy Russian chain, draping it over the cornerpost as Phil Watson
continues.]

PW:  And their opponents...

["Seek And Destroy" by Metallica starts up to a HUGE CHEER!]

PW:  They are the team of...

COOOOOOOOORAX!

The "LOUISVILLE SLUGGER" TYYYYYYLER LEEEEEEE!

And from Venice Beach, California... THIS!  IS!  SUUUUUUUPERNOOOOOOVA!

[The trio bursts through the curtain to a big cheer.  Tyler Lee, wooden
baseball bat in hand, points down the aisle to the foreign trio awaiting
them inside the ring...

...and breaks into a sprint, charging down the aisle to the ring with
Supernova in hot pursuit!  Corax, armed with a baseball bat of his own,
takes things a bit slower as he makes his way down the ramp!]

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

[The bell rings as Tyler Lee breaks through the ropes, immediately
charging the corner and drilling Vladimir Velikov with a forearm to the
back of the head, knocking him through the ropes to the floor.  He spins
around, catching Kolya Sudakov with a haymaker to the temple!]

GM:  Tyler Lee's going after the Russians!

[And that leaves Sultan Azam Sharif to get the bulk of Supernova's
wrath, a series of jabbing backhands to the side of the face that backs
Sharif towards the ropes...

...where a running clothesline takes the Iranian wrestler over the ropes
to the floor!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA CLEARS OUT SHARIF!!

[Supernova spins around, pounding on his chest with his fists, and
letting loose a howl...

...and finds a waiting Kolya Sudakov who managed to slip a knee into
Lee's gut, slamming his face into the buckles, and throwing him from the
ring.]

GM:  Oh yeah!  This is what we thought might happen here tonight!  These
two former friends have come face to face - and they just might throw
down right here right now, Bucky!

BW:  Supernova's not much of a friend.  He wants Kolya to turn on
Kostovich which would END Kolya's career here in the States!  What kind
of friend would wish that on someone?

GM:  Kolya Sudakov, at some point in time, is going to have to be a man,
Bucky!  He needs to cast off these chains of servitude that he's been
shackled in and show the world that he's his own man!

BW:  And then get shipped to Russia where he'll work on a potato farm or
something for the rest of his life!  You're as bad as Supernova!

[Sudakov and Supernova stand across the ring for one another, glaring a
hole through each other, the crowd roaring in anticipation...

...but the arrival of Tyler Lee back on the scene cuts things short as
he spins Sudakov around, pasting him with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  Ohh!  Big shot by Lee!

[Supernova steps out to the apron alongside Corax as Lee pummels the
former National Champion all the way back into the corner.  With a
whoop, he whips Sudakov from corner to corner, charging across, and
felling the Russian with a running shoulder block as he staggers out of
the buckles!]

GM:  Tyler Lee, the Louisville Slugger, takes Sudakov off his feet!

[Turning around, Lee points a finger of warning at Vladimir Velikov and
Ivan Kostovich as he reaches down to drag Sudakov up by an arm, hurling
him towards the ropes.]

GM:  Big whi- ohh!  Lee set too early for a backdrop and Sudakov made
him pay for it!

[With Lee down from a clubbing forearm to the back of the head, Sudakov
staggers to the corner to slap the hand of Sultan Azam Sharif.  An angry
Sharif storms in, shouting something incoherently in the direction of
Supernova before planting a curved boot into the chest of the kneeling
Lee.  A second one knocks Lee down to the canvas where Sharif connects
with a handful of stomps before hauling Lee up to his feet...]

GM:  Sharif brings Lee up... sets for the gutwrench...

[And powers Tyler Lee up and over with an impressive gutwrench suplex
that sends Lee bouncing off the canvas.  Sharif slowly gets to his feet,
slapping his own arms and striking a double bicep pose, shouting, "Right
there, zoom it!" before moving back in on the downed Lee.]

GM:  And for those of you who are watching the clock a bit nervously -
have no fear.  WKIK has told us they WILL allow us to present this match
in its entirety as well as the big tag team Main Event still to come! 
Our thanks to our broadcast partners for allowing us to bring you all
the action here tonight on Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Grabbing the top rope, Sharif steps up to the second rope, pushing all
his weight into the air, and dropping it all in a knee across the back
of Tyler Lee.  A few more stomps land before the official forces Sharif
to step back...

...which allows Ivan Kostovich to choke the downed Lee out on the
floor!]

GM:  Come on, referee!  Keep an eye on all these bodies around the ring!
This is too much for one official to handle.  You've got six
participants in the match plus two managers... how can one referee be
expected to control all of that?

[Sharif buries a few more kicks into the ribs before leaning down to
drag Lee back to his feet.  A heavy forearm to the chest knocks Lee back
into the ropes where Sharif grabs an arm...]

GM:  Whip by Shar- reversed!

[And the incoming Sharif gets floored with a leaping shoulder tackle!]

GM:  LEE TAKES DOWN SHARIF!!

[The Louisville Slugger, down on all fours, begins the long crawl to the
corner where both Supernova and Corax are ready to bring the fight to
the opposition.]

GM:  Lee's trying to get there... trying to-

[But a dazed Sharif slaps the hand of Vladimir Velkiov who races in,
dropping a near three-hundred pound elbow down on the back of Lee's
head.]

GM:  Ohh!  Velikov cuts off the tag!  And as we heard earlier, there's
some history there between Vladimir Velikov and Tyler Lee's family.

BW:  The way I hear it - Velikov simply picked up the war where
Kostovich left off.  Tyler Lee's got issues with both of those men!

[Grabbing Lee by the foot, Velikov hauls him across the ring towards his
own corner...

...and drops a thunderous leg across the back of the skull, knocking the
fight out of Lee.  Velikov rolls the Kentucky native to his back,
applying a cover as the referee drops down to count.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But that's all!  Tyler Lee's out at two!

[Velikov pushes up off the mat, grabbing the top rope as he delivers a
series of stomps to the chest of the downed Louisville Slugger.  He
reaches over, slapping the hand of his nephew to bring him into the
match.]

GM:  There's the tag to the former National Champion...

[The former Mixed Martial Artist swiftly moves through the ropes as his
uncle drags Lee from the corner in a front facelock...

...and Sudakov lowers the boom with a big double axehandle across the
back!  Outside the ring, Ivan Kostovich applauds the show of teamwork,
encouraging more of it as Sudakov drops an elbow to the back of Lee's
neck.  Across the ring, Supernova slaps the turnbuckle, shouting
encouragement to the Louisville Slugger as Corax stands stoic nearby.]

GM:  Supernova wants the tag - he's trying to rally Tyler Lee to the
corner.

BW:  Good luck with that.  He's in the control of the Russians now.

GM:  And as we saw at The Main Event, when the Russians work together,
they work very, very well together.  In fact, if those two choose to
compete as a tag team on a full time basis again, I would instantly have
to rank them as a top challenger to Rough N Ready's National Tag Team
Titles.

[Sudakov pulls Lee to his feet, shoving him back into the corner. 
Grabbing the top rope, the former National Champion snaps off a trio of
round kicks into the torso of the brawler from Kentucky.  The referee
orders him to back off as he steps back, slapping the hand of Velikov.]

GM:  Another tag for the Russians...

[Each man grabs an arm, dragging Lee from the corner and into a double
whip that sends him into the ropes and rebounding off into a big running
double clothesline that knocks him flat!]

GM:  Big double clothesline - a big doubleteam from the Russians!

[Velikov drops into another cover, Supernova shouting to his partner as
the referee makes a two count.]

GM:  Another two count for the foreign allies.  The Russians are an
overwhelming force when they're on the same page.  I still remember how
feared they were as a unit during the AWA's early days, Bucky.

BW:  One of the best tag teams in the world then - and they can be the
same way now if Sudakov would get his head out of his-

GM:  Bucky!

[Velikov drags Lee off the mat...

...and gets popped with a right hand!]

GM:  Lee's fighting back!

[Velikov stumbles back from the haymaker and then gets rocked with a
second one, knocking him to a knee.]

GM:  Lee's got a chance!  He needs to make the tag!

[The Louisville Slugger attempts to do exactly that, moving around the
kneeling Velikov to the corner...

...but the burly Russian grabs a handful of trunks, yanking Lee
backwards and DRILLING him with a clothesline to the back of the neck!]

GM:  Good grief!  He flattened Tyler Lee with that!

[Grabbing the foot of Lee, Velikov drags him back to his own corner,
slapping the hand of a waiting Sultan Azam Sharif.]

GM:  In comes the Sultan...

BW:  And look at how well the Russians and the Sultan are working
together, Gordo.  You've gotta be impressed.

GM:  Very impressive, yes.

[Sharif winds up his arm, dropping a big elbow down into the chest of
Lee.  He climbs to his feet, spinning his arm around again, and drops a
second elbow before rolling into a lateral press.]

GM:  He gets one!  He gets two!  Shoulder's up!  Lee gets the shoulder
up!

[Sharif gets to his feet, looking quizzically at Bathwaite who points
for him to continue the attack which the Sultan does by dragging Lee up
and drilling him with a double chop to the throat that sends a gasping
Lee falling back to the ropes.]

GM:  Tyler Lee needs to get out of here.  He desperately needs to make a
tag!

[Sharif slaps the hand of Sudakov, bringing him back in and barking
instructions to the former National Champion.  Sudakov glares at Sharif
for a long moment, causing the crowd to buzz with anticipation...

...but a barked order from Kostovich sends Sudakov into the double team,
firing Lee in...]

GM:  Another double clothesli- ducked by Lee!

[The brawler hits the far ropes, bouncing off...

...and leaving his feet with a leaping double clothesline that knocks
both men flat!]

GM:  OH YEAH!!  LEE BOWLS 'EM OVER!!

BW:  What happened there?!

GM:  Kostovich and Bathwaite are screaming at Sudakov!  It's not HIS
fault!

BW:  It sure is!  You're surely not saying it's the Sultan's!

GM:  It is!  Sharif isn't used to tag team matches.  We know that.  What
makes you think he can properly execute a double team move like that
clothesline?!

[With all three men down on the mat, Lee begins the long crawl across
the ring.]

GM:  Come on, Tyler!  Get there!

BW:  What has gotten into you?!  When did you become such a homer of an
announcer?!

GM:  The Louisville Slugger's got his corner within his sights!

[Lee inches closer as Sudakov staggers to his feet, looking a little
wobbly...

...and he races forward just as Lee makes a diving tag!]

GM:  TAG!

[HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA!!

[The crowd erupts as Supernova bursts through the ropes...

...and wastes no time on this occasion, charging his former friend, and
meeting him with a barrage of right hands to the skull!]

GM:  Supernova's beating him back!  He's knocking Sudakov back into the
corner!

[Grabbing his former friend by the arm, Supernova hurls Sudakov from the
corner, sending him crashing into the buckles...

...and floors him with a running clothesline as he stumbles out!]

GM:  What a clothesline!  Sudakov's down from that and-

[And just as Sultan Azam Sharif gets to his feet, Supernova leaves his.]

GM:  DROPKICK!!

[The big leaping dropkick sends Sharif through the ropes and out to the
floor to the roar of the crowd.  A furious Adrian Bathwaite is screaming
at the official, screaming at Supernova, screaming at anyone who will
listen as Supernova drags Sudakov up off the mat, hoisting him up...

...and dropping him down in an inverted atomic drop before hitting the
ropes behind him, leaping up, and SLAMMING his face into the mat!]

GM:  FACESLAM!!  SUPERNOVA'S ALL OVER THE FORMER CHAMPION!!!

[At an order from Ivan Kostovich, Vladimir Velikov moves in to assist...

...and gets hiptossed up and over to the mat!]

GM:  Velikov's down as well!

[Grabbing Velikov, Supernova throws him back into the corner, hopping up
to the midbuckle.  With a howl, he begins raining down blows on the
skull of the Russian!]

"ONE!"
"TWO!"
"THREE!"
"FOUR!"
"FIVE!"
"SIX!"
"SEVEN!"
"EIGHT!"
"NINE!"
"TEN!"

[The Venice Beach native hops down, grabbing Velikov by the arm to hurl
him across the ring.  He backs into the corner hard, letting loose
another howl before dashing corner to corner, leaving his feet...

...and SMASHING Velikov in the corner!]

GM:  HEAT WAVE!!  HEAT WAVE IN THE CORNER!!

[Supernova throws him down to the mat in the middle of the ring, moving
to grab the legs...

...and just narrowly avoids a Russian Sickle attempt from Sudakov!]

GM:  Whoa!  Whoa!  He ducked the Sickle!

[And a charging Supernova leaves his feet for another dropkick...

...but Sudakov swats it aside, knocking his former friend down to the
mat!]

GM:  Sudakov slapped away the dropkick!

[The angry Russian pulls his former friend up by the hair, throwing him
back to the corner where an equally-angry Sultan Azam Sharif is waiting
to tag in.  Sharif steps through the ropes...

...and shoves Sudakov away before delivering a kick to the gut of
Supernova!  The crowd bristles at the shove, just as an angry Sudakov
does, glaring at Sharif with his hands on his hips as the referee ushers
him out of the ring.]

GM:  Sharif's all alone in there with Supernova... 

[Hooking a side waistlock, Sharif powers Supernova up into the air,
dropping him down on the back of the head and neck with a suplex.]

GM:  Belly to back!  Down to the mat with authority!

[Sharif crawls over the downed Supernova.]

GM:  ONE!  TWO!!  TH-

[But Supernova fires a shoulder up at two.]

BW:  That was incredibly close, Gordo... and what I love about this is
that Corax hasn't budged an inch since the bell!  He didn't try to help
his partner there!  He hasn't tried to get into the ring at all!

GM:  What in the world is with that guy, Bucky?

BW:  I have no idea but he may not have been the best choice for a tag
partner for Lee and Supernova.

[Sharif rolls Supernova onto his stomach, leaping up to drop a knee down
into the kidneys of his rival.  Grabbing the hair, Sharif turns
Supernova.]

GM:  Uh oh!  You know what's coming now!

BW:  That's the setup for the Camel Clutch!  It's time to pray!

[With Supernova down on the mat, Sharif settles in, hooking his
opponent's arms over his legs...

...and sits down on the back of Supernova!]

GM:  The Camel Clutch is locked in!

BW:  Break him, Sultan!  Make him humble!

GM:  Sharif's yanking back and forth on the head and neck!  He's got
that sunk in deep!

[But before he can finish him off...]

GM:  What the-?!

[Swiftly entering the ring and acting before the official can stop him,
Corax hooks Sharif in a front facelock...

...and SPIKES him skullfirst into the canvas!]

GM:  DDT!  DDT ON SHARIF!

BW:  Corax picked the wrong time to act!

GM:  Or the right time!

[Grabbing his partner by the arm, Corax drags Supernova across the ring.
 He steps out to the apron, reaching over to slap his partner's hand.]

GM:  Corax makes the tag!  He's legal!

BW:  Supernova's out cold!  He's out from the Camel Clutch!

GM:  But Sharif's out from the DDT and-

[Vladimir Velikov steps in, looking to help his partner...

...but a rushing Tyler Lee hits a big running spear tackle, sending both
Lee and Velikov through the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  LEE CLEARS OUT VELIKOV!!

[And at a barked order from Ivan Kostovich, Kolya Sudakov steps into the
ring, glaring at the motionless Corax who is standing over the prone
Sharif...

...when suddenly Tyler Lee reaches under the ropes, grabbing Sudakov by
the ankle and yanking him under the ropes to the floor!  Big cheer!]

GM:  LEE PULLS OUT SUDAKOV TOO!!

[The ref goes to reprimand Tyler Lee...

...and when he turns around, he finds Corax with a baseball bat in
hand!]

GM:  Corax has the bat!  He's got the bat!

[The black-and-white facepainted enigma points the bat at the downed
Sharif, dragging a thumb across his throat as the official steps in his
path, shouting at him.]

BW:  Look at Adrian!  The Count's trying to help!  Lemme go help him,
Gordo!

GM:  You stay right here!

[The camera catches Bathwaite first trying to pull Sharif from the ring
under the ropes...

...and then actually climbing up on the apron to try and lean in to grab
an arm!]

GM:  Bathwaite's trying to- OHHHH!

[The crowd groans as Corax HURLS the official down to the mat!]

GM:  Corax throws the ref down!  Why did he do that?!  

[Corax points the bat at Sharif again...

...and then raises it slightly so that it's pointed right at Count
Adrian Bathwaite!  HUGE CHEER!]

BW:  NO!  YOU CAN'T!

[Bathwaite hasn't seen it, frantically trying to grab his man by the arm
to save him from the bat-wielding maniac...

...who suddenly rushes forward, grabbing Bathwaite's arm and YANKS him
into the ring!]

GM:  HE PULLS IN BATHWAITE!!  CORAX PULLS IN BATHWAITE!!

[Bathwaite pops up to his knees, shaking his head, begging for mercy as
Corax stands over him with the bat...

...and SLAMS the end of it into Bathwaite's sternum!]

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

GM:  CORAX DRILLS BATHWAITE!!  HE DRILLS BATHWAITE WITH THE BAT!!

[The silent and stoic Corax lifts the bat again, ready to slam it down
onto the prone Bathwaite...

...when a desperate Ivan Kostovich and Kolya Sudakov drag the manager to
safety to the jeers of the crowd!]

GM:  My stars - he was gonna club him, Bucky!  He was gonna club Adrian
Bathwaite with the baseball bat!

BW:  And Sharif would be beside himself if he wasn't out cold!

[Vladimir Velikov drags Sharif out by the ankle, pulling him to safety
as well as the dazed official gets up, gesturing to the timekeeper.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  This one's over... and I'm pretty sure I can guess the outcome,
Bucky.

BW:  Gee, ya think?

[Phil Watson makes it official.]

PW:  Your winners of the match as a result of a disqualification...

The team of the Russians and Sultan Azam Sharif!

[The crowd explodes in jeers for the rulebreaking trio as they make
their exit.  Velikov and Sudakov are helping Sharif up the aisle as
Kostovich does the same with Bathwaite.]

GM:  Those guys are the winners?

BW:  Whaddya expect when the other side has a baseball bat-wielding
nutjob?!

GM:  Corax did nothing for the majority of this match but when he
struck, he struck hard!  And I still don't understand the motivation for
what he did.  He knew they'd be disqualified.  He HAD to know!  But he
did it anyways, all for a chance to take that bat to Sharif and
Bathwaite!

[A dazed Supernova gets to his feet, helped up by Tyler Lee who is
explaining what happened as Corax stares off at the fleeing enemies, bat
pointed at them once more.]

GM:  Supernova doesn't look too pleased either.  He's asking Corax
what's going on.  He's trying to- whoa!

[An angry Supernova swings Corax around, pointing an accusatory finger
in his painted face.  Corax stares silent for a moment before slowly
backing away, dropping to the mat, and rolling out of the ring.  He hops
over the barricade, making his way through the crowd as a frustrated
Supernova looks on in disbelief.]

GM:  A wild finish to a crazy match as we saw Sultan Azam Sharif and the
Russians pick up a victory by disqualification.  But this one's not
over... not by a long shot, Bucky.

BW:  When Sharif wakes up, Corax is a dead man!  I promise ya that!  He
wanted to cut off Supernova's hand for PUNCHING Bathwaite.  What's he
gonna do to someone who took a baseball bat to the man?

GM:  Fans, it's been an amazing night of action here in Dallas and we've
still got one more match to come - it's our tag team Main Event here in
the Crockett Coliseum but we're gonna take one more commercial before we
come right back to more action here on Saturday Night Wrestling!

[We focus on the irritated Supernova, still discussing what happened
with Tyler Lee as we fade to black.

Slowly, the words "MEMORIAL DAY MAYHEM" appears on the screen in white
lettering.  The letters slowly fade to be replaced by "2008."  The
screen stays dark, we can only hear the sounds.]

"Ladies and gentlemen... after twenty-eight minutes and six seconds of
hard-fought action... your winner of the match...  And the FIRST AWA
NATIONAL CHAMPION... MAAAAAARRRRCUS BROUUUUUSSARRRRRRD!"

[The sounds fade as the lettering does - both replaced by "2009."]

"OH MY STARS!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!  STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT! 
STEVIE SCOTT HAS DONE IT!"

[The sounds fade again as "2009" is replaced by "2010."]

"Both men on the apron!  Both men on the apron!  Rhodes is down!  Rhodes
is on a knee on the apron!  RUNNING KNEEEEEEEE!"

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

"Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner of the Memorial Day
Rumble...
RAPHAEL RHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODES!!"

[The sounds fade.  The letters fade.  A completely black screen remains.
 Slowly one final batch of text arrives.]

"What will 2011 bring?"

[And then we fade all the way to black.

We fade back up on the Crockett Coliseum, a nice panning shot of the
sold out crowd still buzzing about what they just saw and equally as
excited about what they're about to see.

We crossfade to Phil Watson in the middle of the ring.]

PW:  The following contest is a tag team match scheduled for one fall
with a twenty minute time limit.  Introducing first...

#Reach out and touch faith#

[The fans EXPLODE in jeers for the arrival of "Hollywood" Larry Doyle,
"Ravishing" Robert Baldwin, "The Machine" Johann Avalon, and The Masked
Menace to Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus."]

PW:  From the Edge of Night... weighing in at a combined 479 pounds and
accompanied to the ring by "Hollywood" Larry Doyle and the Masked
Menace... 

[The quartet is moving quickly down the elevated ramp, little funny
stuff with the crowd, as they appear to be very business-like in their
approach to this important showdown with two of the AWA's finest.]

PW:  "Ravishing" Robert Baldwin... "The Machine" Johann Avalon... 

THE BLONNNNNNNDE BOMMMMMMMBERRRRRS!

[Baldwin slingshots over the ropes into the ring as Avalon enters the
traditional way.  Doyle steps through the ropes as well, throwing up
both arms to the jeers of the crowd as The Masked Menace walks down the
steps to take up a spot at ringside, his head on a swivel as he keeps an
eye (or two) open for anything.  The 80s sounds of Depeche Mode fades
out to be replaced by...]

#It's alright#
#It's alright#
#It's alright#

#I'm just... a little crazy!#

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sounds of Fight's "Little Crazy" as Larry
Doyle jumps around with his hands covering his ears, shouting at the
ring announcer who does his job.]

PW:  And their opponents... first, from Los Angeles, California...
weighing in tonight at 350 pounds... he is the Last American Badboy...

ALLLLLLEEX MAAAAAARRRRTIIIIIINEZ!

[The seven footer walks through the curtain to the continued roar of the
crowd.  He rubs his hands together, nodding his head as he stares down
the aisle where Robert Baldwin has mounted the middle rope, shouting at
the big man and pointing a threatening finger.  Martinez is dressed in
his usual ring gear but the heavy white bandages surrounding his arm are
quite obvious additions.]

PW:  And his tag team partner...

["They Reminisce Over You" by C.L. Smooth & Pete Rock kicks in to a HUGE
CHEER!]

PW:  Also hailing from the City of Angels... weighing in tonight at 238
pounds... he is the current and reigning AWA National Champion...

JUAAAAAAAAAAN VAAAASSSSQUEZ!

[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of the National Champion who jogs
through the curtain to stand beside his massive tag team partner.  He
pulls the title belt from around his waist, revealing some white
bandages of his own, wrapped around his ribcage.  He thrusts the belt
into the air, soaking up the cheers of the crowd before slinging the
title over his shoulder.  Vasquez looks over at his partner and at a
shared nod, the two begin marching down the aisle towards the ring to a
deafening roar from the crowd!]

GM:  Listen to these fans!  This is one of the loudest ovations for an
entrance that I can recall, Bucky!

BW:  You put two of the most popular wrestlers... not in the AWA, not in
the business today, but of ALL TIME - in the same ring together as a tag
team, you're gonna rock the house, daddy!

[Vasquez and Martinez reach the ring in unison, Martinez smirking at
Larry Doyle who is shouting at the cheering fans, screaming at both
Avalon and Baldwin who are pacing back and forth, ready to pounce...

...and as soon as the two fan favorites move towards the ring, Doyle
bails out and his men move into action as the bell rings!]

GM:  Here we go!

[Baldwin is immediately on Vasquez, throwing a right hand to the skull. 
Avalon tries to do the same to Martinez who is stepping over the
ropes...

...but the big man simply reaches out and piefaces Avalon down to the
mat to a big cheer from the crowd!]

GM:  Martinez knocks down Avalon but-

[Avalon springs back to his feet, rushing into the fray as Baldwin
continues to batter Vasquez with right hands in the corner...

...when suddenly the National Champion begins to battle back!]

GM:  Right hand from Vasquez!  Another!  Another!

[And a fired-up Vasquez simply grabs Baldwin by the hair, HURLING him
over the ropes and to the floor as Martinez backdrops a charging Avalon,
sending him crashing over the ropes and down onto the wooden rampway!]

GM:  They clear out the Bombers!

BW:  The Bombers need to fight this match smarter than that.  This is
the opportunity of a lifetime!  They can't throw it away by just
charging them.  Especially Martinez!  What in the world is Avalon
thinking?

GM:  Right now, he's thinking, "My stars, my back hurts after getting
backdropped on a wooden ramp!"

BW:  Very funny.

[Baldwin scampers to his feet on the floor, ready to charge back in
before Larry Doyle corrals him, pulling him aside to discuss what just
happened.  Inside the ring, the referee manages to get Alex Martinez to
step out to the apron as Vasquez walks back and forth, shouting for
Baldwin to get back into the ring.]

GM:  Juan Vasquez, the National Champion, really wants to get this fight
going.  The National Champion is not looking to waste any time at all
here tonight in Dallas, Texas.

[Approaching the ropes, Vasquez grabs the top rope...

...and SLINGSHOTS over the ropes onto a stunned Baldwin, just a few feet
away from a shocked Larry Doyle!  Big cheer!]

GM:  VASQUEZ TAKES THE FLIGHT TO THE FLOOR!!

[The champion slowly climbs to his feet, wincing as he grabs at his
bandaged ribs.  He shouts something inaudible to the camera in Doyle's
direction as he leans down, hauling Baldwin off the thin mats and
chucking him under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  Baldwin's back in... Vasquez climbs up on the apron and-

[Seizing a chance, Larry Doyle grabs Vasquez by the leg, preventing him
from getting back into the ring.  The referee, distracted by the Masked
Menace, misses the whole thing as Vasquez struggles to free himself from
"Hollywood's" grasp.]

GM:  Doyle's got Vasquez by the leg!  He's got-

[Avalon quickly makes his way around the ring, grabbing at his back...

...and grabs Vasquez' other leg, yanking him off the apron where the
National Champion lands ribsfirst on the edge of the apron!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  What the heck is going on out here?  Juan Vasquez is fighting THREE
guys out there, Bucky!

BW:  Hey, that's not my problem.  He's got a partner!

GM:  But his partner is- 

[The camera cuts to Alex Martinez who is shouting at the official,
complaining about what just happened as Robert Baldwin mocks the big man
while Avalon buries boots into the ribs of Vasquez out on the floor. 
After a bit, "The Machine" drags Vasquez off the floor, shoving him
under the ropes into the ring.]

GM:  So, there's a bit of shenanigans out on the floor to give the
Bombers the early edge in this one.

[Baldwin drags Vasquez off the mat, throwing a knee into the midsection
before shoving him back into the corner...

...and throws a hooking right hand into the ribs!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot to the midsection!

[Leaning in the corner, Baldwin grabs the top rope and throws knee after
knee into the ribs of Vasquez, causing the National Champion to cry out
in pain with every shot.  Hooking in a front facelock, Baldwin drags
Vasquez back towards the corner of the Bombers where he slaps the hand
of his partner.]

GM:  In comes Johann Avalon... ohh!  Hard kick to the ribs!  Another
one!  Come on, ref!

[The referee quickly counts to four, forcing Baldwin to break the hold
as Avalon takes over, pushing Vasquez back into the ropes.  He grabs the
arm of the National Champion, firing him into the ropes...

...and buries a knee into the ribs on the rebound, flipping Vasquez over
and down to the mat!  The crowd jeers Avalon as he taunts Martinez who
is still on the apron, stretching his arm out far.]

GM:  Martinez is showing a lot of self-restraint, keeping himself from
charging in there and putting his partner in even more trouble...

[Avalon delivers a pair of stomps to the ribs to Vasquez, forcing him
back towards the corner.  Avalon promptly steps up to the middle rope,
hopping off and stomping the ribs again.  Outside the ring, Larry Doyle
shouts encouragement to his men as Avalon hauls Vasquez to his feet,
pushing him back into the buckles.]

BW:  Look at this, Gordo.

[Leaning over, Avalon grabs the middle rope, pausing for a moment...

...and LUNGES forward, driving his shoulder into the ribcage!]

GM:  Ohh!  Avalon puts his entire shoulder into the ribs!  Johnny-
excuse me, Johann is really doing a number on Juan Vasquez, the AWA
National Champion.

["The Machine" slams home another shoulder... and another... and
another... and another.  The crowd jeers wildly as Avalon defies the
referee's orders to break up the attack in the corner.  As the count
starts, Avalon backs up, threatening to backhand the referee as he hauls
Vasquez by the arm towards the Bombers' corner.]

GM:  Avalon bringing him back to their side of town...

[A quick tag to Baldwin brings the high flyer back in as he scales the
ropes, leaping off with an overhead elbowsmash across the back.  Vasquez
falls to the mat, stretching an arm towards his corner as Baldwin stands
over him.]

GM:  And Vasquez knows he needs out of there - he's reaching but he's
more than halfway across the ring away...

[Baldwin walks around slowly to the front of Vasquez, hands on hips as
he looks down at the National Champion...

...who springs up to a knee, throwing a right hand to the gut of
Baldwin!]

GM:  The champ's fighting back!

[Vasquez throws a second hand down South, knocking Baldwin back a step
or two.  The National Champion gets to his feet, winding up again...

...but Baldwin cuts him off with a knee to the gut, breaking his
comeback up.  Baldwin spins around, spitting at Martinez!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on!

[The seven footer steps over the ropes, charging in...

...but the referee gets in his path, holding him back!]

GM:  The ref's blocking Martinez!  The ref is holding Martinez back!

[Which allows Avalon to slide into the ring, both men grabbing Vasquez
to hoist him into the air...

...and drop him down both men's bent knees!]

GM:  OHHH!  Double gutbuster by the Bombers!

[Baldwin shoves Vasquez down to his back, applying a lateral press as
the referee spins around, dropping to all fours...]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The champion fires a shoulder up before the three count, sending a roar
through the crowd.]

GM:  Those banged up, those injured ribs are really a problem for Juan
Vasquez here tonight.

[Baldwin quickly gets up, laying in a few stomps to the ribs before
hauling Vasquez up off the mat...

...and gets DROPPED with a jawbreaker!]

GM:  OHHHH!  COUNTER!!  VASQUEZ WITH THE COUNTER!!

[Baldwin falls back to the mat, clutching his chin as Vasquez rolls away
from him, arm stretched out.  The crowd is roaring as Martinez leans
over the ropes, fingers wiggling as he stretches out as far as he
can...]

GM:  Almost there!  ALMOST THERE!

[Vasquez pushes up to his knees, breathing heavily, clutching his
ribs...

...and hurls himself forward!]

GM:  TAG!

[HUGE CHEER!  The Last American Badboy steps over the top rope to the
roar of the crowd, throwing his right arm into the air...]

GM:  Baldwin's up and-

[And the crowd EXPLODES as Martinez grabs Baldwin by the throat!]

GM:  He's got him hooked!  He's got Baldwin hooked around the throat!

[Baldwin struggles, grabbing at his neck as Martinez marches him across
the ring to the middle of the ring, slowly turning around...]

GM:  GET DOYLE DOWN FROM THERE!

["Hollywood" Larry Doyle hops up on the apron, distracting the referee,
which allows for Johann Avalon to slide into the ring...

...and SMASH a double axehandle across Martinez' injured shoulder!]

GM:  Ohh!

[Avalon spins the big man around, hooking a front facelock and holding
the injured arm outstretched...

...and DROPS straight down, bending the arm at an awkward angle before
rolling away and under the ropes to the floor.]

GM:  Avalon with a sneak attack - a single arm DDT!

BW:  And that's how you pop a shoulder out of place, Gordo!  Johann
Avalon may have just separated that shoulder!

[With Avalon cleared out, Baldwin applies a cover on a screaming
Martinez as Doyle drops off the apron.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But the big man lifts his good arm up off the mat, breaking the pin
attempt.  Baldwin quickly gets up, stomping the injured shoulder a few
times.  Then he grabs the wrist, tugging hard as he drags the former
World Champion towards the corner, reaching up to slap the hand of
Avalon.]

GM:  Baldwin brings him to his feet... big armtwist...

[Avalon leaps off the middle rope, smashing a forearm down across the
twisted arm to send a yelp of pain from Martinez who slumps down to a
knee.  Avalon promptly hooks the arm in an armbar, taking up a spot
behind the big man and cranking back on the injured limb...]

GM:  Avalon's got the armbar applied!  Torquing it back...

[Avalon screams, "ASK HIM, REF!" as he pulls back on the limb.]

GM:  The referee is right there, checking to see if Martinez wants to
give it up.

BW:  Of course he doesn't.  He's a big, dumb animal who'd rather have
his arm ripped off than actually submit.

["The Machine" steps to the side, grabbing Martinez by the wrist...

...and snaps off a kick to the bicep!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

[A second kick lands... and a third... and a fourth...]

GM:  Avalon is absolutely battering that arm!  He's just relentlessly
torturing it!

[Dragging Martinez to the ropes, Avalon twists the injured arm around
the middle rope, pushing hard on it to punish the limb...]

GM:  Get him off the ropes, ref!

[Avalon takes a step back, then lunges in with a knee to the twisted
arm!  With Martinez down on the mat, wincing with every movement, Avalon
hauls him up by that injured limb, jerking hard on it as he tugs the big
man towards his corner, slapping the hand of Robert Baldwin.]

GM:  Both Bombers are in now... 

["The Machine" hooks the arm, twisting it over in an armtwist as Baldwin
scales the ropes, standing tall...

...and leaps off, dropping a double axehandle across the twisted arm!]

GM:  Ohh!

[Martinez stumbles away, grabbing his injured shoulder as he staggers
towards the corner, good arm outstretched towards a waiting Juan
Vasquez, arm reaching out as far as he can...]

GM:  Martinez needs the tag!  Martinez needs out of there!

[But Baldwin charges in from behind, leaping up to grab the arm of the
former World Champion...

...and falls to his back, smashing the shoulder into his knees!]

GM:  Ohh!  What was that?!  What in the world was that?!

[Baldwin rolls into a press, grabbing Martinez' leg.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But again, the big man gets his good shoulder off the mat, breaking the
pin attempt.  Baldwin looks a little surprised, shaking his head as he
climbs to his feet, delivering another hard stomp to the shoulder.  He
move to the corner, slapping the hand of his partner.]

GM:  The Bombers on the attack again... pulling Martinez up...

[A double whip sends the big man into the ropes.]

GM:  Double clothesli- ducked by Martinez... the big man off the far
side...

[And he barrels over BOTH Blonde Bombers with a double clothesline of
his own!  Martinez falls to his knees, wincing as he grabs at his
heavily taped shoulder.  From the corner, Juan Vasquez is SCREAMING for
his partner to make the tag, his own hand outstretched.]

GM:  Martinez is down on all fours... crawling, inching closer... trying
to make the corner... 

[The big man inches closer to the corner and his partner's waiting
hand!]

GM:  The big man's almost there!  He's almost to the corner!

[But Robert Baldwin grabs Martinez by the ankle, stopping him from
getting any closer.]

GM:  No!  Baldwin's blocking the tag!

[The crowd is roaring as Martinez struggles against Baldwin, trying to
claw his way to the corner.  The big man rolls to his back, lashing out
with a big boot to the face of the Ravishing One.]

GM:  Martinez is trying to break loose!  Can he get there?

[A second big boot connects with Baldwin's face, breaking the grip!]

GM:  He's loose!  The big man's loose!

[But just before Martinez can reach up and slap his partner's hand,
Avalon dives on the upper body of the big man, flattening him out.  The
official screams at Avalon, ordering him out of the ring.  Avalon slips
in a few short right hands to the ribs before rolling off the Los
Angeles native...

...and spits in the face of Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  Oh, come on!

[And just as his partner did earlier, Vasquez comes into the ring on
that one, grabbing Avalon by the head, throwing big right hands to the
skull.  The crowd roars for the champion...

...who gets stopped by the official who steps in, forcing him back. 
With the referee tied up with Vasquez, the Bombers grab Martinez by the
legs, dragging him out of his own corner and into theirs.]

GM:  Another illegal move by the Bombers to gain the edge... the referee
is having an awful time trying to keep this under control with Larry
Doyle and the Masked Menace out there to distract, cajole, and do
whatever else they can to give the Blonde Bombers an advantage.

BW:  And that's exactly what they're paid to do!  If Vasquez and
Martinez want a little of it, maybe they should hire a manager as good
as Doyle.

GM:  You offering?

BW:  Not a chance, daddy.  Ol' Big Bucks is retired.

[Back on his feet, Baldwin delivers a pair of stomps to the shoulder of
Martinez before stretching his arm out, pinning the wrist down with his
foot...

...and then leaps up, dropping a knee onto the shoulder!]

GM:  Good grief!  Alex Martinez just shouted in pain again and you know
it must be mad if the big man is hollerin'.

BW:  He shouldn't even be in the ring tonight, Gordo.  He OR Vasquez. 
They're both too proud and too stupid!

[Baldwin uses the sore limb to drag Martinez to his feet, landing a pair
of boots to put him back into the corner.  Grabbing an arm, Baldwin
fires him across the ring, charging after him...]

GM:  FLYING KNEE-

[But the attempt at a leaping kneestrike goes awry when the big man
sorta catches him and HURLS him down to the mat!  Big roar!]

GM:  Big counter by Martinez!

[The big man falls back into the ropes, turning his head to spot Vasquez
waiting for him.  The Los Angeles native staggers closer, arm stretched
out...

...and SLAPS the hand of Juan Vasquez!]

GM:  Tag!  He made the tag!

[The National Champion comes in fast, drilling Johann Avalon with a
right hand that knocks him off the apron.  Vasquez spins around, pulling
Baldwin to his feet, and blasting him with a forearm shot to the jaw
that knocks Baldwin to the ropes...]

GM:  Irish whi- reversed by Baldwin and-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd EXPLODES at the sight of Juan Vasquez turning his body into a
missile, diving through the ropes onto a stunned Johann Avalon, wiping
out "The Machine!"  Vasquez slowly gets up, grabbing his ribs as he
raises a hand to the cheering crowd.  He grabs the ropes, pulling
himself up...

...and gets CAUGHT with a baseball slide dropkick to the ribs, knocking
him down to the floor!]

GM:  Good grief!  

BW:  I love it, Gordo!  Vasquez took a big risk and Robert Baldwin just
made him pay for it!

[Baldwin rolls back in as the referee shouts at him...

...which allows Larry Doyle to land a trio of kicks to the ribs before
pulling Vasquez up by the hair, shoving him back under the ropes into
the ring.]

GM:  Doyle puts him back in... 

[Baldwin stomps the ribs a few times before leaping up, dropping an
elbow into the ribcage to the jeers of the fans...

...and begins ripping and tearing at the bandages around the waist. 
With a piece of white tape free, Baldwin wraps it around Vasquez'
throat, strangling the National Champion!]

GM:  He's choking Juan Vasquez!  Baldwin's choking him with his own tape
from his ribs!

[As the referee forces a break, Baldwin throws the tape aside, moving to
the apron where he starts to scale the ropes...]

GM:  Baldwin's going up top!  He's going for the kill right here!

[But Juan Vasquez ain't done yet, climbing back to a knee...

...and HURLING himself into the ropes, causing Baldwin to crotch himself
up top!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  And Robert Baldwin's gonna be singin' soprano for a while, Bucky!

BW:  There goes the Bombers' victory party plans!

GM:  Baldwin's stretched out up top... and look at this... Vasquez is
going up after him...

[Vasquez steps up to the middle rope, throwing a pair of big right hands
to the skull of his opponent.  Leaning forward, he hooks a front
facelock before slinging Baldwin's arm over his neck...]

GM:  Vasquez is gonna try a superplex here!

BW:  With those banged up ribs?  You gotta be kidding me!

GM:  The National Champion is all heart and you just never know what
he'll be able to pull off, Bucky!

[The champion grits his teeth, trying to hoist Baldwin into the air...]

GM:  What the-?!

[The crowd jeers as the Masked Menace reaches up, yanking Alex Martinez
off the apron by the back of the tights.  The Menace squares up, fists
at the ready...

...and Martinez lets him have it with a big haymaker to the jaw!]

GM:  MARTINEZ AND THE MENACE ARE BRAWLING ON THE FLOOR!!

[The referee races over, shouting at Martinez and the Masked Menace...

...which gives Larry Doyle the chance to wiggle out of his cowboy boot,
tossing it up to Johann Avalon who dashes along the length of the apron,
stepping up to the middle rope, and PASTING Vasquez in the injured ribs
with it!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[Avalon chucks the boot to the floor as Baldwin simply shoves Vasquez
backwards, sending him crashing down to the canvas.]

GM:  Another illegal tactic by- wait a second!

[Avalon slips into the ring quickly, moving to the corner where Baldwin
steps up top...

...and reaches up, hurling his own partner off his perch, sending him
sailing through the air...]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  ROCKET LAUNCHER!!  ROCKET LAUNCHER!!

[Baldwin quickly recovers from having sailed off the downed Vasquez,
crawling back towards him and diving across his chest while tightly
hooking both legs.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


GM:  I can't believe it!

[Baldwin rolls off the downed Vasquez, quickly being joined by his
partner who embraces him in the middle of the ring as Larry Doyle
celebrates out on the floor.  The Masked Menace's brawl with Martinez
cuts off as the big man spots his partner having been pinned.  A
frustrated Martinez slams an arm down on the apron before rolling into
the ring.]

GM:  The Blonde Bombers have done it!  The Bombers have won it!

BW:  They beat the National Champion AND the sure-fire Hall of Famer!

[Phil Watson makes it official.]

PW:  Your winners of the match...

THE BLONNNNNNNNNNNDE BOMMMMMMMBERRRS!

[Baldwin and Avalon exit the ring before Martinez can get to them,
joining their manager and bodyguard out on the floor.  A furious
Martinez leans over the ropes, pointing at the group who are now
taunting him.]

GM:  The Bombers have done it... I'm in shock, these fans are in
shock... the injuries were just too much for Martinez and Vasquez to
overcome here tonight in Dallas, Texas, where we're out of time!  Fans,
it's been one heck of a night and we'll see you next time with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!  So long everybody!

[The camera holds on Martinez kneeling next to a hurting Juan Vasquez...

...and we fade to black.]