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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Crockett Coliseum
                                    Dallas, Texas
                                   May 21st, 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 Juan Vasquez is standing along in the
middle of the ring, mic in hand.]

JV: It wasn't too long ago when my good friend, Sweet Daddy Williams
came out here and warned the AWA that dark times were coming.

And he was right.

Dark times are here.

[A frown forms on his face, almost as if he's disappointed at his own
inaction.]

JV: The Unholy Alliance, The Dragon and his minions, The Russians and
Sharif, Royalty... all of them have been running wild, doing whatever
they damn well please to take over that spot as the most despicable
bastards in all of wrestling, that The Southern Syndicate left behind! 
There's been people fighting the good fight, but it just hasn't been
enough.

Brian Von Braun, The Aces, Vernon Riley, Alex Martinez, Sweet Daddy
Williams... the list of casualties are piling up week after week. The
evil forces in the AWA are getting bolder and more dangerous with each
passing day. In fact, it's looking like no one's gonna' be able to stop
any of these fools from taking over!

Well, you know what I say to that?

[He shakes his head defiantly.]

JV: No.

[The crowd cheers loudly, as if this was news they've been waiting to
hear for quite some time. Juan repeats himself once more...with
feeling.]

JV: NO!

[The look on his face grows fierce with determination.]

JV: Never _again!_

[His face turns red and his eyes grow wide, the anger boiling inside him
and rising to the surface.]

JV: When the Southern Syndicate was breaking bones, ending careers, and
holding the AWA National Title hostage...it was Juan Vasquez that led
the fight to run'em out! Well...this ain't any different. Maybe the
numbers are a bit bigger, the odds are stacked just *that* much higher
and the danger might just even be greater...

[He takes a deep breath.]

JV: ...but you know that I don't make empty promises or meaningless
threats! I'm as good as my word! I don't care if it takes another twelve
months or even twelve _years!_ I promise you, just like before...to all
you lowdown, no good, worthless cowards...

[Juan stares right at the entrance, making clear that he's addressing
this to everyone listening in the back.]

JV: I _will_ stop you.

[Big pop! And with that, Juan spikes the microphone on the canvas,
exiting to the cheers of the crowd 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, Bucky Wilde!  And Bucky, we are just over a week away from
Memorial Day Mayhem, one of the biggest events of the year for the AWA!

BW:  It's a big night - the AWA is going out on tour for the summer with
our first stop in Tulsa, Oklahoma!  And if you wanna rumble, the AWA's
gonna bring it to ya in just over a week.  A thirty-man Rumble with the
best in the world goin' at it to see who gets a shot at that big, shiny
gold belt around the waist of Juan Vasquez... if he can hang onto it.

GM:  A big "if" when he defends against the legendary City Jack, the
former National Tag Team Champion, heading into what he says will be his
final match.  Jack will everything to gain and nothing to lose in the
biggest match of his life!  But tonight, those two men will be on the
same side in the biggest ten man tag team match I've ever seen signed -
Juan Vasquez, City Jack, Sweet Daddy Williams, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott,
and Supernova taking on James Monosso, Anton Layton, Nenshou, Sultan
Azam Sharif, and Mark Langseth!

BW:  Perhaps the most star-studded Main Event in Saturday Night
Wrestling history!  And Vasquez has proven himself to be an even bigger
fool that I thought, Gordo.  He's getting in there with five men who'd
like his head on spike... and probably a few on his own team that
wouldn't mind it!  The National Championship is in serious jeopardy as
each day passes and Vasquez is completely oblivious to it.  His enemies
grow stronger, he grows weaker and he just doesn't get it yet.

GM:  I don't believe that for a second, Bucky.  Juan Vasquez is a strong
champion who will walk into Memorial Day Mayhem ready to defend the
title against a very tough challenger... but that won't take away from
what he plans to do right here tonight, Bucky.  But that comes later...
let's go up to the ring for our opening match!

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

PW:  The following contest is our opening match of the evening and it is
set for one fall with a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first,
already in the ring, hailing from Catania, Sicily, Italy...weighing in
tonight at 250 pounds, here is the SILICIAN STUD!

[Low smattering of boos as the Stud raises his arms high before rubbing
his hair back with each hand.]

PW: And now, making his AWA debut...

["Bad To The Bone" by George Thorogood and the Destroyers kicks up over
the PA, the fans anticipating another AWA debut.  It doesn't take long
for the reason for their anticipation to walk into the arena, complete
with his blue tights, white boots and rockin' black nylon jacket.  The
extremely good-looking youngster sports curly black hair that comes down
to his shoulders and flashes a big smile.]

PW: He hails from Hollywood, California, weighing in at 240
pounds...here is...

RICKY ARRRRRMSTROOOOOOOONG!!!

[Armstrong claps his hands together twice and pumps a fist in the air
before trotting down the aisle, taking extra time to slap hands with
fans along the way.  He does the same when he gets to ringside, going
the distance around the front row on all four sides.  Finally, he climbs
onto the apron, grabs the top rope and slingshots himself over to the
delight of the crowd.  As soon as he lands, he spins in a circle with
his arms outstretched, soaking in the cheers of the crowd, showing off
the word "Armstrong" written across the back of the jacket in a white
script.]

GM: So here he is, the youngster making his debut tonight in the AWA, he
is Ricky Armstrong and Bucky, I've heard a lot of good things about this
Combat Corner graduate from Todd Michaelson.

BW: Well of course you have, Gordo.  You think Todd's gonna say anything
bad about any of the losers he's shuffled out here with a Combat Corner
diploma?  The bigger question is, how many of them have been worth a
darn?

GM: Perhaps young Ricky will help that trend in an opposite direction,
and we'll get our first glimpse at him here as the bell has rung.

[Armstrong and the Stud circle one another cautiously before the Stud
steps away with one leg through the ropes and yells to the official,
"HE'S NOT IN MY LEAGUE!" drawing boos from the crowd.]

BW: He's got a point, Gordo!  Why should a veteran like the Sicilian
Stud have to go up against a wet-behind-the-ears rookie?  He deserves
better than this.

GM: I could not disagree more and neither could Ricky Armstrong, who is
motioning for the Stud to get back into the ring.

[The referee is doing the same thing, starting to count which causes the
Stud to reluctantly step back through the ropes and circle again with
Armstrong.]

GM: We'll try this again as the two competitors go into a
collar-and-elbow tie up...correction, the Sicilian Stud slips in a
kneelift to the stomach of Armstrong.

[Armstrong doubles over and a smirking Stud yells, "SEE? I TOLD YA!",
before applying a side headlock.]

GM: Side headlock now by the Stud, but Armstrong pulls him back into the
ropes and shoves out of it...the Stud off the ropes on the far side,
HIGH leapfrog by Armstrong on the rebound...Stud coming back and a
BEAUTIFUL armdrag takedown by the youngster!  The Stud back to his feet,
charging Armstrong...but gets taken down with ANOTHER armdrag!

[For good measure, we hit the spot one more time, with Ricky holding
onto the arm for an armbar on the third takedown to the crowd's
delight.]

GM: A series of _three_ armdrag takedowns by Ricky Armstrong, who just
showed off some impressive agility there, Bucky.

BW: You know what rhymes with my name?  Lucky.  Which is exactly what
Armstrong was there.  And the Stud's toying with him.  He told me before
the match that was gonna be his plan.

GM: I find that hard to believe.  Both men to a vertical base now,
Armstrong now with an armwringer and the Stud counters with a handful of
hair, pulling Ricky out of the hold and down to the mat.

BW: That's more like it.

GM: The Stud winds up, elbow drop...but nobody home!  Armstrong rolls
out of the way and now the Stud back to his feet...BIG TIME DROPKICK! 
Did you see the elevation that Ricky Armstrong got right there, Bucky?

BW: No comment.

GM: Armstrong pulls the Stud to his feet, but a thumb to the eye breaks
the hold!  The Sicilian Stud pulling out every dirty trick in the book
to try to stay with this talented youngster.

[The Stud grabs the temporarily-blinded Armstrong and sends him for the
ride, ducking down for a backdrop as Armstrong rebounds, but instead...]

GM: SUNSET FLIP!  Armstrong counters!  One, two, and the Stud escapes
_just_ in time!  Ricky Armstrong pulled that move out of nowhere!  Both
men back to their feet, wild right hand by the Stud is ducked by
Armstrong...rear waistlock and lifts him HIGH into the air...holding him
there and DOWN with an atomic drop!

[The Stud puts both hands on his tailbone, grimacing and jumping, before
turning back toward Ricky and eating a lightning-quick clothesline!  Big
pop!]

GM: Clothesline from Ricky!  And listen to these fans, Bucky Wilde, it
has not taken them long at all to warm up to this exciting youngster!

BW: They like the Lynches, too.  They ain't exactly shown good taste,
Gordo.

GM: Armstrong pulls the Stud to his feet, grapevines the leg, and
there's a side Russian legsweep!  Ricky Armstrong has things well in
control, and wastes no time in pulling the Sicilian Stud back
up...another wild right hand from the Stud misses, and Armstrong applies
a rear waistlock...

[THUD!]

GM: RELEASE WAISTLOCK SUPLEX!  NO BRIDGE, ALL IMPACT!

[Ricky pumps his fists and yells in excitement, prompting the crowd to
pop in response.  Instinctively, perhaps, he points to the top
turnbuckle and then steps through the ropes to ascend where he pointed.]

GM: Armstrong going up top, we're about to see what he's got in store
for the Stud here.  Definitely a high-risk maneuver coming.

BW: You think?

[Reaching the top, Ricky throws both arms into the air, drawing another
pop, before launching himself out toward the middle of the ring.]

GM: FLYING SUPERFLY SPLASH!  He calls that the Hollywood Hangover, and
this should be it for the Stud!  There's the cover... one, two, and
three!

[Big pop!  Ricky quickly hops to his feet and hoists his arms in the air
in celebration of his debut victory.]

PW: Here is your winner...

RICKY ARRRRRRRMSTROOOOOOOOOONG!

GM: So Ricky Armstrong victorious in his debut, and one more time let's
take a look at his signature move, the Hollywood Hangover...

[Camera cuts to a slow-mo instant replay, as Ricky leaps off the top
rope with impressive height, coming down across the prone Sicilian
Stud.]

GM: Look at the elevation he got in that move, Bucky.  This young man is
quite an athlete.

BW: Athleticism only gets you so far, Gordo.  He may be an athlete, but
from my eyes, he lacks a lot of qualities he's gonna need to succeed
here in the AWA.  Plus, he was trained by Todd Michaelson.  No one's
been able to overcome that yet.

[Camera crossfades back to the announce table where Myers is standing
with Armstrong, who pretty clearly cannot contain his excitement.]

GM: And now we welcome in the winner of his debut match here in the AWA,
coming to us from California, Ricky Armstrong.  Ricky, congratulations
on your win in your first match.

RA: Thank you, thank you, Gordon, Gordon!  It is GREAT to be right here
in Dallas, Texas, and in the AMERICAN!  WRESTLING!  ALLIANCE!

[Armstrong claps his hands together with a big grin on his face.  Yes,
he is this excited.]

GM: Your excitement is definitely evident, and from what I understand
about your story, there's been a lot of sweat put in for you to get to
this point.

RA: Oh, lemme tell ya, Gordon, it's been a long and winding road to get
here.  It started in PWR with Todd Michaelson back in Californ-I-A, and
took me on a detour to shoulder problems and rehab for that, then down
through Arizona and New Mexico down to the Combat Corner and
finally...FINALLY...to right here in the good ol' Crockett Coliseum and
a chance for my dream to come to life, right here in front of all these
great fans of the greatest sport in the world today!

["Hey, he said great fans" pop!]

RA: I cannot even begin to describe how excited I am to be here, Gordon.
 Can't describe it.  I mean, l come in, I look around the locker room
and there's Juan Vasquez...there's Alex Martinez...there's Joe Petrow,
Mark Langseth...Stevie Scott...the list goes on and on of the greatest
wrestlers in the whole wide WORLD...and here I am, right in the middle
of 'em all!  My chance to compete against the best of the best and show
'em what ol' Ricky Armstrong's gonna bring to the dinner table, babay! 
I tell ya, I know I just got done wrestling my debut match, but if the
Championship Committee would let me?  I'd jump right back in there right
now and wrestle another!  I'd do it again and again and again and again
until either I couldn't stand up or we ran out of time!  And as fired up
as I am right now, I'm guessing it'd be the latter.

[Ricky claps his hands again and nods, then points to a group of fans
that seem to be catching on to his energy level.]

RA: And before I go, Gordon, lemme say this too.  I want to make sure I
thank my good friend Todd Michaelson for not throwing the towel in on me
when it was the easy thing to do, when everyone else did the same thing.
 Todd always believed in me, from the moment I walked into the M-DOJO to
the day I thought my career was over before it started thanks to a
shoulder injury.  He believed in me from the time I started rehab to the
day he dialed my cell and told me to pack my things and come down to the
Combat Corner, that he'd make sure the AWA had a spot for me...Todd
Michaelson has always had the back of Ricky Armstrong.

So Todd, my brother, you can bet that Ricky Armstrong ain't gonna let
you down!

[With an emphatic nod that goes along with a big cheer from the crowd,
Ricky holds his hand up for a high-five from Gordon...who eventually and
awkwardly complies.  Ricky claps his hands one more time and yells a
"YEAH, BABAY!" before leaving the announce table and heading
off-camera.]

GM:  An impressive debut for Ricky Armstrong live tonight here in Dallas
and I can't wait to see what else this young man has in store for us in
the weeks and months to come, Bucky.

BW:  He started off okay but so did Aaron Anderson and nobody's seen him
in months.  Michaelson's track record leaves something to be desired,
Gordo... and I ain't just talkin' about the Combat Corner.  Did you see
the office didn't even bother to announce who he'd have on The Money Pit
this week? 

GM:  I did notice that, yes.

BW:  It's 'cause they're realizing what I told 'em all along!  He ain't
got nothin', Gordo.  The Money Pit is a cheap, pathetic rip-off of The
Call Of The Wilde, daddy, and now these fans know it just like I do.

GM:  I don't think-

BW:  You're not paid to think.

GM:  I see.  Fans, let's go backstage to Mark Stegglet who has a very
special guest.  Mark?

[Mark Stegglet is standing by with a smirking, bespectacled Louis
Matsui, dressed in a dark blue suit, lavender shirt and red tie. Next to
him, in a black executioner-style mask and black cargo pants, is Matsui
Corporation associate Engel Ubelmacht.]

MS: Louis Matsui, there is still no sign of MAMMOTH Mizusawa this close
to Memorial Day Mayhem and the Memorial Day Rumble. However, we saw, two
weeks ago, this man dominating his competition in a one-on-one match at
the last Saturday Night Wrestling. Are you hoping lightning will strike
twice and Engel Ubelmacht will attain the same kind of success MAMMOTH
did, in perhaps half the time it took your former client?

LM: My, my, my, how soon we've moved on to the latest flavor of the
season... Former client, Stegglet? Former? Know something I don't, Mark?

MS: Well-

LM: No! Of course you don't! How can someone like you know something one
of the smartest man in wrestling doesn't? You don't know nothing,
Steggson. Just because you haven't seen him in a while don't mean he's
gone, Mark. Just because he hasn't been scheduled to appear at Memorial
Day Mayhem don't mean he can't, or won't... 

[Matsui smirks at the implied threat.]

LM:  But I'm not here to talk about MAMMOTH Mizusawa; I'm here to speak
on behalf of his fellow Matsui Corporation talent. Yes, a talent manager
of my calibre wants to see this man achieve as much as, if not more
than, Mizusawa-san. But not because he's MAMMOTH's replacement; not
because he's the hire of the hour. It's simply because the Matsui name
and the backing of the Matsui Corporation are promises of quality,
something that these AWA fans have been deprived of for so long. When
this man steps into the ring here tonight, and again at the Memorial Day
Rumble, I want you and your fellow ill-bred, ill-informed idiots to be
thankful that you're being treated to pure, one hundred percent,
bonafide talent as only Louis Matsui and the Matsui Corporation can
bring you. And now, Stegglet, how about a "Thank you, Mr. Matsui, for
your precious quality time?"

MS: Um... Tha-

LM: Come, Engel!

[Louis Matsui walks off, followed by Engel Ubelmacht, as Tomoyasu
Hotei's 'Battle Without Honor or Humanity' starts to play over the
Crockett Coliseum sound system. Cut to Phil Watson, standing by in the
ring with Ubelmacht's opponent.]

PW: The following match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Already in the ring at this time, hailing from Great White North
and weighing in at 200 pounds... Cold Snap!

[The mysterious competitor from the Mystical White North shows off some
of his dazzling ninja-like moves. Cut back to Matsui at ringside,
whispering something in the ear of Ubelmacht and pointing at his
opponent. With a slight nod, Engel Ubelmacht charges towards the ring,
launching himself over the top rope and hitting the masked martial
artist dressed in white with a springboard cross body. Phil Watson
scrambles out of the ring as the referee signals for the match to
start.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: There you go; Phil Watson didn't even get a chance to introduce
Engel Ubelmacht before he wiped Cold Snap out with that cross body. 
Ubelmacht's back to his feet. He tries to connect with a stomp, but Cold
Snap rolls out of the way. He tries again! And again Cold Snap rolls
away.

BW: It's his mystical ninja technique and heightened senses, Gordo,
allowing him to evade all blows.

[The ninja snow-Canadian finds himself near the ropes as he reaches out
and tries to pull himself up. Engel Ubelmacht measures him up, shrugs
and hits the ropes on the other side of the ring.]

GM: Baseball slide! No! Cold Snap sat up and Ubelmacht missed. He slid
clean out of the ring, Bucky.

BW: Ubelmacht landed on his feet, but Cold Snap's antics seem to have
thrown him off. He must be fuming under that mask.

[Speaking of antics, Cold Snap kips up and taps his index finger against
the side of his head. He then bows towards the crowd as they seem to be
showing their appreciation for his efforts thus far. He turns his
attention back to Engel Ubelmacht, taunting him as he approaches the
ropes and motioning for Ubelmacht to get back into the ring. In one
swift move, Ubelmacht hops onto the ring apron, grabs Cold Snap's head
and drops back off the apron.]

GM: Just like that, Cold Snap's hung out to dry throat-first across the
top rope.

[Ubelmacht slides into the ring and, as Cold Snap turns around, thrusts
his fingers into Cold Snap's throat. He follows it up with a forearm
uppercut, snapping his white-garbed opponent's head back.]

GM: Ubelmacht with the three-quarter face lock. We might be looking at
the back flip bulldog here...

BW: Teufelskreis.

GM: Thank you. What?

[It doesn't matter, because Cold Snap manages to shove Engel Ubelmacht
into the corner. Cold Snap comes charging in, but Ubelmacht catches him
in a head scissors.]

GM: Flying head scissors brings Cold Snap back down! Ubelmacht scrambles
back to his feet, but Cold Snap is not far behind him!  Ubelmacht heads
to the top...

BW: BEAUTIFUL MOONSAULT BODY PRESS!

GM: Into the cover! ONE! TWO!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: THREE!

PW: And the winner of this match... ENGEL UBELMACHT!!!

[Once again, the masked German finds his arm raised in victory. The
masked martial artist from the Great White North, on the other hand,
once again rolls to the side of the ring and finds himself needing the
aid of the ropes to get up. Louis Matsui joins Engel Ubelmacht in the
ring, patting his charge on the back approvingly.]

GM: Engel Ubelmacht with another quick victory, this time courtesy of
that backflip cross body-like move off the top rope, but I'm not sure if
such high-flying maneuvers will be to his advantage in the Rumble. Hang
on, what's this?

[Ubelmacht pushes Matsui aside slightly and approaches Cold Snap. He
stops Cold Snap before he can step through the ropes and motions for the
latter to join him in the center of the squared circle. Ubelmacht stands
with his body straight and rigid, then bends at the waist until his back
is almost parallel to the ground.]

BW: I guess the German competitor respects and appreciates Cold Snap's
ninja traditions. Snowperson or not, his mystical martial arts code
means Cold Snap has to return this show of respect from his victorious
opponent.

[Cold Snap seems almost reluctant to return the bow, but does so
eventually. When he straightens back up, however, Ubelmacht strikes,
wrapping his arm around Cold Snap's neck and dragging him down, driving
the back of his masked head into the mat.]

BW: Depravity's Descent! Haha! I love it!

GM: That was uncalled for. The match was well over at that point!

BW: Yes, but Cold Snap was still standing and the One-Man Luftwaffe was
having none of that. That move's not going to throw anybody over the top
rope to the floor, but it sure is going to help soften them up at the
Rumble. We'll see if that leaves him the last man standing just over a
week from now.

[Engel Ubelmacht stands over his fallen opponent and raises his right
arm in the air, while Louis Matsui looks on with a big smile. Cut to a
very long shot of the exterior of a pretty dingy looking building.]

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to live action where we
join the announce team back down at ringside.]

GM: Welcome back to AWA Saturday Night Wrestling where we are literally
counting down the days until Memorial Day Mayhem.  Fans, one man who was
conspicuous by his absence two weeks ago was the man known by many as
the Collector of Oddities, Percy Childes.  After the program, we learned
that he had permission from AWA officials to miss the show, but exactly
where he was or what he was doing was unknown.  However, he has
scheduled some time for a major announcement this week, Bucky.

BW: It's gotta be big, Gordo.  He made Dane set up in the ring instead
of the interview platform!  I asked Percy if he could hold off for
Memorial Day, and I'd help him break the news in grand style with the
Call Of The Wilde.  But he said it had to be done tonight.  At least
he's not usin' that lowbrow Money Pit.

GM: Let's go up to the ring and find out what the big announcement is.

[Jason Dane stands in the center of the ring, and stepping in now is the
bald-headed, round-bodied Percy Childes himself. He is using his
crystal-tipped cane to walk, as he's limping a bit today... as if he'd
done some hard work recently.  As always, the Longhorn Heritage
Championship (technically owned by Nenshou) is wrapped firmly around his
shoulder, as if he himself were the champion.]

JD: Alright, fans, joining me at this time is Percy Childes.  Mr.
Childes, I understand you have a major announcement.  Will your man
Nenshou be accepting the challenge of Sweet Daddy Williams at Memorial
Day Mayhem?

PC: He will, and we are quite aware of the true Machiavellian tendencies
of Mr. Williams.  Juan Vasquez would do well to watch his back tonight,
as it would be perfectly in Sweet Daddy's character and modus operandi
to "accidentally" fall on the side of his knee to injure him, then pull
a City Jack and beg for another title match.  But that is not what I
came here to discuss, Dane.  That's not the major announcement.  Last
week, I-

[The ring ropes suddenly shake, and the camera pans to the side to see
the stocky form of Anton Layton stepping through the ropes.  Layton is
absent his usual garb, wearing only his red wrestling trunks and boots. 
"The Prince Of Darkness" is moving very, very quickly... as if in a
hurry to get to Childes. When he gets there, he stands right in Percy's
face!]

AL:  YOU!

[Percy looks a bit shocked by Layton's angry tone.]

AL:  You dare to come out here and explain to these followers where you
were two weeks ago while you have yet to explain yourself to ME!

[The crowd buzzes, suddenly interested in this showdown.]

AL:  It is _I_ that you owe an explanation, Childes... no, no, no... an
APOLOGY!  You may have received permission from the corrupt front office
to miss the last show... but you did not receive permission from my
Master...

[Layton draws closer, his breath fogging up Percy's face now.]

AL:  Nor did you receive permission from me.

[The crowd "oooohs" at the statement from a deadly serious Layton. 
Despite the presence of a psychotic and dangerous individual standing
about .5 inches in front of him with a glare that would make an attack
dog think twice, Childes' only reaction is annoyance.]

PC:  Anton.  Now is not the time, and this is definitely not the place
for this.

AL:  YOU DO NOT DICTATE TO ME, CHILDES!  

[Layton's rage is frightening... but slightly less so than when he gets
very quiet and serious, glaring a hole through Percy Childes.]

AL:  You pathetic little worm, I will stomp you out until you cease to
exist in your present form if you continue to test me.

[Now Percy's glare starts to form.  He's not merely not backing down
from Layton... he's starting to mirror his demeanor.]

PC: Anton, I understand that you could do serious damage to me, if you
so chose.  

...and if Nenshou didn't strike from the blind side before you could do
more than fire an opening salvo.  And if James Monosso wouldn't be
quickly behind to finish the job in his usual manner: completely.  If
you believe that you, or anyone else, are going to intimidate me, then
not only are you sadly mistaken... but perhaps you had better
re-evaluate exactly who should be intimidated here.

[The words are delivered matter-of-factly, and with an unmistakable
tinge of menace.  Delivery straight out of the Hamilton Graham School Of
Interview.  The crowd 'oooooohs' at the sudden hints of weakness in the
Unholy Alliance's cohesion. Layton's reaction is a cock of the head,
like he's trying to assess if Childes really just said that...

...and suddenly, he throws his head back.]

AL:  EHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!  EHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEHE!

[Layton's laugh cuts off abruptly as he grabs two hands full of Childes'
shirt.]

AL:  You dare to threaten me with your footsoldiers?  Nenshou is a
dangerous man, I grant you that... but his powers compared to mine?

And Monosso?  Monosso is but a child resting at his daddy's knee,
waiting for an order to go grab a beer from the kitchen or to take out
the trash.

You have your footsoliders, Childes... I have my Master.  I wonder which
is stronger.

[Layton smirks at an annoyed Childes.]

AL:  Do you dare to try to find out?

[Childes shakes his head, not refusing the challenge but rather out of
what seems like irritation.]

PC:  Instead of uselessly threatening one another and carrying on like
adolescents, let's get to business.

[Percy turns back to Jason Dane as Layton pauses, having released his
grip on Percy's shirt... for now.]

PC: Where I was two weeks ago?  That is the announcement!  You see, I
was on a mission.  A hunting trip.  I have gone all over the world as a
Collector Of Oddities, Jason Dane, and I traveled to some of the most
remote, uncivilized places in the world.  I travelled to deepest,
darkest Africa in pursuit of the weapon I desired.  Places where the the
Western man is seen as just another potential meal.  But I braved those
dangers, and the trail led from there to the Himalayas.  Finally, I
tracked my man down in Burma, studying to increase his proficiency in
the martial arts.  And through a week of negotiation, I arrived at the
right price.  And now...

[Percy's smile grows wide.]

PC: ...Ebola Zaire is back.  And this time... it's not a mere one-night
performance.  This time, he works for me.

[The crowd reacts to the shocking news.  Dane's eyes go wide.]

JD: Ebola Zaire?  The African Madman?  The man who... he's left hundreds
of people in pools of blood over the years.

PC: Oh, yes.

JD: He's one of the most vicious men in the history of the sport.

PC: You could have stopped at the word "history".  Yes, yes.

JD: And... he's with you?

PC: He is not merely 'with' me, Dane.  I WIELD him.  He is a living
weapon, and I will set him against anyone foolish enough to stand
against me, and the Unholy Alliance.

[This seems to set off Layton again.]

AL:  How... dare... you?

PC: ...what?

AL:  YOU DARE TO MAKE A DECISION LIKE THIS WITHOUT MY BLESSING?!

[Percy's next glare towards Anton is a bit more incredulous than normal;
he can't figure out why Layton is still angry.]

AL:  A decision like this can ONLY be made by The Master!  He, and he
alone, guides the collective force known as the Unholy Alliance.  Your
mortal mind may be strong, Childes... but it is altogether insignificant
next to the power of my Master.

[Childes shakes his head in protest.]

PC: Anton.  Your Master makes YOUR decisions.  Not mine.  We're an
alliance, Anton, not a singularity.  An alliance is a merging of
interests between multiple parties, not a merging of par...*grk*

[And Anton Layton has heard enough!  He reaches out with his left hand
and wraps it around Percy's neck... choking him! The fans are going
nuts, cheering Layton to destroy Childes!]

AL:  DO NOT ASSUME TO QUOTE THE DICTIONARY TO ME, CHILDES!

PC: *choking* ...you have something against the dictionary?

AL: I HAVE SOMETHING AGAINST DISLOYALTY!  PATHETIC, WEAK TRAITORS WHO-

PC: *choking* ...so does he.

[Percy points behind Layton.  Anton hesitates for a moment, unsure on
whether to turn around.  But the shadow looming over him convinces him
that this is not a trick, and he spins to come face-to-chin with the
massive Ebola Zaire!  Zaire is a mountain of a man, rapidly approaching
(if not exceeding) four hundred pounds of disgusting blubber.  His
breasts would overfill many of the bras in the building.  His
badly-scarred forehead is the thing of small children's nightmares...

...oh, and he's glaring right into the eyes of Anton Layton.]

PC: *choking* ...let go, Anton... now.

[Layton isn't listening.  He is gazing into the maddened eyes of
Zaire... who is unsheathing a weapon.  A short wooden staff, with
several metal studs imbedded into it... it looks like it combines the
swiftness and flexibility of a Singapore cane with the impact of a solid
club.  That's not what Anton is looking at; in fact, he shows no
interest that Zaire is brandishing a weapon. His interest is in the eyes
of his assailant.  His voice drops to a mumble.]

AL:  This... this is not a man fueled by your money, Childes.

[His head tilts again, observing the bloodthirsty savage.]

AL:  This is a man...

[Layton shakes his head.]

AL:  An animal... a savage... he is fueled by rage!  By hatred!  By
brutality!  I can see the violence in him!  I can...

[He smells the air.]

AL:  I can smell the blood from his last victim still on his teeth... 

[Layton releases Childes.  This doesn't slow Zaire's advance.  Percy
raises the crystal ball up in front of Layton... that rounded cane-tip
we have seen him use as a sign before.  Now Ebola hesitates...

...and Layton nods slowly.]

AL:  He can summon it... and wield it... he brings forth the hatred when
it is needed and shuffles it aside when it is not...

[Layton strokes his chin, taking in the frightening sight of Zaire.]

AL:  Childes, I approve of this beast you have brought to serve my
Master.  He will forgive your trespasses and grant this monster's stance
within our army of darkness.  I will give your decision a chance.

[Something about this strikes Percy as funny.  He chuckles darkly.]

PC: Well, let me think...

...hmmmm...

...I suppose that I will give your decision a chance as well.  We have
had too good of a rapport to throw things away needlessly.  And
tonight... we have an opportunity to spread our dominance across the
entire AWA.

[The timely change of topic draws a nasty smile from Layton.]

AL:  An opportunity... a chance to rain down hellfire on the gathered
masses before us later tonight.  They face an army of evil... an army
that can not be stopped by mere mortals...

And instead, they put forth a group of... 

[Layton spits.]

AL:  Heroes.  Men like Vasquez, Jack, Williams, and Supernova know not
what they get themselves into.  Juan Vasquez has led them to the gates
of Hell and is knocking on our door.

We will bring forth a rapture of our own!  We will make this building
collapse in an earthquake of terror and horror at what we have done to
the men whose action figures you cling to and whose lunchboxes you
carry!  We will make the streets named for legends run red with the
life's blood of those who dare oppose us!  

We will bring them forth to our Master... and HE will cast his judgment
upon them.

It will be a glorious day, Percy... a day not to be forgotten... a day
to be remembered, honored, and cherished forever!  It is a day that
stories will be written about!  

[Layton grins at the thought, throwing his arms up into the air.]

AL:  The Book Of Shadows... and the first chapter ends with the
destruction of Juan Vasquez and his merry men right here tonight.

PC: Indeed.  And now, with the fury of Ebola Zaire added to our already
insurmountable advantage; we will be unstoppable.

[Childes steps out onto the apron, followed by Zaire as a nodding Layton
brings up the rear, mumbling to himself all the while.]

GM:  Goodness.  I can't believe what we just saw in there.

BW:  What?

GM:  We almost saw the Unholy Alliance splinter before our very eyes,
Bucky!

BW:  What?!  No way!  They're on the same page.  You heard 'em.  The
Book Of Shadows has its first chapter wrapped up here tonight when Juan
Vasquez runs down the street in a red... something... I didn't really
get all of that but it didn't sound good for those do-gooder punks
trying to stand up to the Alliance later tonight.

GM:  Well, they appear to be back together for now but-

BW:  Ain't no 'buts' about it, Gordo.  Did you see what just happened
here?

GM:  Did you?

BW:  I certainly did!  I saw Percy Childes bring Ebola Zaire out of the
shadows of deepest, darkest Africa and into the light of the Crockett
Coliseum PERMANENTLY!  Zaire just joined the Unholy Alliance!  Monosso,
Nenshou, Layton, Polemos, and now Ebola Zaire?!

GM:  It is certainly one of the most fearsome groups I've ever seen
assembled.

BW:  We're going to need to set up a blood bank backstage at Memorial
Day Mayhem with all the crimson those five are gonna spill.  Man, is it
too late to get Zaire in the Rumble?!

GM:  I believe it is.  But we're going to find out later tonight in the
Control Center when the final five entries are announced to the world! 
But fans, right now, let's go back up to the ring for more action!

[Crossfade to the ring.]

PW: This contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing first, in the
ring, to my left, from Cambridge, Massachusetts, weighing at 257
pounds... Matt Ginn!

[A tall, lanky wrestler with reddish-brown hair, mustache and a goatee
raises his arms above his head, sneering at the fans.

And then Metallica's "Seek and Destroy" kicks in over the PA, drawing a
loud crowd pop!]

BW: What the... isn't this guy set to go in the Main Event?

GM: He is, but he's taking on another match, it appears.

[Indeed, the face-painted wrestler emerges from the entranceway.]

PW: His opponent hails from Venice Beach, California, and weighs 260...
ladies and gentlemen...

THIS..

IS...

SUPERNOVA!

[Supernova is dressed in black tights with yellow flames running up the
sides and black wrestling boots, each with a small, fiery sun on the
sides. He is also wearing a white vest with a big, fiery yellow sun on
the back and the word "Supernova" beneath it in yellow lettering. And
most notable is his face paint, black and yellow, resembling a flame.]
 
GM: Supernova not only pulling double duty tonight, he'll be doing the
same things in two weeks time at Memorial Day Mayhem!
 
BW: Yeah, but so will Sultan Azam Sharif... and I'll tell you this,
Gordo, Sharif is without a doubt the better conditioned athlete, not to
mention he'll be the one who enters the Rumble at number 30... who knows
at what point Supernova will enter that match, but he'll certainly be
taken to the limit in two weeks time!
 
GM: I take nothing away from Sharif's conditioning but Supernova is in
peak condition... I have no doubts he'll be ready for the 10-man tag
match tonight, and he's certainly ready for this match against Matt
Ginn!

[Upon reaching the ring, Supernova stops on the apron, cupping his hands
to howl to the crowd, before ducking between the ropes and removing his
vest.]
 
GH: The bell has rung, this one is underway... Supernova and Ginn
circling each other.
 
BW: Both men evenly sized... I don't think you're gonna see either guy
overpower the other.
 
GH: They lock up... and indeed, Bucky, neither man is able to get an
advantage.
 
[After a few moments, Supernova and Ginn push away from each other, Ginn
jawing at the face-painted wrestler.]
 
BW: And there you see Ginn letting Supernova know that he's not gonna
push him around.
 
GM: Ginn hasn't been able to do that either so far, Bucky... and now
both men moving in... but it's Ginn with a kick to the midsection!
 
BW: Now that's what you call a smart move... you can't overpower him, so
you better outsmart him.
 
GM: Supernova doubled over as now Ginn fires an uppercut... another
one... but look at this.
 
[Supernova is now backed into the corner but just staring back at Ginn.]
 
GM: Matt Ginn firing off another uppercut... it still hasn't fazed
Supernova!
 
BW: Better find another way to outsmart him, Ginn... and that's not too
difficult to do, either!
 
GM: Ginn tries a right hand.. but it's blocked! Supernova with a right
of his own... another one... a third... Matt Ginn is reeling!
 
[Supernova then runs into the ropes, catching Ginn with a hard
clothesline.]
 
GM: And that clothesline takes Ginn down!
 
BW: He better get out of the ring and regroup.
 
GM: Supernova staying on the attack, though... sending him into the
ropes... up on the shoulers goes Ginn...
 
[Supernova then runs forward and flips over, driving Ginn into the
canvas with a Samoan drop.]
 
GM: And what a Samoan drop by Supernova!
 
BW: Hey, I'll admit it... that was impressive to take a man of Ginn's
size and do that.
 
[Supernova rises to his feet, cupping his hands to his mouth and
howling.]
 
BW: But he better stay on the attack and not mess around!
 
GM: Supernova dragging Ginn up... has him set up... vertical suplex
takes Ginn down to the mat again!
 
[Supernova rises to his feet, playing up to the crowd briefly before
running off the ropes.]
 
GM: Supernova up for the splash... no, Ginn puts his knees up!
 
BW: What did I tell you, Gordo... spend too much time kissing up to the
fans and you'll pay for it!
 
GM: Ginn to his feet... now stomping away on Supernova. Kicks to the
back... Ginn trying to keep Supernova down.
 
BW: And doing a fine job of it, I might add.
 
GM: He brings Supernova to his feet... knee to the midsection... now
into the ropes...
 
[Ginn goes for a back body drop, but Supernova sees it coming, stops and
grabs Ginn in a front facelock.]
 
GM: Supernova caught him! Ginn put his head down.. and Supernova drives
him into the mat with a DDT!
 
BW: Whoa... he dropped him right on his face!
 
GM: But Supernova not going for the cover... he's pulling him off the
mat...
 
[Supernova motions to the crowd again as he backs the dazed Ginn into
the corner.]
 
GM: He has him in the corner... Irish whip to the far side...
 
BW: You know what's coming next, Gordo!
 
[And Supernova then comes charging out of the corner, flying through the
air and crashing into Ginn!]
 
GM: Heat Wave! Down goes Ginn!
 
BW: And we all know what Supernova likes to follow that up with!
 
GM: Indeed, Bucky, as Supernova has Ginn by the legs... tying him up and
turning him over... into the Solar Flare!
 
[Supernova has turned Ginn over into his patented Texas cloverleaf as
referee Marty Meekly checks for the submission.]
 
GM: Ginn trapped in the center of the ring, there's nowhere for him to
go... and there's the signal from the referee!
 
BW: He couldn't hold on! I don't like Supernova, but that Solar Flare is
a painful hold!
 
[The bell rings as Supernova releases the hold, then allows the referee
to raise his arm in victory.]
 
PW: Here is your winner... SUPERNOVA!
 
[The face-painted wrestler cups his hands and howls to the crowd once
more, before exiting the ring.]
 
GM: An impressive victory for Supernova who will return to the ring
later tonight for the 10-man tag team matchup!
 
BW: Well, he's gonna find things much harder dealing with the likes of
Sharif, James Monosso and Mark Langseth!
 
GM: I'm sure that young man is pumped and ready for that match... let's
go up to Jason Dane, who will look to get a few words with Supernova!
 
[We then cut to Jason Dane at the interview platform.]
 
JD: All right, fans, I'm hoping to get a few words from Supernova here
and...
 
[And that's when Supernova arrives at the platform, giving Jason Dane a
friendly slap across the back.]
 
S: Whaddya think, Jason? Huh? You think I'm ready to go for later
tonight?
 
JD: Well, Supernova, it's interesting you would take another match prior
to tonight's main event... did you feel you needed a little tune up
before that big 10-man tag match?
 
S: You might think of it as a tuneup, Jason... the way I look at,
though... when I challenged Sultan Azam Sharif to that match at Memorial
Day Mayhem, I said to myself...
 
[A quick laugh.]
 
S: ...that Adrian Bathwaite would be complaining to anybody within
earshot about his man having to pull double duty. So that's when I
decided to enter my name into the Memorial Day Rumble and then there
would be no excuses from Bathwaite! And then, just to show him that I
got no problem pulling double duty, when I learned that I'd be in the
10-man tag team matchup, I decided to keep the match I had already
signed for tonight's show. And hey... the way I'm feeling right now, I
could wrestle even more matches tonight!
 
[Another laugh.]
 
S: Because, Jason, I am feeling great, so full of energy, and so pumped
not only for Memorial Day Mayhem, but for what is set to happen tonight!
 
JD: Well, it's going to be you joining up with Juan Vasquez, among
others, and you heard what he said last time about all the factions, all
the gangs that have been causing trouble in AWA... I take it you feel
the same as he does about what's been happening as of late.
 
S: You didn't have to read my mind to know that's exactly how I feel,
Jason! James Monosso is running around like the biggest bully on the
block, thinking he just can do whatever he wants and get away with it...
I still have some unfinished business with Nenshou and I've seen enough
of that mist of his and how many people he's hurt... Mark Langseth
thinks everybody needs to bow before him and is having his lackeys do
all the dirty work for him, just as the Russians are making Koyla
Sudakov do theirs... Anton Layton likes to talk the talk but then hide
behind that Polemos the instant someone stands up to him... and you know
by now how I feel about the Sultan! So I thought Juan was absolutely
right to take that stand, and I'm honored not only that the great AWA
fans want me to be in the ring as one of his partners... I am honored to
stand by men like City Jack, Sweet Daddy Williams and Juan Vasquez to
get the job done!
 
And for the five of you standing opposite the ring, I got one question
for you...
 
[He then flexes his arms.]
 
S: WHO'S READY TO FEEL THE HEAT?!
 
[He then cups his hands and howls once more to the cheering crowd,
before departing.]
 
JD: Well, fans, there's a man who is definitely ready to go for
tonight's 10-man tag... but the question to be answered and one I didn't
get to ask Supernova... what about Stevie Scott's role in the match? If
you noticed, Supernova didn't mention Stevie by name when talking about
how honored he was to team with his partners... we'll find out where
things stand with that!  But that's not the only big match going down
here tonight in Dallas, Texas, on our last night here in the Crockett
Coliseum before we hit the road for the summer, fans - we've got what
has to be considered a dream match as Alex Martinez takes on Joe Petrow!
 If Martinez wins, he gets Mark Langseth - the man he's told the entire
world is the Dragon - in the ring.  But if he loses, he'll have to kneel
on the mat and kiss the feet of Mark Langseth before the entire world! 
The stakes are real high for that one so let's go backstage where my
good friend, Mark Stegglet, is standing by with the former World
Champion.  Marky?

[Cut to the Crockett Coliseum's locker room, currently in a state of
complete disarray.  Lockers have been pulled open, their contents strewn
about, while other lockers have fist shaped dents that mean they'll
never open again.  Standing in the middle of all this chaos, stomping
and howling in anger is one Alex Martinez.  The seven foot monster wears
his usual gear, with one notable exception.  His custom made black
leather jacket is gone, and he wears only a black t-shirt, white
bandages on his shoulder visible under its sleeves.  The absence of his
jacket is likely the reason for Martinez' rampage.   Mark Stegglet
enters the frame, and moves towards Martinez, his steps tentative.]

MS:  Mr. Martinez...

[Having not seen him previously, Martinez whips around, glaring down at
Stegglet.]

AM:  WHAT?

MS: I... uh... well, I am scheduled to interview you.  Later on tonight,
you're scheduled to face Joe Petrow..

AM: And do I look like I'm ready?

MS:  Well, no.  You're not wearing your jacket.  

AM:  Wanna guess why?

MS:  Someone took it?

AM:  Got it in one, I'm impressed.  So yeah, I've been lookin' for it. 
I guess I shouldn't be surprised.  It ain't the first time my jacket's
been stolen.  And hell, last time it went missin', guess who was behind
it?

MS:  Mark Langseth?

AM: You're on a roll today, kid.  Yep, Marky stole it, and put it on his
flunky, Mr. Honeydew.  I guess now that he's got a new yes-man, its time
to revisit the old hits.

MS:  If we could talk, for a minute, about your upcoming match?

[Martinez glares at Stegglet again, but then exhales, nodding his head.]

AM:  Yeah, I guess we oughta.  

MS:  There are high stakes tonight.  If you defeat Joe Petrow, then
you'll get the match you desire, against the man who is arguably your
greatest rival in Mark Langseth.  But if you lose, then you'll be forced
to kiss the feet of Mark Langseth. A man who is inarguably someone you
hate.

AM: Its always high stakes for me, Stegglet. Every match.  Whether its
against Joe Petrow, or James Monosso, or the Cuban Assassin.  Its always
high stakes.  Everything is always on the line, every time I put my leg
over the rope and go into the middle of the ring?

Ya know why?

[Stegglet shakes his head]

AM: Every man is defined by simple concepts.  No matter how complicated
the man, for all of 'em, it all comes down to very simple things.  For
Mark Langseth, what drives him is jealousy.  He can't stand that, no
matter what he achieves, someone will always say "yeah, but Alex
Martinez is better."  No matter how far he goes, he'll always be the guy
who got beat by me at Showtime.

For Joe Petrow, that concept is respect.  Joe, every moment of your life
is about gettin' the respect that ya think ya deserve, but ya ain't
never actually earned.  So all that ya do is about that respect.  All
the spectacle ya create around yourself, it ain't nothin' but a cry for
respect.

For me?  Some might say violence.  Some might say, I dunno, winnin'. 
But both of those things come from a very simple source.  The thing that
drives me?

Pride.

[Martinez yanks off his mirrored sunglasses, staring into the camera.]

AM:  I'm a proud man.  Proud of what I've accomplished, proud of who I
am.  Proud to be called a legend.  Proud of my career, and all the
titles I've won. And I'll be the first one to say, that sometimes, that
pride clouds things. Sometimes it makes me do stupid things.  But its
that pride that's pushed me to where I am today.  If I wasn't a proud
man, I woulda rolled over for guys like Monosso a long time ago.   Pride
has gotten me here.  And I'm too proud to ever want to lose.

Ya can imagine what it'd do to my pride if I had to bow down and kiss
Marky Langseth's feet.  So ya can imagine just how motivated I am to
beat the ever lovin' hell outta Joe Petrow...

[Before Martinez can continue, a familiar presence makes himself known.
The mysterious, masked Minion.]  

Minion: History repeats its endless cycle upon you again, Mighty
Martinez.  Ineffable, isnt it, the loom of our fates...

AM:  the hell you talkin about? 

Minion: Well, you find your most prized treasure taken from you and,
years later, its taken again.  Odd that such a thing should occur.

AM:  Yeah, [sarcastically] odd.  

[Martinez approaches the Minion, looking down into the elaborately
costumed servant of the Dragon.]

AM:  Odd how, when I first met him, Marky Langseth was surrounded by an
entire entourage of idiots in stupid costumes.  And how, all these years
later, hes still got some masked goof deliverin his messages. 

All youre doin is confirmin what I already knew.  Langseth is the
Dragon, and this aint nothin but him playin his old games. 

Why dont ya just admit it, right now.  Tell the world that Langseth is
the Dragon.  

[The Minion shakes his head before responding.]

Minion: Still you rail on about the identity of my master when you
should count yourself lucky to so much as have a name to call him. 
Perhaps you should simply depart, Alex.  Cut your losses, admit your
defeat, and perhaps you can yet be spared your fate as the first of the
Dragons victims.

AM:  Depart?  Lemme ask ya somethin.  The Dragon, hes told ya about
me, right? 

Minion: I know every detail of your life, Mighty Martinez.

AM:  And your master, he says he knows me real well, right? 

Minion: For many years, yes.

[With the voice modulator deepening and roughing up his voice, its hard
to tell, but listen closely and you might hear a smirk behind the
Minions gas mask.]

AM:  Well, did anything he ever tell ya about me, or does anything he
knows about me suggest that Id ever depart? This man who knows me so
well, did he ever even give ya the slightest hint that Id ever swallow
my pride and turn tail?

Minion: It was only fair to offer you a chance to be reasonable.  And 
easier, as you are, of course, a potential challenge to his dominion in
this, his realm.

[Martinez smirks.]

AM:  And what? Ya think Im gonna make life easier for Mar... uh, the
Dragon? 

[Another smirk.].  

AM: But, Minion, since youre so good at deliverin messages, I got one
of my own I want ya to deliver.  I want ya to go find your master, and
give him a message for me.  

Minion:  Is it a punch?

[Martinez shakes his head.]

AM: Not this time.  I want ya to track him down and tell him to watch. 
Tell him to watch closely what I do his other flunky, Joe Petrow.  Let
him see that Alex Martinez never surrenders, and never backs down.  

Im here in the AWA with goals of my own.  And this?  This aint nothin
but a roadblock.  Ive already knocked down Monosso, and Petrows next. 


Tell him that no matter what it takes, Ill get through this.  Tell him
to send a dozen men, or a hundred, and Ill plow through em all.  And
tell him, in the end, Ill come for him, and then, all of his plans will
come to nothin. 

Also? 

[Martinez draws his fist back and decks the Minion, knocking the
costumed man flat on his backside.]

AM:  Tell him I changed my mind about not hittin ya. 

[With a contemptuous glare, Martinez steps over the fallen Minion, and
exits the locker room, leaving Mark Stegglet behind.]

MS:  Fans, you do NOT want to miss that one because it's gonna be
something else!  Don't go away 'cause we'll right back with more
Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Fade to black.

We cut to the living room of a house, where two kids are playing with
plastic army men.  The little green army guys are spread out in attack
formations, with all kinds of objects being used as cover/sniping
positions/barricades/etc, but the kids don't seem real enthused.]

Kid #1: This is boring.  

Kid #2: I wish we had toys that could _really_ fight.

[Suddenly, a body is flung through the large front window with a loud
crash.  A hard-rock background track plays as the body gets to his
feet... wait, is that Calisto Dufrense?]

Kids: *gasp*

[And... is that Juan Vasquez running through the broken window to attack
him again?!]

Kids: Juan Vasquez!

[And... did James Monosso just kick down the front door to attack Alex
Martinez from behind while he was grappling with MAMMOTH Misuzawa in the
dining room for no apparent reason?!  And is that Nenshou leaping down
the staircase at Stevie Scott?  And why are Rough & Ready beating up the
mailman?  Oh, there's Violence Unlimited turning them around and
brawling with them on the lawn!]

Kids: WOAH!

[Yes, these two kids are about to have a very badly-acted simultaneous
cardiac arrest and orgasm.  It happens.  Especially when Supernova is
jumping off your kitchen cabinet to hit Sultan Azam Sharif with a flying
clothesline, Eric Preston is hiptossing Johnny Casanova across your
family room, and the Aces and First Family are brawling across your
driveway.  Joe Petrow takes a dish from the china cabinet and breaks it
across the back of Sweet Daddy Williams as he had Mark Langseth in a
headlock, Percy Childes and Count Adrian Bathwaite are in a shouting
match, Kolya Sudakov tries to Sickle Robert Donovan, who ducks... poor
Kolya hits the boys' father who was coming in to check out the noise. 
Then Anton Layton wanders by and double-stomps the poor guy.  Because he
can.]

AL: Ehehehehehehehe!

Kids: THIS IS AWESOME!

[And cue the sales pitch!] 

Announcer: And now you can bring the awesome home with new AWA action
figures from Hasbro!

[We cut to the product line, where action figures of all of our favorite
AWA characters stand in dramatic action figure poses~!]

Announcer: Relive the greatest matches!

[Stevie Scott Irish-Whips Juan Vasquez into the family entertainment
center!  Then we see the kids playing with the Scott and Vasquez action
figures.]

Announcer: Create new dream matches never before seen!

[Nenshou tries to blow mist at Calisto Dufrense, but he pulls the
kitchen door open to block!  Then we see the kids playing with the
Nenshou and Dufrense action figures.]

Announcer: Form brand new alliances and teams that you'd never see live!

[Danny Morton and Eric Cooper double-clothesline Vladimir Velikov in the
kitchen... then both grab for the paper towels to wipe off their hands
with disgusted 'yuck' expressions.  Then we see the kids playing with
these three action figures.]

Announcer: Perform the great signature moves of the AWA wrestlers, or
invent totally new ones!

[The magic of blue-screen editing makes it look like Alex Martinez is
doing a double-somersault chokeslam to Johnny Casanova.  Well, his body
is doing flips in the air as if someone were just spinning the footage
around (because that's exactly what it is.  Then we see the kids do the
same 'move' with the action figures.]

Announcer: The base set comes with the Crockett Colisseum ring and four
of the top stars in the AWA!

[Cut to a posed shot of Sweet Daddy, Velikov, Preston, and MAMMOTH. 
See, you have to buy the ring, and you get some
reasonably-popular-but-not-first-choice guys (plus one who is, but he's
off TV right now so this keeps him in exposure!) and then you HAVE to
spend money to get the popular guys!  Clever!]

Announcer: AWA Action Figures... get them today!  Because it's the only
way to get this close to the action... AND SURVIVE.

[With that, we cut to the post-fight devastation of the house... it
looks like a tornado went through here.  And exploded.]

Announcer: Ages 8 and up!

[And cut.

Fade in from black to focus upon the dimly lit, shaved bald skull of a
man, which is lowered towards the floor. As the lighting slowly
increases a a spider web tattoo, which covers his entire skull, is
revealed. Only the sounds of his deep, slow breathing can be heard.]

Voice: AWA . . . 

[The head slowly raises and the intimidating bearded face of Bruno
Bradley stares directly into the camera.]

Bradley: The time is rapidly approaching . . . 

[Bradley pauses and breathes heavily for a few moments.]

Bradley: The six foot three, three hundred and forty pound beast is
coming for you...

[Slowly the camera begins to pull back revealing the full form of Bruno
Bradley. He's a beast of a man attired in black jeans, black boots and a
red sleeveless shirt. Six tattoos of crosses cover his left arm and his
right arm is covered in a flame from the wrist to the elbow, that
transitions into a spider web.]

Bradley: I'm big... I'm bad... 

[Bradley begins to laugh once again showing off his two missing front
teeth.]

Bradley: And soon your worse frigging nightmare will be a reality.

[The image of Bruno Bradley fades to be replaced by the words Coming
Soon. After a few moments all fades to black.

And then as we fade back up to live action, we find Jason Dane standing
on his interview platform alongside former World Champion and
Professional Wrestling Hall of Famer Mark Langseth.]

JD:  We are back LIVE in the Crockett Coliseum for the final time until
September and, fans, later tonight, Mark Langseth, you step in the ring
to compete for first time since SuperClash II in November and-

[Dane pauses, looking on at a distraught and obviously ill prepared Mark
Langseth, dressed in a full suit.]

JD: You don't seem pleased about the fans voting you in?

ML: Don't you get it, Dane? I'm an ATTRACTION! I'm different - I'm
BETTER than everyone else in this match! I'm better than being in
some... some... Some meaningless match just to entertain these local
yokels. 

JD: Meaningless? I have to disagree there - this is a match that could
turn the tide of the balance of power in the AWA! This is a match
between three of most destructive factions here against the men who have
taken a stand against gang tactics! This could easily be one of the most
pivotal matches in the history of the AWA and -

ML: Dane, when Rough N' Ready steps in the ring, THAT is an event. When
Joe takes the ring later tonight against thickheaded NOTHING Alex
Martinez, THAT is a match to remember. And Dane? When I -

[Langseth pauses, a bothered look growing on his face.]

ML: When I enter the ring? It's automatically important! It's
automatically one of THE most important events in the AWA! And when I
enter the ring? It's supposed to be... about ME! ALL about ME! This?
This "match"? What is this?

JD: One of the most talent-filled matches the AWA has seen to date!

[The former World Champion looks on at Dane, shaking his head.]

ML: This is the reason that I only wanted Bucky to interview me... Look,
I don't care what so-called talents are in this match. I don't care how
many current or ex-champions stand on the apron as the bell rings to
start the match. Fact is, Dane?

[Langseth pauses.]

ML: Fact is, if they're not Royalty, they aren't at MY level and
certainly aren't worth MY time. Don't you get it?

[Langseth looks over to the ring area.]

ML: And what is this, huh? I share the ring with four FREAKS?! I'm a
Hall of Famer! I'm more dignified than to stand alongside... those
people. 

JD: But among "those people" is James Monosso, the man many think you
paid to take out -

ML: HEY! Hey! I never paid that lunatic a DIME! What he did, that's...
well, heh, it was fun to watch. But there was NEVER a transaction
between me and him, you got that?

JD: Whatever the case, tonight you will team with three members of the
Unholy Alliance along with the Foreign Legion's Sultan Azam Sharif to
take on the AWA National Champion's team of -

ML: Didn't you listen to what I said, Dane? I'm above all this. I get in
that ring when I - ME - when I want to! These dirtbag fans want me in
there? How about they do it when the ticket prices are a little bit
more, huh? I think that this ring here -

[Langseth holds up his Hall of Fame ring.]

ML: And the rise to power of Royalty gives ME the right to decide when
and who I fight against.

JD: But -

[With that, Langseth storms off the scene, not waiting for Dane's next
question.]

JD:  I don't- fans, it appears as though Mark Langseth has just... well,
I think he has quit the ten man tag later tonight!  I don't know if he
can do that... I don't know if he'll be allowed to do that... but if he
is, who takes his place?  This is a huge breaking story that we're going
to need to get clarification on and quickly!  But while I try to do
that, let's go down to the ring for our next match!

[Crossfade to a pretty full ring.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first... already in the corner to my right...
from Miami, Florida... the team of Kyle and Chris, the Barr Brothers!]

GM: Two young men making their AWA debut here today, and I'm sure Kyle
and Chris Barr are looking forward to this opportunity.

BW: Look at the pair of scrawny pukes.

[Pause.]

PW:  And their opponents...  From Every School Girl's Dreams... he is
accompanied to the ring by Big Mama...

"PLAAAAYBOY" JOHNNY CASSSSAAAAANOOOVAAA!

[Casanova stands in the middle of the ring, doing a full spin in his
glittering new robe with "PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES" written in script across
the back.  Big Mama rushes forward, removing Casanova's robe before he
moves back to the corner, where he grabs the mic.]

JC: Get him, Jack!

GM: Look at the sheer arrogance here of Johnny Casanova! He cuts off his
own tag team partner, "Gentleman" Jack Holland, before Holland even gets
an intro, and orders Holland to get things started. 

BW: Johnny C knows what he wants, Gordo! He's a man after my own heart.

[Casanova has flung down the mic and is on the outside, with a satisfied
smirk on his face as he watches Holland overpower Kyle Barr, throwing
him to the ropes and doubling him over with a kick to the stomach.]

GM: Casanova calling out non-stop instructions straight from the start
here, and I don't know why he doesn't just let Holland get on with it. 
The Gentleman is a gifted competitor and I doubt this is anything but an
unwanted distraction to him.

BW: Casanova's the brains of the outfit, Gordo! He's the chief executive
of Playboy Enterprises, he wants things done just so.

[Following the instructions of the boss, Holland floors Barr with a
couple of clubbing blows to the back of the neck, then pulls him over to
the corner where he makes the tag as ordered. Casanova comes in and
kicks Kyle in the head, then picks him up and throws him into a neutral
corner with an Irish whip.]

GM: Kyle Barr bounces out hard, Casanova with an arm drag, and Barr's on
the canvas now. What on Earth-?

BW: He's going up top! The Playboy normally saves this for special
occasions, and I think he's decided his first tag match as part of
Playboy Enterprises merits it!

[Slowly, Johnny Casanova is indeed climbing up. He's on the second rope
now.]

GM: Does he realise this is a ten minute time limit match?

[And finally, he pulls his bulk up to the top rope, looks around at the
crowd, and comes off with what can charitably be described as a big flop
- straight onto the mat.]

GM: Nobody home! Kyle Barr rolled out of the way after Casanova took an
age to get up there, and he makes the tag!

[Chris Barr's entrance shows Johnny C how it should be done, as he leaps
onto the top rope, and comes off with a flying legdrop to Casanova's
throat.]

BW: I don't believe this, Gordo! Casanova is normally so accomplished in
the air.

GM: Bucky, your knowledge of Johnny Casanova's about as out of date as
your wardrobe.  Chris Barr is looking good here, though!

[Indeed he is.  Barr blasts Casanova with a standing dropkick as the
Playboy staggers to his feet, then runs at the ropes - only to be
tripped by Big Mama.]

BW: Did you see that, Gordo?

GM: I did and I'm disgusted. But I'm amazed you noticed it, Bucky.

BW: Gord, I keep a close eye on Big Mama and I'm disgusted that this
delinquent just stamped on her hand.

GM: Knock it off!

[Casanova has taken advantage of the interference to make the tag
himself and Holland is in although much to the Playboy's disgust,
Gentleman Jack chooses not to sneak attack Chris Barr.  Instead, he
waits for him to rise before burying a boot into the sternum.  Picking
him up, he slams him down and follows up by dropping an elbow.]

BW: Look at the way Jack Holland is controlling this one, thanks to
Johnny Casanova's guidance, Gordo!

[As Chris Barr gets to his feet, Holland bounces off the ropes and takes
him straight back down with a massive clothesline and Johnny Casanova
screams out some more directions. Holland drops a leg on the prone Scott
and ignores Casanova's call for a tag, instead making a cover himself.]

GM: One! Two! What the-

BW: Oh my! Johnny Casanova just broke up his own partner's pinfall
attempt!

GM: Casanova wants the pin himself by the look of things. The argument
may have given Chris Barr the time to tag out though and he dives into
his corner - but his brother's not there!

BW: That creep is menacing Big Mama, Gordo!

[Yes, Big Mama managed to take advantage of everyone concentrating on
Holland and Casanova's argument to pull Kyle Barr off the apron.
Casanova is forced out by the referee Michael Meekly, and Holland picks
up Chris Barr before he reluctantly tags out.]

GM: Big vertical suplex here as Casanova and Holland combine to lift
Chris Barr up and bring him crashing down.  Cover is made by Casanova
for a... One! Two! Three!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

PW: Here are your winners... the team of PLAYBOY ENTERPRISES,
'PLAYBOY' JOHNNY CASANOVA and...

[The mic is snatched rudely out of his hand before he can say Holland's
name.]

JC: And the guy who, if he knows exactly what's good for him, is gonna
start following instructions right now! Jack, ya dropped the ball last
time out when you cost me my match against Eric Preston, ya nearly
dropped the ball tonight by not listening to me.

[Jack Holland goes to respond, but Casanova cuts him off.]

JC: Am I paying ya to talk? Am I paying ya to think? No sir, I am paying
ya, Jack, to look after my interests, and the way to do that is by doing
every last thing I tell ya to without questioning me.  Starting at the
Memorial Day Rumble, where I'm expecting ya to make sure that I walk out
the winner.

Ya do that for me, Jack, and ya can expect a darn big bonus. Drop the
ball again, and ya gonna get yaself fired.

[Holland once again tries to say something, but Casanova raises a finger
to his lips and he just glares at his boss instead.]

GM:  Disgusting.  Absolutely disgusting.

BW:  What?

GM:  The way that Casanova is treating Jack Holland makes me sick,
Bucky.  The man is trying to earn money for his family and to be treated
like-

BW:  Oh, cry me a river.  Holland's getting treated no worse than half
these nine-to-fivers in the building right now get treated every week by
their boss down at the pizza shack or the liquor store or the garbage
dump!  You want them to feel sorry for him that Casanova wants him to do
business the right way?  Whether it's putting twenty-three pepperonis
exactly on a large, filling out your TPS reports, or clubbing a punk
like Kendall Stanton in his concussed melon, Jack Holland's here to do
his job and do it like the boss wants it done!

GM:  You're as bad as Casanova is.  Fans, let's go back to Mark
Stegglet.

[Crossfade to the locker room area where Eric Preston is standing
alongside Mark Stegglet.]

MS: Thanks, Gordon.  In just a few minutes, Eric Preston will take on
the Russian War Machine, Kolya Sudakov, in a return match from a few
months ago. Eric, your thoughts on tonight's match?
 
[Preston wears his wrestling attire with a sleeveless, black AWA t-shirt
on top, and he looks down at the ground in contemplation before he
speaks.]
 
EP: Kolya Sudakov. The Russian War Machine. One of the most dangerous
men in the AWA. A former National champion. The accolades go on and on
with him, jack, but the fact remains that his is the last name on my
list before Memorial Day Mayhem, and he just made be the hardest one to
check off.
 
That match was so long ago, Mark, it seems like another lifetime. So
much has changed since then... but you can take this to the bank, buddy,
you're about to see a fight like the AWA hasn't seen in a while. Because
if there's one guy who needs a victory 'round these parts more than I
do, it's Kolya Sudakov. He and I, we aren't so different-
 
[Preston is interrupted in mid-sentence by a suit wearing Ivan
Kostovich, whose presence causes the interview to come to a halt.]
 
IK: I disagree.
 
[Kostovich looks condescendingly at Preston.]
 
IK: Kolya Sudakov has, or had, potential for greatness, young Preston.
He needs to be...

[A grin crosses the Russian's face.]

IK:   ...reminded of how he can achieve the success required of him. He
is the latest in a long line of superior Russian athletes.
 
But you -- you are the latest in a line of mediocre, insignificant
athletes. Go ahead... tell them how we know each other. Tell them how I
know what stock you come from.
 
[Preston glares at Kostovich, who smugly stands before him, and speaks
through gritted teeth.]
 
EP: Ivan Kostovich ended the career of my father by breaking his
collarbone. It happened after-
 
[Kostovich interrupts again with a pointed warning finger.]
 
IK:  It happened because a superior Russian athlete decimated and
destroyed a feeble old man who reached for something beyond his grasp.
Don't waste time making excuses, boy, because I am not a man who
believes in excuses. In Russia, we believe in results and the result of
that match was one collar bone broken...

[Another grin.]

IK:  And one career ended. 

You, like your father, are an example of the weakness that marks the
American athlete. You fail consistently and yet you're loved because you
"try hard".

Ask Kolya Sudakov. To try is not enough. To win, to achieve, that is the
desired result. It is the expected result. I do not tolerate weakness,
so I had no choice but to end your father's career.

[Ivan points a finger at Preston.]

IK: Time heals all wounds, boy, but time does not prevent them from
being re-opened. You have nothing in common with Kolya Sudakov. And it
will be a privilege to watch another Russian dominate and destroy
another wrestler named Preston.
 
[Kostovich walks out of the picture, leaving a stunned Mark Stegglet to
continue his interview.]
 
MS: Eric, that is a shocking bit of news. Honestly, we had no idea of
the history your family has with Ivan Kostovich.
 
EP: You never know what you can find on Google, Mark, but yes it's true.
Ivan Kostovich knocked my Dad out of the ring for good. And he did it
because one night in Memphis, Tennessee he got his jaw rearranged by the
very same move I use in the ring today -- the Dream Machine -- and he
got pinned one, two, three by John Preston in the middle of the ring.
The biggest win of my dad's career, and one of the biggest upsets
Memphis ever saw.
 
Next week came, Ivan backjumped him and injured him. Broke his
collarbone, and John Preston had no choice but to call it a career.
 
And you know what?
 
[Preston shrugs.]
 
EP: My dad didn't lie around and complain, he pulled himself back up,
dusted his hands off and found something else to do. He made the best of
the hand that was given to him, he found a way to succeed. Because
that's what we do, Mark, that's what Americans do. We persevere. We get
back on our feet and we figure out a way -- a hard lesson to learn, I
might add.
 
Now Ivan Kostovich, you stick your nose in this match, comrade, and best
believe that there's a 13 EEE boot just itching to meet your face. I'll
kick that big pointy nose of yours back through the other side of your
face.
 
But if not, here's a preview of what you're gonna see: two guys fightin'
like cats and dogs, and one big, 25 year old receipt being delivered.
One more Russian getting his jaw jacked by the Dream Machine, and one
promise being fulfilled. My old man deserved better, but he's out of the
game now, we can't fix that.
 
But what we can fix is a slip up from a couple monthes ago, and that
means bringing the fight to _you_ Kolya Sudakov, that means righting a
wrong from a long time ago, and that means putting the Russian Bear to
sleep, daddy, because you got one _hell_ of a Dream Machine comin' your
way!
 
[With a Tiger Woods-esque fist pump, Preston walks out of the interview
area with purpose as we crossfade 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 back up to live action at ringside where our announce team is
standing.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans.  It's an exciting
night here in the AWA but also a sad one.  As you know, we'll be heading
out on the road after tonight for our annual summer tour and I, for one,
will be sad to leave our hometown of Dallas, Texas for the next few
months, Bucky.

BW:  Not me.  If I have to look at another gap-toothed, stained shirt,
beer-swillin' piece of trash, I just might have my head pop right off my
shoulders.

GM:  If some of these fine Texas folks hear that description of them,
they may be the ones doing the popping, Bucky.

BW:  Let 'em try.

GM:  Nonetheless, the AWA has really gone all out for one big show
before we head out for the summer with three big time matches on it. 
And one of the men involved in one of those matches, Sultan Azam
Sharif... I hear that he has been home in his native Iran for the past
two weeks, and he's just arrived back in the US today. Because of the
delay, the Sultan requested to send in a pre-recorded statement rather
than come out and speak, so that he can get adequate physical match
preparation in for tonight, Bucky.

BW: Count Adrian Bathwaite takes care of his guys, Gordo.  

GM: Indeed.  So let's hear these pre-recorded comments from Sultan Azam
Sharif.

[We cut to a room with white brick walls and a few red-and-gold wall
hangings decorated beautifully with Arabic characters.  Sultan Azam
Sharif is here, wearing a white bisht over some light-colored clothing
(tasteful beiges and light blues).  He wears the usual white kaffiyeh
and is standing alone.  He speaks in his near-incomprehensible heavy
accent.]

SAS: Supairnova, I heared your shallunge dot you make!  You vont to
shallunge me for Mahmorayul Day Rumbail, un you know dot I already vun
deh numbair thairtay spot in dot motch.  You know dot you could hide
from me until Mahmorayul Day, un try to ruin my shance for a shot at deh
AWA shampwonship.

BUT RAMEMBAH!  I diddunt forgot vot you done!  You punch my managaire,
Mistair Count Batwaite, un he is old man!  Den you hire dot cowaird
Coorvax to hit my  mangaire vid a club, but he couldunt hit an Olympic
shampwon, Ashun Game shampwon, Battail Royal shampwon!  You think dot I
vas gonna bock out of a motch vid you because of my Mahmorial Day
Rumbail shance?!

[Uh, oh... he's ripping off the kaffiyeh!  The look of building fury is
in the brown eyes of the Sultan, whose neatly-trimmed short black hair
and well-groomed mustache offer a touch of care to his weatherbeaten
face.]

SAS: SUPAIRNOVA!  I ALREADY ACKSEPT YOUR SHALLUNGE!  Dot jahbronie Jumm
Vatkin, who diddunt suspend dot cowaird Coorvax for hit old man vid
club, he vas already gonna vait until I have my shot to sign dot motch! 
But he diddunt ramembah!  I vas Olympic shampwon!  I vas Ashun Game
shampwon!  You tink because I am Muslim dot I vus gonna hide in deh
mountains?!  I am not coward like vas Coorvax!  I acksept!

[And now here goes the bisht...]

SAS: DEN YOU GONNA LEARN!  MAN HAFAR-A HOFRATAN LI AHKEEH-I WAQA'A
FEEHA!  NOVUN EVAIR GOING TO PUNCH OLD MAN AGAIN VEN DEY SEE VAT DID I
DO TO YOU!  YOU GONNA BE HUMBAIL!  ILLI TIZRA'U TUSHUDU!  I GONNA COME
ALL DEH VAY, TEN TOUSAN MILE, TO DALLUS TEXAS, TOOLSA OKULLAHOMA, UN ALL
DEH AMEReeCUN PEEPELL GONNA SEE IT!  TEN TOUSAN MILE, FROM DEH OLDEST
COUNTRY IN DEH VURLD, SHIRAZ IRAN, ALHAMDULILLAH, UN NOTING VAS GONNA
STOP ME!  I COME TEN TOUSAN MILE FOR YOU, SUPAIRNOVA, UN YOU GONNA LEARN
IL-HEEN MATIHLAASH HALA IL-HAAGIB!  ILLI TIZRA'U TUSHUDU!  IRAN NUMBAIR
WUN!  CAMARAMAN, ZOOM!

[ANGRY MAN FLEX!  And then we cut back to the arena, sparing the
cameraman from having to zoom in on a muscle.  And I can stop looking up
transliterated Arabic/Islamic proverbs!]

GM: Bro-THER.  That man is intensely focused, Bucky Wilde.

BW: He went back to his home to recharge, Gordo... when he comes out
here tonight, he's gonna tear somebody up.  And he's in just the mindset
to do it.

GM: At the time that was filmed, the Sultan didn't know whether or not
he was to compete in tonight's ten-man challenge.  But he has been voted
into that match, so I wonder if the mental recuperation will be a
boon... or if the jet lag will be a minus.

BW: It'd take more than jet lag to keep the Sultan off of Supernova,
daddy.  You'd need the actual jet.  As in, Supernova getting in it and
takin' off.

GM:  Sharif will be part of that huge ten man tag... but will Mark
Langseth?  Just moments ago, we heard Langseth seemingly take himself
OUT of that big Main Event.  Jason Dane is in hot pursuit to see if
that's something that Langseth has the right to do.  Jason, any word?

[We cut back to the locker room where a frantic-looking Jason Dane is
standing in front of a door.]

JD:  Gordon, I am standing in front of this room where Jim Watkins has
called an emergency meeting of the Championship Committee members who
were on hand here tonight so that they can review Mr. Langseth's
contract and discuss that very matter.  As of now, no decision has been
made but we're going to stay right here until we get that answer for our
fans here tonight.

[Dane nods as we fade back to ringside.]

GM:  Thanks for that, Jason.  Well, one man who we KNOW will be in
tonight's big ten man tag Main Event is the Longhorn Heritage Champion,
the enigmatic Nenshou.  And I'm being told that one of our producers got
wind that Nenshou was preparing himself in an accessible location, and
we sent a cameraman back there to get a look.

BW: That cameraman is gonna die, Gordo.  I hope you're happy, sendin'
that poor guy to his death!

GM: Let us take a look.

[The scene cuts to the loading dock, where equipment comes into the
building.  Ordinarily, this is an area where a big truck parks up
against the wall, and the steel sliding door opens to provide level
access from the building to the truck.  It'd be hard to get things like
the ring, or the thousands of seats in here without that.

Today, the truck that is pulled up to the loading dock has brought in
concrete support sections.  These nearly two-foot diameter, over five
foot tall reinforced concrete cylinders are used, basically, to hold the
building up; they're sections of the support beams found in the
basement.  Apparently one of the beams got damaged somehow, so the
replacement cylinders are here.  That is unremarkable.

What is different about it is that Nenshou has apparently dragged five
of them out into the middle of the floor to get some prematch work in. 
There is noone else in this darkened area, and alone on the
slightly-waterstained concrete floor, Nenshou is "sparring".  He has
taped large poster-sized prints of all five of his opponents tonight to
a pillar (one for each), and is rapidly striking back and forth,
pillar-to-pillar.  A palm-strike here, a back kick there, as if he were
outnumbered and his only chance was to hit everyone as fast as he can. 
His limbs are a blur as he attacks, and attacks, and attacks.  He's
obviously sparing his knuckles from slamming into the concrete, but not
his forearms or shins.  His black-and-red painted face betrays neither
pain nor tips his attacks; he remains intent on his attacks.

The most notable thing is that one of the pillars is taking more damage
than the others.  Every second or third strike comes back to that one
pillar, and the poster on it is ripped and torn more than all the
others.  Finally, after several moments of constant motion, Nenshou
unleashes one final jumping spin kick to that pillar, jumping into it
and hitting it high... and it topples over with a dull thud.

After this, he immediately assumes a meditative position, focusing on
two fingers stretched out in front of his face in some esoteric sign of
some kind.  The camera zooms in on the pillar which toppled... and the
ripped pieces of the poster which it bore.  A poster of Sweet Daddy
Williams.

We cut back to the arena.]

GM: Intense!

BW: The man was beatin' on concrete, Gordo!  How do ya stop a guy who
can beat up concrete?!

GM: Uh, he didn't 'beat up' the concrete, Bucky.  He was just limbering
up and practicing striking at many angles.  We have witnessed his skill
at doing so.  Percy Childes once told me that there are many toughening
disciplines in Nenshou's art that harden the striking surfaces of the
limbs to allow them to impact even hardened targets.  It will, however,
be much more difficult to apply those skills when your five targets are
moving... and fighting back.  And Sweet Daddy Williams will definitely
be looking to fight Nenshou tonight!

BW: I dunno, Gordo, that concrete looked to be faster and in better
shape than Sweet Daddy!

GM: Childes and Nenshou take the man very seriously.  We will see them
both in the ten-man tonight, and if nothing else, we know that Nenshou
is ready as always.  But right now...

[The camera zooms out a bit to reveal Sweet Daddy Williams, dressed in a
pair of blue jeans and a red and white t-shirt that reads "RILEY" across
the front of it.  His eyes are covered in dark sunglasses as he joins
the announcers.]

GM:  Joining us here at ringside is the man who we saw violently
assaulted with that vile green mist a few weeks ago... and the man who
will challenge Nenshou for the Longhorn Heritage Title coming up in just
over a week... Sweet Daddy Williams, welcome back to Saturday Night!

[Big cheer from the fans!]

SDW:  Thanks, Gordon.  You know, brother... sittin' at home with big ol'
bandages over my baby brown eyes, I got to thinkin' a lot about stuff. 
I thought of my good friend, City Jack, who had over a year of his
career snatched outta his hands by someone trying to blind him.  Jack
got that son of a gun good in the end but he's still gonna hang 'em up
'cause he knows he ain't never gonna be the same.

I started thinkin' 'bout the same thing.

[The crowd buzzes with concern.]

SDW:  Now, don't you worry yo' pretty little heads, Dallas.  The Sweet
Daddy ain't goin' nowhere.

[Big cheer!]

SDW:  But that didn't stop me from thinkin' 'bout how close I came. 
Nenshou's a dangerous, dangerous man... you all just saw that tape...
heck, he just might be the best pure athlete in wrestling today, baby. 
I ain't denyin' that.

But what he is... he's a man.  

He ain't no ninja.  He ain't no supervillain.  He ain't no assassin.

He's a man.  And men hurt when you hit 'em.  Men bleed when you hit 'em
harder.  And men go nighty night when you hit 'em even harder than that.

[Williams is getting worked up now, pulling off the sunglasses to reveal
a slightly red eyeball.]

SDW:  Percy Childes is the man pullin' strings around here.  You saw him
and Layton out here earlier fightin' 'bout who runs things.  They
fightin' 'bout who controls the ship, who steers the big ol' nasty boat
a' thugs.

I don't care who the captain is... I care 'bout bringin' that boat down!

[Big cheer!]

SDW:  I told the world that a dark cloud was comin' months ago... and
now you see it.  So, believe me when I tell ya that that dark ship full
of danger and despair... it's headin' for a big ol' iceberg that's gonna
send it straight back to Hell where it came from, baby!

[Bigger cheer!]

SDW:  And whether it happens here tonight in the ten man tag with Juan
Vasquez and his Immortals raisin' Hell like only we can!

Or whether it happens down at Memorial Day Mayhem when I slap my arm
around Nenshou's scrawny neck and drive 'em facefirst into the ground
like my ol' friend Big Vern would love to do if he wasn't still laid up
with that busted leg they gave 'im.

It's gonna happen, baby.  And it's gonna happen soon.

[The crowd roars as Sweet Daddy Williams storms off the set, slapping
the hands of the ringside fans as he makes his way back up the aisle.]

GM:  Sweet Daddy Williams has a date with the silent assassin, Nenshou,
coming up in just over a week with that Longhorn Heritage Championship
on the line, fans, and believe me - this one is personal.  Don't go away
'cause we'll be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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.

Back up to live action where we find Jason Dane, who is understandably
nervous... the man standing near him is the unpredictable James Monosso.
 Tall and broad-shouldered, Monosso has long, stringy, slightly-greying
black hair hair with is starting to grow a bit wild, as if he's not cut
it in a while.  As is his custom, he wears a pale green cutoff T-Shirt
reading "PROPERTY OF STATE MENTAL INSTITUTION" in bold black
stencil-font lettering over his one-strap black singlet with silver
trim.  The legs on the singlet stop at the upper thigh.  He has
black-and-silver boots, white wristbands, and a wild-eyed glare which is
currently focused on the fans.  His manager, Percy Childes, is nowhere
to be seen.]

JD: James Monosso, just one week ago, you launched a series of
completely uncalled-for, random, and inexplicable attacks on several
wrestlers who couldn't defend themselves.  Why?

[Monosso answers in his gruff voice, still glaring at the fans.  Dane
seems a bit at ease that James doesn't seem to be paying him any mind.]

JM: Why?  Didn't you just say "inexplicable"?  You want me to explain
the "inexplicable"?  Do you need a dictionary?

JD: You know what I meant!

JM: But you talk for a living!  That's all you do!  That's all you CAN
do.  That's all you know how to do.  And if you're not even good at
that, what good are you?

JD: You're trying to change the subject.

JM: IDIOT!  Pay attention... I'm answerin' your question.  If all you
can do is talk, and you're no good at it, you end up talkin' to people
walking by on the street, beggin' for money.  So what if all you can do
is fight?  What if all you can do is fight, and you're no good at it?
What then?  Whaddya think happens?

JD: You wouldn't last long.

JM: If you were LUCKY.  If you were lucky, you'd get put out of your
misery quick, an' not hafta live with nothin', for nothin', able to do
nothin' but rot and slowly die over the course of years and years.  But
some guys ain't lucky.  They linger.  They suffer.  Look at Ron Houston;
oh, wait, you can't look at Ron Houston 'cause he ain't here.  He's
probably livin' on the street somewhere 'cause all he could do was
fight, an' now his legs can't even hold his fat body up!  An' he was
actually _good_ at fightin'!  There's about two or three hundred guys in
this sport who have been takin' beatings for years and years, most of
their whole lives, because it's all they can do! they get beat up for
fifty bucks, go eat tuna fish and baloney while their wounds never heal,
their infections grow worse, and their entire existence consists of
pretendin' they ain't hurt for ten minutes each day when they're in
front of people!

Last week, what I did, I did outta mercy.  I was gonna put those kids
out quick.  Put 'em down like the dogs they'd become if I didn't! But
what happened?

JD: Juan Vasquez happened.  And you ran from him.

JM: Of course I did!  I wasn't bein' paid to fight!  Why would I fight
somebody when I wasn't gettin' paid to?

JD: You attacked those young wrestlers without being paid!

JM: You call that a _fight_?  Please.  But Vasquez gave me an... what do
you call them... ah, an epiphany.  I realized somethin'.  All these dumb
kids walk like zombies into this hellhole sport, an' I try to warn them.
 I figure, I put a few of 'em out early, they'll get the message.  But
no, they keep signin' up to the Combat Corner, Todd Michaelson keeps
suckerin' 'em in in droves, an' why?  Why do they come?  What do they
want?

JD: They love the sport.

JM: Bull.  Everybody loves beatin' somebody up.  You can do that on the
street.  Old men.  Women.  Even children.  You can pick your target an'
never risk the downside.

[BOOOOOOO!]

JM: I AIN'T SAYIN' TO DO IT, YOU IDIOTS, I'M SAYIN' YOU _COULD_ DO IT. 
Everybody loves beatin' somebody up.  Nobody loves gettin' beat up.  An'
it don't matter who you are, you get beat up here.  Why do they come? 
Even Michaelson beats these kids up so they know what happens, so he
weeds out the weakest and the smartest.  The rest?  Just tough enough to
live a life of pain and suffering, and dumb enough to go through with
it.  Why?  Why?  And then I realized.

Juan Vasquez.  They want to be like Juan Vasquez.

Not specifically.  I don't guess they all want to be snotty little punks
with a hygiene problem.  

[BOOOOOOO!]

JM: Yeah, really, boo.  I was homeless for my first three months in here
and I still came in smelling better than he did.  They don't want to BE
Juan Vasquez, they want to be what he is.  They want the big contract. 
They want the money.  They want the fame and glory and thousands of
nerds on the internets kissing their butt!  They want easy women... oh,
sorry, did your wife hear that, Juan?  They want what he has.  But these
cameras lie to them.  They lie to you.  You don't see it all.  

You don't see the ones who never make it.  You think Vasquez is the
biggest star because he's the best wrestler?  Oh, he's one of them,
sure.  There are better wrestlers than him who are living out of
dumpsters, because they never got an opportunity before their bodies
quit on them.  Maybe it's how you look or how you talk that catches the
fans' attention, ya think?  Despite his poor personal hygiene, he's got
all that.  But there are guys who look better, talk better... and all
their interviews do now is expose that they don't got no job skills
because they blew their futures on wrestling!   The best of the best...
most of them are lined up at the department of labor because wrestling
took everything and gave them nothing.  They're cripples, pain-ridden,
the walking dead!  What the camera doesn't show you is that not only do
you have to be good at fighting/talking/whatever, but you have to be
LUCKY.  You have to win the Wrestling Business Lottery.  

So... WHY DON'T YOU IDIOTS JUST PLAY THE FREAKIN' LOTTERY?!  ALL YA NEED
IS A DOLLAR AND A DREAM!  IDIOTS!

JD: So why don't you?

JM: Every week, Dane.  I play every week.  It's a fool's hope, I know
that.  But I won the lottery once.  The Wrestling Business Lottery.  I
somehow made it on top, a long time ago.  But that's the other way where
the camera lies.  It doesn't show what happens when they take it all
away.  Someday, Juan Vasquez will be where I am now.  He'll have nothing
and be nothing.  But that'll be too late for every sucker Tood
Michaelson and his ilk hook in.  No, the time is now.  I have to show
them now.

I gotta show them all that in the end, nobody makes it out alive.  An'
that means the end is tonight... for Juan Vasquez.

[With that, Monosso stalks off to a torrent of boos as we crossfade back
to the ring leaving only the voice of Jason Dane behind.]

JD: The twisted mind of James Monosso has set a target on the National
Champion!  We'll see what happens in the big ten man tag Main Event. 
Back to you, Gordon.

BW: *AHEM*

GM: And Bucky Wilde, I'm sure.  James Monosso is projecting his
situation on the world as a whole, Bucky.  He couldn't be more wrong
about our great sport.

BW: Yeah, he might be a bit off, but he has lots of good points.  An'
all I care about is how he's gonna drive every one of those points into
the hide o' Juan Vasquez tonight, daddy!

GM:  Let's go up to the ring for more action.

[Phil Watson takes it away.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... 

[The strains of the Soviet National Anthem fill the air, sending the
crowd into jeers.]

BW:  Get up, Gordo.  Show some respect here.

GM:  Give me a break.  The Soviet Union doesn't even exist anymore!

BW:  Because of attitudes just like that!  Bunch of quitters.

[Watson continues.]

PW:  From the lands that formerly made up the Soviet Union... being
accompanied to the ring by his manager Ivan Kostovich and his uncle
Vladimir Velikov... he is a former AWA National Champion... weighing in
tonight at 272 pounds...

The Russian War Machine...

KOOOOLLLLYAAA SUUUUUDAAAKOV!

[The curtain parts to reveal Sudakov in a bright crimson red satin
jacket.  As he steps through into the boos of the crowd, we see a yellow
hammer and sickle splashed across the back.  Kostovich, dressed
impeccably as usual, strides out behind him, nodding his head
approvingly.  Vladimir Velikov brings up the rear, dressed for battle
with his heavy Russian chain draped over his massive neck.]

GM:  Not the most popular trio in the AWA, Bucky.

BW:  We're in Texas, Gordo.  People in Texas hate other Texans if
they're from the wrong part of the state to them... just imagine how
much they hate people from other countries.  Oh wait... you don't have
to imagine it.  Just watch the nightly news and check out the border
situation.

[Sudakov steps through the ropes, lifting an arm to the jeers of the
crowd.  He slowly removes the jacket, revealing deep red welts and dark
bruises on his back.]

GM:  Look at that!  That's disgusting, Bucky!  Those welts are nearly a
month old and they're STILL showing up.  Just imagine how hard they must
have whipped Sudakov with that chain!

BW:  And apparently Big Jim's peptalk two weeks ago didn't do a dang
thing, Gordo, 'cause the Russian War Machine is still out here with his
people... where he belongs, I might add.

GM:  Where he belongs?!  He belongs with people who whip him with a
steel chain?!  He belongs with people who berate him and bully him and
treat him like garbage?!

BW:  If they're the ones keeping him in the country to do his job, then
yes.

GM:  I would have hated to see you around the South during the Civil
War.

BW:  Hey, my ancestors proudly fought in the fields!

GM:  Yeah, but for which side?

[Watson continues as the music fades.]

PW:  And his opponent... from Greenvile, South Carolina... weighing 251
pounds... 

ERIC PREEESSTTOOOOOOONNNN!!

[The opening chords to "Slither" by Velvet Revolver start to play in the
Crockett Coliseum as the fans erupt in cheers. They turns towards the
entrance as the song kicks into high gear, and erupt again as Eric
Preston trots out into the entrance way. Preston throws up a fist to the
crowd, and then zig zags down the aisle, slapping hands and exchanging
war whoops. The chiseled Preston wears dark blue tights with a white and
silver diamond pattern at the waistline, white boots with black laces
that have the outline of a star on the outside of each in red. A thick
black elbow pad is on his right arm. His wrists are heavily wrapped in
white athletic tape, and as he climbs into the ring he lets the
officials check him out, before loosening up his shoulders in the
corner.]

GM:  Both of these men want a win - some might say they NEED a win
heading into Memorial Day Mayhem and that big Rumble. 

BW:  I'm not a big Eric Preston fan, Gordo, but even I'm a little
impressed with the winning streak he's carved out for himself over the
past month or so.  He knocked off Johnny Sone and then put down
"Playboy" Johnny C two weeks ago.  If he can beat Sudakov tonight, he'll
have a lot of momentum heading into the Rumble.

GM:  I'd say right now that these two men are two of the favorites in
that match about a week ago.  And heck, I'd love to see either of them
earn a shot at the National Title.  Eric Preston vs Juan Vasquez?  Maybe
City Jack defending against the Russian War Machine?  Gives me the
chills to think about it.

[The bell sounds as Eric Preston tugs the top rope one more time before
looking up to find Sudakov bearing down on him...]

GM:  Sudakov coming in quickly...

[Preston dances away to the side, avoiding getting cornered.  He shakes
his head, waggling a finger at Sudakov.]

BW:  Smart move by Preston.  Getting corned by the War Machine ain't
where you wanna be, daddy.

[Sudakov glares at Preston for a moment before moving towards him again,
trying to cut off an escape this time, edging in at an angle.]

GM:  Sudakov's trying to cut him off, looking to get him into the
corner...

[And Preston lashes out with a right hand to the jaw, surprising the
Russian and knocking him down to his rear.  The crowd cheers as Preston
pumps a fist, shouting "Come on!" to his opponent.]

GM:  And you can hear Ivan Kostovich reading Sudakov the riot act from
outside the ring.

BW:  Of course he is!  How embarrassing to get knocked on your keyster
like that!

GM:  It didn't happen to Kostovich... unfortunately.

[An annoyed Sudakov scrambles up, rushing forward to grab Preston around
the neck, shoving him back into the corner.  Sudakov steps back,
squaring his shoulders, and throwing a hooking right hand to the ribs
followed immediately by a lunging left knee.  Grabbing the arm of
Preston, Sudakov fires him across...]

GM:  Irish whi- 

[But Preston deadleaps to the top rope on the run, turning to take
flight and knock Sudakov off his feet with a crossbody!]

GM:  TWISTING CROSSBODY!!  WHAT A COUNTER BY PRESTON!!

[Sudakov quickly kicks out before a single count comes down.  Preston
scampers up as Sudakov does the same...

...and takes the Russian over and down with an armdrag, staying in the
pocket to hook in an armbar.]

GM:  Nicely done by Preston!  And you notice him immediately hooking
that right arm and cranking on it.

BW:  Another smart move 'cause that's the Sickle arm.  If you can take
away the Russian's most dangerous weapon, your odds of winning - and
surviving - increase tenfold.

[The gravelly voice of Vladimir Velikov cuts through the air, shouting
something in Russian at his nephew who struggles up to a knee, trying to
battle free.]

GM:  Preston grabs the wrist and oh ho - armtwist all the way around!

[Sudakov is wincing at the pressure on the limb...

...and then brings his knee up suddenly into the midsection of Preston
to break the hold.  The Russian quickly shakes out his right arm, trying
to get the blood flowing again.  A pair of left forearms to the back of
the head and neck knocks Preston down to a knee.]

GM:  Sudakov hammers him down to the canvas...

[Stepping back, Sudakov squares up to throw a round kick to the face of
the kneeling Preston...

...but Preston ducks it, pulling the Russian down in a schoolboy
rollup!]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  TH-

[The crowd groans as the Russian slips a shoulder out in time...

...but then cheers as a well-placed dropkick knocks him off his feet,
forcing him to roll under the ropes to the floor!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  The dropkick sends him runnin' for it and Eric Preston is
rulin' the roost right now, Bucky.

BW:  The kid should stay on top of him though.  Don't give Sudakov a
chance to regroup.

[Seemingly taking Bucky's advice, Preston steps out on the apron,
leaping off with a double axehandle to the back of the head that sends
Sudakov lurching forward, his chest slamming into the ringside
barricade.]

GM:  Preston's out there on the floor with him... turning him around now
and-


"WHAAAAAAAP!"

[A big chop across the broad chest leaves a red mark as Preston nods to
the cheering fans at ringside.  Ivan Kostovich shouts orders to Sudakov
from a few feet away, drawing a warning point from Preston before he
fires Sudakov under the ropes and back into the ring.]

GM:  Preston sends him back in.  He wants to win this one inside the
ring...

[The Combat Corner graduate steps up on the apron, stepping one leg
through the ropes when Ivan Kostovich climbs up on the apron, shouting
at the official...

...a move that provides a temporary distraction and allows Vladimir
Velikov to slam his arm up into the middle rope, driving it into the
groin of Preston!]

"OHHHHHHH!"

GM:  Cheapshot!  What a cheapshot by Velikov!  Get him out of there -
get 'em both out of there, ref!

BW:  Hey, Ivan Kostovich is a licensed manager!

GM:  What about Velikov?

BW:  That situation is less clear.  Politics, you know.

[Hurting from the low blow, Preston is down on the canvas as Sudakov
stands over him, glaring down at Velikov with his hands on his hips.  A
series of barked shouts from Kostovich sends Sudakov into action,
driving kick after kick into the back of the downed Preston, forcing him
under the ropes to the apron.  The official steps in, trying to get
Sudakov back...

...which allows Velikov to slam his forearm down on Preston's throat
three times before backing away, leaving the youngster gasping for air
as Sudakov moves back in, shaking his head.]

GM:  Velikov and Kostovich are all over the place out there, making life
difficult for Eric Preston... and I don't think Sudakov likes it one
bit, Bucky.

BW:  He'll like it plenty when he gets his paycheck for winning the
match.

[Sudakov drags Preston off the mat by the arm, firing him across the
ring...

...and flooring him with a running tackle.  He drops to his knees,
applying a lateral press.]

GM:  Cover for one!  For two!  But that's all!

[Sudakov is quickly to his feet, delivering a hard kick to the ribs of
the now-kneeling Preston.]

GM:  Ohh!  You could hear that one down the street!  A punt kick to the
ribs of Preston who was up on all fours... and a second one flips him
over to his back!  

[Sizing up Preston, Sudakov leaps into the air, bringing the point of
his elbow down in an elbowdrop to the sternum.  The Russian immediately
rolls into another lateral press.]

GM:  There's a one... there's a two... but again, Preston's up at two.

BW:  And Ivan Kostovich isn't pleased with his employee.

GM:  Why not?!  He's winning the match right now!

BW:  Yeah, but he's going soft on Preston.  A shoulder tackle?  An elbow
drop?  That's how he's gonna beat the kid?!  Where's the Sickle? 
Where's the high kick?

GM:  Maybe he wants to win and not cripple the man!

BW:  Like I said, going soft.

[Sudakov absorbs a verbal barrage from Kostovich with a nod as he drags
Preston off the mat by the hair.  He leans down, scooping Preston up...

...and delivers a thunderous bodyslam, shaking the canvas.  The former
National Champion turns to glare at Kostovich, gesturing at the downed
Preston.]

GM:  Sudakov seems to be asking Kostovich if he likes that any better.

BW:  He'd better watch his mouth out there.  Vlad's got that chain and
we KNOW he ain't afraid to use it, daddy!

GM:  He certainly isn't.

[Sudakov shakes his head, pulling Preston up by the hair again...

...and hoists him into the air with both hands by the throat!]

GM:  That's a choke!  Come on, referee!

[The ref's count hits four before Sudakov flings him carelessly down to
the canvas.  The Russian War Machine backs to the corner, slapping his
right arm to the jeers of the crowd as Preston drags himself towards the
ropes.]

GM:  Sudakov's calling for the Sickle!  He's got that arm cocked and at
the ready!

BW:  Turn out the lights, the party's over, daddy!

[The Russian shouts at Preston, screaming to get up as he stands in the
corner.  The downed Combat Corner graduate inches closer to the ropes,
reaching up to grab the middle one...

...and pulls himself through the ropes to the apron!]

GM:  Oho!  Preston outsmarted him!  He knew the Sickle was coming and he
found a way to avoid it!

[A furious Sudakov stalks across the ring, taking another verbal beating
from Kostovich.  He reaches over the ropes, grabbing Preston by the arm
to haul him to his feet...]

BW:  You were saying, Gordo?

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Sudakov charges towards the corner...]

GM:  INTO THE POS- BLOCKED!

[The crowd cheers Preston as he gets a foot up to block his head being
driven into the steel...

...and then returns the favor, smashing Sudakov's face into the top
turnbuckle, sending him spiraling away!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Preston got him there!

[The youngster quickly scales the turnbuckles, pausing for a moment as
Sudakov turns back around...

...and takes flight, catching Sudakov squarely in the chest with a
crossbody!]

GM:  OFF THE TOP!

[A crossbody that Sudakov catches in mid-air, spinning in one movement,
and DRIVING Preston down to the canvas!]

GM:  GOOD GRIEF, WHAT A POWERSLAM!!

[Sudakov pushes up, planting both hands down on the chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THRE-

[The crowd EXPLODES as Preston fires a shoulder off the canvas just in
time!]

GM:  HE KICKED OUT!!  HE KICKED OUT!!

BW:  I can't believe it!

[Neither can a furious Kolya Sudakov as he gets to his feet, angrily
shouting at the official and kicking the bottom rope as he marches back
into the corner again, slamming his right arm down on the top
turnbuckle.  He spins around, arm at the ready as he leans back against
the corner...]

GM:  He's calling for it again!  Calling for the Sickle!

[A dazed Preston pushes up to his knees, staring across the ring at
Sudakov who is waving him up, ready to take his head off his shoulders
with the running clothesline known the world over as the deadly Russian
Sickle.]

GM:  Sudakov's set!  He's ready!  He's-

[As Preston struggles to his feet, Sudakov breaks into a sprint across
the ring...]

GM:  SICKL-

[At the last possible moment, Preston throws all his strength into a
leapfrog attempt, trying to avoid the charging Russian...

...and ALMOST making it, Sudakov's head catching him low as he charges
past into the buckles!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  Oh, wow... you don't see that everyday.

GM:  Preston trying to leapfrog over the Sickle and he got caught down
South, Bucky.

BW:  The kid's in a lot of pain here, rolling back and forth on the mat.

[A shout from Kostovich turns Sudakov towards the downed Preston.]

BW:  Kostovich is ordering Sudakov to finish him off.

GM:  He is but Sudakov seems reluctant.

[The Russian slowly approaches the downed Preston, nudging him with his
foot.  The official steps in, forcing Sudakov back.]

GM:  The referee may need to stop this one.  What a bizarre way to
possibly lose a match, Bucky.

BW:  Like I said, you don't see that everyday.

GM:  I'm not sure if Eric Preston can continue here.

[Sudakov slowly approaches again, looking questioningly at the official
who continues to check on Preston.  A shout from Kostovich draws
Sudakov's focus.  He glares at the elder Russian for a long moment...

...and then moves into action, shoving the official aside as he drags
Preston up by the hair to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  What the-?!  The kid can't even defend himself, Bucky!  He can't
even-

[Sudakov hoists Preston off the mat, trying to put him down with another
bodyslam...

...but Eric Preston has other ideas!]

GM:  INSIDE CRADLE!  INSIDE CRADLE!!  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


[And Preston promptly rolls from the ring to the floor, throwing both
arms into the air as the official joins him to raise his hand.  An irate
Kolya Sudakov gets up, smashing his arms into the top rope as he charges
after the fleeing Preston.]

PW:  Here is your winner...

ERRRRRRRIC PRESSSSSTON!

[Preston soaks up the roaring cheers from the crowd, both arms still in
the air as he stumbles back, falling against the steel ringside
barricade where fans reach over to pat him on the shoulder, back, chest,
whatever as he grins from ear to ear.]

GM:  A beautiful counter by Eric Preston right there... and Bucky, I'd
have to say this young man is back and he's ready to Rumble!

BW:  Another big win - I've gotta give him credit.  I gave him no chance
against Sudakov but the kid pulled it off.  But Gordo, there's a big
difference between hooking a cradle on a guy and throwing out
twenty-nine people to win a shot at the National Title!

GM:  There is... a very big difference for sure, Bucky.  But I think
this kid is ready!  I think Memorial Day just might be Eric Preston's
big night.  It may be the night where we see this young man graduate to
the next level here in the AWA!

BW:  We'll see about that.

GM:  Fans, we understand that Jason Dane is still trying to find out
what's going on with Mark Langseth in tonight's Main Event... but in the
meantime, he just caught up with another man who will be competing in
that big match, another former National Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie
Scott!  Jason?

[Crossfade to the locker room area where Dane is with the former champ.]

JD: Thanks, Gordon, I am indeed here with two-time AWA National
Heavyweight Champion, "Hotshot" Stevie Scott and Stevie...can we get
your reaction to being voted by the fans as one of Juan Vasquez's
partners tonight?

[Stevie, who was looking off-camera and disinterested while Dane was
talking, quickly snaps his head back toward the interviewer.  A startled
Dane jumps backward

HSS: You want...my reaction.

[Nervously, Dane answers.]

JD: Y...yes.  Please.

HSS: My reaction.

[Annnnd, a few seconds of awkward silence.  Which is broken by some
awkward laughter by Stevie.  Not "EHEHEHEHEHEH!" or anything, but it's
still a bit disturbing.]

HSS: I think...

[The Hotshot quickly jerks his head to look into the camera.]

HSS: ...the fans have no idea what they're asking for.

They want to see _me_ on the same side of the ring as the man who I went
to war with for over a year?  The man who made me bleed, the man who
tried to end my _career_?  Their hero, their idol, their _savior_ during
these dark times, as Juannie called 'em while sounding like he belonged
in one of those Harry Potter movies in the process?

_That's_ what they want to see?

[Pausing, Stevie shakes his head.]

HSS: You know, more than once now, I've said right here on AWA Saturday
Night Wrestling that I have a message for Juan Vasquez.  And I said in
due time, it would be delivered.  But now, these fans, they're getting
impatient it seems, and they're trying to force my hand and see if I
will deliver the message on _their_ time instead of _my_ time.

[He turns back to Dane and grabs him by his shirt.]

HSS: Well, you listen to me, Jason Dane and you listen good...

NOBODY will make Stevie Scott do something he doesn't want to do.

[Stevie releases Dane and turns back to the camera.]

HSS: Not the fans, not Jim Watkins, NO-BO-DY.

So whatever happens tonight, just remember, fans of the AWA.

[Once again, Stevie grins and laughs that rather uncomfortable chuckle.]

HSS: You got just what you asked for.

[Stevie Scott spins to make his exit...

...and comes face to face with the Prince of Darkness, Anton Layton,
clad in his black velvet cloak, the hood hanging slightly over his
eyes.]

JD:  Anton Layton!  What are you-

[Layton grabs Dane's wrist with his right hand, pulling it closer.]

AL:  Steven Scott...

[Layton's trademark cackle starts deep in his chest but soon is booming
over the mic.]

AL:  EHEHEHEHEHE!  EHEHEHEHEHEHE!

[Layton's laugh cuts off abruptly.]

AL:  Make no mistake, Steven... it is not these people... these fools...
these non-believers who have gotten what they asked for... no, no...

[He shakes his head.]

AL:  It is... my Master.

[Stevie cocks an eyebrow in a "This guy's nuts" expression.]

AL:  You see, Steven... it is my Master who knows all... who sees all...
he sees what's inside here...

[A jab of a finger into the chest of Scott.]

AL:  He sees the darkness that still lurks inside you... and he wants to
see it.  He wants it released!

That is why, Steven... that is why he has chosen you for tonight's duty.
 It is why he has chosen you to be his soldier.

[A nod.]

AL:  The moment approaches... the moment where you must decide what the
future holds for you, Steven.

[And we pause for an uncomfortable moment as Stevie and Layton size each
other up.  Slowly, the former two-time National Champion nods and Layton
cracks a smile.]

HSS: The moment approaches, huh?

[Layton now nods, still with that evil smile on his face.]

HSS: How about the moment where you quit acting like a fruitcake?  When
are we gonna get to that, because believe me, dude...it is LONG overdue.

[There goes the smile off of Layton's face, initially replaced by
surprise.]

HSS: Did you not hear one single word I said before you came over here
and did your little cryptic talking thing?  Don't come up in _my_ time
and interrupt me with that goofy little laugh...

[Oh, he's not.  Taking a deep breath first, Stevie dares to do it.]

HSS: EH!  EH!  EH!  EH!  EHHHHHHHHHHH!

[Layton's look of surprise is, by now, replaced by anger.]

HSS: What the hell's _wrong_ with you, anyway?  You constipated?  Need
some Ex-Lax?  No, wait...

At _your_ age, it's got to be Metamucil.

[Layton opens his mouth like he's about to answer, but Stevie doesn't
give him the chance.  Imagine that.]

HSS: Since you didn't seem to have your hearing aid turned on, I'll
repeat it for you.

I said NO ONE tells Stevie Scott what to do..._especially_ not you or
those little voices you hear in your head.

So if I want to ditch this interview, this night, this town, and jump on
the first flight to Hawai'i?  That's what I'll do.

If I want to go pretend to be Juan's good partner and then smack him in
the back of his head with a Heatseeker?  That's what I'll do.

[The mention of that changes Layton's expression back to the evil grin,
if only for a moment.  The Hotshot makes sure it's short-lived by
thrusting a palm up near his face.]

HSS: And if I feel like slapping the face paint off of Nenshou, the
crazy out of Monosso, the has-been out of Langesth, the ugly off of
Sharif...

[Stevie pauses again, slowly letting his eyes survey down and then back
up Layton.]

HSS: ...and the fat right off of you?

Then THAT...

[Scott moves closer to Layton, stopping mere inches from his face.]

HSS:  Is what.  I'll.  Do.

[The former champion pauses again, holding his stare right into the face
of the evil one, before turning and walking out of the picture leaving a
confused Dane and a furious Layton behind 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.

Fade back to live action where Jason Dane is standing by, microphone in
hand, with Rob Donovan.]

JD:  We're back here with Robert Donovan to ask a few questions about
Memorial Day Mayhem, tonight's Main Event, and whatever else comes up, I
suppose.  First things first, I guess -- how do you feel about not being
included in the Main Event tonight?

[Donovan's eyebrows raise briefly, then he shrugs.]

RD:  Well, Jason, I'd be lyin' if I didn't admit to bein' a little
disappointed.  I ain't too upset about how the vote turned out, the fans
know who they wanted to see an' ain't a soul goin' out there who can't
hold his own, so it'd be hard to get real upset about it.  Besides,
Jason -- ain't like there won't be opportunities to get my hands on that
bunch in the near future.

[Donovan's eyes narrow slightly.]

RD:  While we're on the subject, lemme just say this -- any of you five
goin' out there to gloryhound, steal the spotlight, whatever, if you
decide it's a good night to screw everybody, step out of line...you can
bet there'll be somebody waitin' to take your spot an' make a real stand
against all the BS these folks've been shovelin' out for long as I can
remember.  I know we all got egos, we got our pride, but this is the
time when you gotta put all that aside an' stand up as one.  If you
can't, then get the hell out of the way so the rest of us can.

JD:  Is there anybody in particular that's directed to, or just a
general warning?

RD:  C'mon, Dane, I ain't gotta spell it out.  Ain't a soul in this
world not capable of bad deeds, but there's one in particular goin' out
there to fight the good fight that ain't exactly famous for bein' a
stand-up guy.  He knows who he is an' he knows why everybody who didn't
get voted into that match is watchin' him.  I ain't gonna say his name.

[Dane shrugs his shoulders.]

JD:  Fair enough.  You've entered yourself in the Memorial Day Rumble,
30 men competing for a future opportunity at the National Title.  Do you
see this as an opportunity to vault into the National Title race, or
have you entered for other reasons?

[Donovan shoots an amused look Dane's way, then chuckles.]

RD:  Guilty as charged, Jason.  See, I've been tryin' to get my hands on
Nenshou, on Layton, on Percy Childes, an' their freak on a leash Polemos
for awhile now.  I'm lookin' at the Rumble like this -- they're all
gonna be there, one way or another.  A chance to get my hands on every
single one o' these men is a chance I ain't gonna pass up -- an' if the
unthinkable should happen and I win, not only do I get to tell the
Unholy Alliance that I beat 'em -- ALL of 'em -- at the same time,
cleared their entire sorry lil' club outta the ring, I get to sit on a
National Title shot sometime down the line.  I got nothin' against the
guy holdin' that title, Dane, but a shot at the big belt is somethin'
nobody who works in this business can pass up.

[Donovan grins.]

RD:  'Specially when passin' it up would also cost me a chance to dish
out some well-earned payback to some of the biggest jerks in the
organization.

[With that, Donovan claps Dane on the back, nearly sending him to the
floor, then walks out of frame, chuckling quietly as we fade back to the
ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is scheduled for one fall with a
fifteen minute time limit.  Introducing first... already in the ring at
this time... at a total combined weight of 415 pounds... the team of
Nick Walker and Ryan Plank.

[Two poor souls raise their arms to little reaction.]

PW:  And their opponents...

[The sounds of Motley Crue's "Shout At The Devil" sends the crowd into a
roar.]

PW:  At a total combined weight of 595 pounds... the team of "The
Hammer" Jackson Haynes... Danny Morton...

VIOLENNNNNNCE UNNNNLIMITED!

[The music kicks in in full...

...and Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes come a-chargin' down the ramp
towards the ring.]

GM:  HERE!  COMES!  TROUBLE!

[Morton and Haynes hit the ring hard, fists flying as Haynes throws
three big haymakers, knocking Walker back into the ropes...

...where a hellacious clothesline sends him toppling over the ropes and
down to the floor!]

GM:  OHHHH!  WALKER'S CLEARED OUT!!

[Danny Morton grabs Ryan Plank by the arm, firing him across...

...and flattens him with a running double shoulderblock!]

GM:  VIOLENCE UNLIMITED JUST PICKED UP THE SPLIT!!

[Haynes wastes no time in pulling Plank up by the arm, hurling him into
the corner where he barrels into him with a running clothesline.  He
grabs the arm again, firing him across...]

GM:  Another running clothesline in the buckles!

[As Plank staggers out, Haynes pivots and DRILLS him in the back of the
head with a clothesline, sending him stumbling into the waiting arms of
Morton who powers him up into a crucifix powerbomb position with ease,
holding him high...

...and swinging him out and violently down facefirst to the canvas!]

GM:  OHHH!  BOOMER SOONER CONNECTS!!

[Morton rolls Plank to his back, dropping to a knee and planting one
hand in the chest as the referee lays down a quick three count.]


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here are your winners...  VIOLENNNNCE UNNNLIMITED!

[Morton slowly gets up, glaring at the official who quickly bails from
the ring.  Jackson Haynes is storming around the ring, shouting at
anyone who will listen.  "The Hammer" grabs an offered mic.]

JH:  What you just saw is a sneak preview... a sneak preview of what
we'll be doin' in just 'bout a week inside that Rumble!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  Wait a second!  Is he saying that Violence Unlimited has joined the
Rumble?

[Haynes is still stomping around the ring, the crowd roaring as Morton
mimes throwing people over the top rope...

...when suddenly a voice rings out.]

Voice: Whoa whoa whoa whoa _whoa_!

[Stepping out from behind the curtain is the founder of Royalty, Joe
Petrow.  Petrow is _not_ dressed in his usual businessman attire, but
rather in a pair of black wrestling boots, black pant-length trunks, and
with his upper torso, at about 80% of the buffitude of his prime,
covered by nothing but a large gold belt slung over his left shoulder.]

JP: Pardon my attire, I'm kinda busy today, but I've got something
important to say to you guys.  Because, much as I know how much you'd
like a shot at our oh-so-vulnerable National Champion, I'm here to tell
you that you will _not_ be participating in the Memorial Day Rumble!

[Haynes can be heard off-mic shouting, "WHAT THE HELL YOU TALKIN'
'BOUT?!"]

JP: You see, for all these weeks now, you've been moaning about how you
haven't gotten a rematch for the tag team championships held by Lord
Eric and Lord David!  But since you _lost_ your match with those
gentlemen, against whom have actually _won_ a match against?  Absolutely
nobody of importance!

So I brought this to the attention of one Jim Watkins, and wouldn't you
know it, every now and then the stubborn old goat _can_ be reasonable! 
And he has told me that you guys _will_ be proving yourselves at
Memorial Day Mayhem, and you will be doing so against Adam and Cain of
the First Family!

[The crowd cheers the announcement of the tag match - some quite bummed
they won't get to see Morton and Haynes dishing out a beating inside the
Rumble.  Morton and Haynes look at each other, shaking their heads as a
grinning Petrow continues.]

JP: And if they win the match, then we know for a fact that you guys
were never worthy of those championships at all!  But if _you_ win, then
you will...

[...wait for it!]

JP: ...knock the First Family out of contention for a title shot!  So
good luck guys, and win one for Royalty! Ha ha ha ha HAAAA!!!

[With a gloating Petrow still laughing and Violence Unlimited glaring
down the aisle at him, no one seems to notice the arrival of "Big" Jim
Watkins, the Chairman of the Championship Committee.  The crowd is the
first to see him, cheering loudly as Petrow "waves down" the cheers that
he assumes are for him...

...until he backs right into the large form of Watkins.  Petrow spins
around, fists at the ready, until he sees Watkins.  He quickly lowers
his hands, offering a handshake to the executive who slowly raises a
mic.]

JW:  There's a lot of things in the world - especially in THIS business
- that bother me, Petrow.  But few things tick me off more than someone
misquotin' me, son.

[The crowd cheers Watkins' anger towards Petrow.]

JW:  You're right.  I did agree to puttin' those two tough roughnecks
inside the ring, Danny Morton and Jackson Haynes, in a tag team match
next week against The First Family.  The AWA tag team division is the
cream of the crop in this sport and I want to see it on display that
night more than once.

BUT... there's a heck of a lot more on the line than you claim, Petrow.

[The fans begin to buzz with anticipation.]

JW:  That match will see the team who wants to face the Rockstar Express
the most against the team who wants to face Rough N Ready the most...

[Pause.]

JW:  And the winner of that match will be named the new Number One
contenders to the AWA National Tag Team Championships!

And I'm tellin' ya right now, son... whether you and your boys like it
or not...

The winning team...

[Pause.]

JW:  WILL... get a shot at the National Tag Team Titles when the
Committee says so!

[HUGE CHEER!  Haynes slaps the top turnbuckle and lets loose a
celebratory whoop as Morton points a menacing finger down the ramp at
Joe Petrow who is throwing a big ol' tantrum, stomping and puffing out
his cheeks.]

GM:  Haha!  I love it!  Violence Unlimited versus the First Family at
Memorial Day Mayhem with the #1 contender spot AND a shot at the
National Tag Team Titles on the line!

BW:  But... but... that's not fair!  Why does Watkins get to make that
decision?!

GM:  He's the Chairman of the Championship Committee, Bucky!  The
Committee makes that decision and he's the one who stands up for it! 
And these fans love it, Bucky!  That's the important thing!  And just
imagine Haynes and Morton in there with that massive Brother Cain!  I
can't wait to see it... and now, we're goin' backstage where Jason
Dane's got some special guests!  Jason?

[Jason Dane is standing in the backstage area of the Crockett Colosseum
in front of the AWA banner, flanked by Travis Lynch, attired in a tight
black, short sleeve polo shirt, that show off his biceps, a pair of blue
jeans and a pair of cowboy boots made from vintage cognac smooth ostrich
leather with turquoise crunch goatskin highlights, on his left. Travis
smiles widely as Jason nods to the camera man signally that's he ready
for the interview to begin.]

JD: I'm here with the youngest of the Lynches, Travis...

[The young man who looks like a twenty first century Adonis nods as
Jason continues to speak.]

JD:  Well, the fans have spoken and unfortunately you were not chosen as
one Juan Vasquez's four partners here tonight in what turned out to be
an extremely close voting...

[Travis takes a breath and nods, a look of disappointment upon his face
as he does so.]

TL: That's right Jason, I wasnt selected tonight but I still thank the
fans that voted for me and made it a close race. It means a lot to me to
have that much support from the fans in such a short period of time. So
thank you all.

While I didn't get the opportunity to step into the ring tonight...

[Travis pauses again and takes a deep breath.]

TL:  ...I feel the fans made great choices in City Jack, Sweet Daddy
Williams and Supernova. All three are men I respect and I wish them well
in their battle tonight. But you have to question the choice of Stevie
Scott... the battles between Juan and Stevie were brutal, bloody and
personal... those types of battles don't just disappear... they scar you
and make trusting a difficult thing.  Honestly, I'd rather take my
chances with a snake in the grass than having Stevie Scott as my partner
if I was Juan Vasquez.

[Travis pauses for a moment before he begins to speak again.]

TL: But you know Jason, even though I'm not getting this huge
opportunity to take the fight to men like Layton and Nenshou... it
doesn't mean that my brothers and I won't keep fighting. You see, we
know this isn't a single battle between the men that get cheer and the
men the fans boo out of the Crockett Colosseum.  No Jason, it's a war
between decency and filth and we won't stop till the filth is gone from
the AWA!

[James follows up his younger brother.]

JL: Travis said it best.  We were raised to fight to the end and we
wont stop until we bring a little order to the AWA.  Layton has made
his intentions well known and here we stand right in the middle of it
all.   Layton, you are a bit of a master mind.  Your plans are well
calculated.  The only thing that wasnt accounted for is the fact these
three men right here dont back down. 

[The Lynch brothers nod.]

JL: So while we will have a front row seat in the back for tonight's
Main Event.  There will be three pair of eyes to make sure things stay
fair.  And if anyone feels like they just _have_ to fight  Well it
appears there are three hungry Texans right here just chomping at a
chance to fight.

[A big smile from James.]

JL: Jack, what do you say?  Are you itching to squeeze some poor SOBs
face?

[The camera cuts to the corner of the locker room, where Jack Lynch
stands, leaning against the lockers, arms folded across his chest.  Hes
dressed all in black, as usual.  A button down black dress shirt, black
jeans, black boots.  And of course, his fathers cowboy hat, which is
tilted forward, partially covering his face.]

JL:  Aint nothin Id rather do.   But first? Theres a few things I
want to get off my chest. 

I was sittin in the bar.  And no, I dont know why all my stories start
that way either.  But Im sittin in the bar, and Im watching the
replay.  And I hear one of the announcers say something to the effect
of, its a bad night to be a Lynch.  

JL: Lets get one thing clear.  It aint ever a bad night to be a Lynch.
 And from where I was sittin, which was right at ringside, nothing that
happened two weeks ago proves me wrong.    First thing I saw was my
brother here...  

[Jack steps forward, and slaps both hands down on James shoulders.]

JL:  Become the uncrowned Heritage champion.  As far as Im concerned,
all its gonna take is one more match to get rid of the word uncrowned.
 Nenshou, and all the rest?  That belt might be in your possession, but
based on what I saw?  It aint yours.   Then theres Rex Summers. 

[Jack moves away from James, and steps closer to Travis.]

JL:  Yknow what it means, when a man jumps another man from behind?  
It doesnt make him sneaky, or crafty, or even opportunist.  Theres
only one reason to blindside another man. 

[The oldest Lynch removes his hat, and lifts his head, staring straight
into the camera.]

JL:  Its because youre afraid.  Fear is what makes a man attack like
that.  Fear of the man youre fighting, and the certain knowledge that,
in a straight up fight, aint no chance youre going to win.  Rex
Summers, you stole that PCW title from me.  And though my fathers
promotion is gone, that hasnt been forgotten.  Mark my words, there
will be a reckoning. 

Now listen.  Tonight, none of us are in the main event, but let me make
something clear.  Any man who wants to find us, be it Layton or Summers,
or Nenshou, or anyone else, just because were not on the card tonight
doesnt mean well be hard to find.  Tonight? Well be sitting here,
waiting to see if the call for the cavalry comes out. 

And soon, were going to be in the Rumble.  And I invite any man... no,
I invite EVERY man, who wants a piece of the Lynch family to come find
us in the Rumble.  Because the three of us aim to be the last three
standing.  And one of us is gonna be the very last man.  And when that
happens? 

Well, like I said, everyone will know just how good it is to be a Lynch.


[We cut back to inside the arena where we see a panning shot of the
sold-out Crockett Coliseum crowd.

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!

[Michaelson pauses, soaking up the cheers.]

TM:  And at this time, on the final Money Pit here in the Crockett
Coliseum for the summer, it is my distinct pleasure to introduce to you
the men who I believe will be the next National Tag Team Titles in just
about one week's time - Scotty Storm and Marty Morgan - the Rockstar
Express!

[The crowd cheers the arrival of Storm and Morgan, both dressed to
wrestle as they enter the stage.  They each shake hands with Michaelson
before waving to the crowd.]

TM:  Guys, I just said that I think you'll be wearing those belts in
about a week... but it's not gonna be easy.  You're facing two
double-tough individuals in Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers - and
love him or hate him, you have to realize that the odds are high that
Joe Petrow may play a role in that one as well.  Your thoughts heading
into Memorial Day Mayhem.

[Scotty Storm leans over the mic.]

SS:  My thoughts are that in one week's time, all these people are gonna
have a heck of a lot to cheer about!

[A fistpump brings a big cheer from the crowd.]

MM:  My partner's fired up, Todd, and who can blame him.  It's the
National Tag Team Titles on the line and Scotty and I have been waitin'
a while to get this shot at the gold.  But it's about more than that,
Todd.  You're right.  Cooper and Somers?  They're darn tough.  They're
two veterans who've been 'round the block and know what it takes to keep
those belts around their waists.  And when you add that slimy snake
Petrow in there, it gets even tougher to pry those titles free.

But we've got a little extra motivation, Todd.

[Scotty Storm nods.]

SS:  We spent a few hours earlier this week sittin' round Stevie
Childes' living room, Todd.  He's laid up, he's hurt.  He's sittin' in a
chair with his leg up in the air in a cast.  It ain't a pretty sight and
it's 'cause the so-called champs didn't have the stones to wanna face
the Aces in the middle of the ring.

MM:  Stevie's a good guy.  We've had our differences in the past but
it's in the past for a reason.  He knows that was their shot - their
shot to be the champs - but it got ripped away from them.  

SS:  So for us, we can't think of a better "get well" gift for 'em than
to walk out of there with the titles so we can give 'em their shot when
they're ready for it!

[Michaelson pulls the mic back.]

TM:  It's a noble gesture but there's a lot of tag teams gunnin' for
those titles.  We heard earlier tonight that the First Family will
collide with Violence Unlimited with the #1 contender slot on the line. 
What do you think of facing either of those two teams?

[Scotty Storm speaks up.]

SS:  It ain't no secret, Todd, that the First Family and the Rockstars
have been havin' trouble for a while now.  So, a chance to face 'em with
the belts on the line?  That's right up our alley.

MM:  And those two big bulls Haynes and Morton?  Well, they may throw us
around like a couple of flour sacks but we're a couple a' flour sacks
that fight back.

SS:  I ain't never seen a flour sack throw a dropkick, Marty.

MM:  Me neither.  How about you, Todd?

[Todd chuckles.]

TM:  Definitely not.  Well, guys, I wish you the best of luck at
Memorial Day Mayhem and I want to have you both back on the show when
you're the new champions.

[Another exchange of handshakes as Storm and Morgan step forward,
saluting the cheering fans as we fade to Jason Dane who stands among the
debris of the wrestlers locker room]

JD: Gordon, I'm back in the locker room now, and I can tell you that AWA
officials have been scouring the Crockett Coliseum for that custom
leather jacket of Alex Martinez.  As you can see from the carnage behind
me, Mr. Martinez himself has been frantically searching all over for his

Voice: Tell me about it!

[Back on the scene is Joe Petrow, still walking around with his
championship belt over his bare shoulder.]

JP: I could hear that idiot screaming from all the way inside of our VIP
Royalty Dressing Room.  Thank goodness we have all of those guards
stationed outside to keep the riff raff out, or we might have ended up
losing our concentration!

JD: Well Mr. Petrow, I was just talking to Alex Martinez earlier, and he
was mentioning that this was _very_ similar to a time when Mark Langseth
had taken that same jacket and placed it on _his_ assistant at the time
Mr. Honeydew!

JP: Well Alex Martinez is mistaken about a lot of things! I know for a
_fact_ that Mr. Langseth has nothing to do with his stupid jacket,
because the King's loyal followers have come together and _begged_ him
to expose our fraud of a champion once and for all!  And being a
benevolent King, Mr. Langseth has been hard at work preparing to do just
that!  Between him, attending to the king's business, and that funny
business that VU and Watkins have tried to pull over Lords David and
Eric, I'm a very busy man!  But _I_ still know enough to keep an eye on
my most prized possession!

JD: I assume that you are referring to the championship belt that has
yet to leave your shoulder tonight?

JP: Alex was right about one thing, you're a regular Nostradamus! He's
already talked enough for the both of us, which I don't blame him for
seeing as that's the only thing that he does well, but if you think for
a _second_ that he can make me doubt my self-worth, then you are sadly
mistaken!  Because no matter how many phone books worth of garbage that
freak spews, I have only to take one look at this to remind myself
_exactly_ who I am!

You're getting pretty cocky Alex. I guess that's because anybody can
find you just by following the trail of Minions that you keep beating
up.  But I am _not_ part of that "Axis of Mediocrity" that you have such
an easy time with!

My _name_ is Joe Petrow!  I am the founder of Royalty!  I am the Eternal
World's Heavyweight champion!  And when you were throwing around names a
couple months ago, there were a few others that you forgot about. NUKE!
Mark Destructo! Deathbringer! Requiem!  All seven foot monsters who got
in the ring with Joe Petrow, and all of whom limped away from the ring
afterwards asking themselves "How did that little twerp _do_ this to
me!?"

Martinez, tonight is going to be a real challenge.  Because I have to
hurt you badly enough to satisfy and vindicate me...yet leave enough for
you to, in just nine days time, walk to the ring under your own power,
give a heartfelt, passionate apology, and bend down to KISS THE FEET of
the King of wrestling!  A great challenge, but a fitting one for the
Eternal Champion!

But for you...I'm going to make things real simple.  The only "dragon"
you need to worry about...is the beating...that's gonna drag on...and
on...and on!

[The camera pans out as Petrow turns to leave. With a contemptuous
glare, Petrow exits the locker room as we fade to black.

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

"Have you ever dreamed of fame?"

[Cut a little closer.]

"Of glory?"

[A little closer.]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Two young students are grappling on the canvas.]

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

You want to wrestle!"

[Fade to a graphic that has all the info on the AWA Combat Corner.  We
freeze there for a moment and then fade back up to live action to the
interview platform.

Shot cuts over to the interview platform, where Jason Dane stands by one
of the men in tonight's main event AND the main event of Memorial Day
Mayhem... City Jack.]

JD: City Jack -

[The crowd lets out a cheer as City Jack nods.]

JD: Tonight, you step into the ring for what will be your second to last
match of your career. A match that contains all the combustible elements
here in the AWA... and the AWA National Champion, Juan Vasquez.

[Another huge cheer, this time for the champ. Jack smiles and laughs a
bit to himself.]

CJ: Jason Dane, this here IS a big event - the Main Event and what a
match it is! On one side, you got every king rat scurryin' about this
place, lookin' for the mantle of the big man! They're all lined up,
every single one of 'em, lookin' to put down EVERYbody in this place
here! 

[City Jack shakes his head disapprovingly.]

CJ: You got them guys with more than just a couple screw let on loose in
Monosso, Nenshou, and Layton - shoot, they're missin every nut, bolt,
screw and marble they done ever had!

[Jack nods with a big grin.]

CJ: Mr. Hall of Famer, right? He's showin' up?

JD: That remains to be seen.  He's scheduled to, yes.

[Jack looks surprised.]

CJ: Really? Aside from the man repeatin' the past with his words over
and over, I done didn't know he was still able to compete! But you know,
my favorite person in this here match? My FAVORITE person I gettin' to
fightin' tonight? It's that Shaa-reef!

JD: Sultan Azam Sharif?

CJ: Yeah! Yeah! Now that guy, he makes me laugh. I got to say it. Tryin'
to understand him, why it was a highlight every time I was watching
Saturday Night while laid up! Now I say, he's one funny guy... But he's
sure one helluva ba... well, you know, I'm sure. Him and the old man...

JD: Well -

CJ: With the cane, you know?

[Jack mimics Count Bathwaite's cane-poking with his index finger into
the side of Dane. This gets a rise out of the crowd as Jack laughs and
laughs.]

JD: I have to say, Jack, that for your second to last match ever, you're
pretty laid back tonight.

[The big man from Liberty, Kentucky nods as his smile slowly fades to a
more serious look.]

CJ: Jason... I got to say, from now until Memorial Day... It's all
icing, you hear? It's all gravy cause I done realized I've had it all.
It's time for me to enjoy it again, for the last time.

[Jack lets out a deep breath.]

CJ: When the champ last time out agreed to have a match with me, for the
title, on Memorial Day? Shoot... I was like a grand ol' pig in slop,
just lovin' life! LOVIN' LIFE!

[As Jack claps, caught up in the enthusiasm of the moment, the fans
cheer along.]

CJ: I know Juan Vasquez didn't have to do it - I know he could've just
taken the night off, scout out who won the Rumble. But he didn't and it
shows just what a man he is. Jason, the National Champ, he's won brave
son of a gun and I have THE most respect for him for what he's doin'
here.

[Jack nods.]

CJ: He don't have to - he don't have to stand up when no else does. He
don't have risk life and limb AND title against the evil forces here in
the AWA... But he does. And that shows the character of the man. That
shows... That shows that he knows. He gets it.

[The crowd cheers as City Jack nods again, he himself clapping for the
National Champion's actions.]

CJ: So tonight, I couldn't be prouder than to team with a man like Juan
Vasquez. I couldn't be prouder and more happy to have my LAST match EVER
here in Dallas -

[Again, the crowd interrupts, cheering while some chant "CIT-Y JACK!
CIT-Y JACK! CIT-Y JACK!", all of which causes the big man to blush a
bit.]

CJ: But to team up with my good pal Sweet Daddy Williams, Supernova, and
Juan Vasquez -

JD: Don't forget Stevie Scott.

[Jack sort of furrows his brow at that one, not sure how to react.]

CJ: Yeah... I guess him too... But to team up with them three real men?
Against those there five characters? Why, shoot, it'll be one fun ol'
match for ol' sob!

[And with that, Jack claps Jason on the back and walks off the interview
platform.]

JD:  Fans, let's go up to the ring!

[Crossfade to Phil Watson.]

PW: The following contest is set for one fall!  The stipulations are
that if Alex Martinez wins this match, he earns the right to wrestle
Mark Langseth at Memorial Day Mayhem! However, if Joe Petrow wins, at
Memorial Day Mayhem, Alex Martinez must read verbatim an apology
prepared by Mr. Petrow, and must then _kiss_ the _feet_ of Mark
Langseth!

Introducing first...

#It's all right...#

[The crowd explodes, knowing who they are about to see...]

#It's all right...#

GM: All right indeed!  This man coming out right now is _finally_ going
to give the crowd what they want to see!

[As if the crowd can somehow hear Gordon's words, they turn it up a
notch higher!]

#It's all right, I'm just a...#

GM: And here comes their hero!

[And then the crowd gets...]

#LITTLE CR#

[LOUD ANNOYING SOUND OF NEEDLE SCRATCHING ACROSS RECORD]

"Tonight's story is somewhat unique and calls for a different kind of
introduction."

[Confusion leads to anger. Anger leads to hate. _Hate_, leads to...]

GM: I cannot this believe this!

BW: HAH! That is the funniest thing I've ever seen, Gordo!  And I've
seen you have too much eggnog at the New Years Party, so that's saying
something!

[Watson continues.]

PW: Making his spring residence in Palm Beach, Florida, he is the
Eternal World's Heavyweight Champion, and the founder of Royalty...

JOOOOOE PETROOOOOW!

[As if the sound of Michael Jackson's "Threatening" isn't enough to make
the crowd livid, as if the sight of Joe Petrow laughing at how he
tricked everyone into a thundering ovation isn't enough to draw objects
from the crowd hurtling his way, Petrow has thrown even more gasoline
onto the fire, wearing a ridiculously large Elton John-inspired pair of
sunglasses, and...]

GM: That is the jacket of Alex Martinez!  This...this degenerate has
actually stolen Alex's leather jacket to mock him!

BW: You don't know that for sure, Gordo!  His tailor might have just had
a bad day at the office!

[As if to dispel Bucky's excuse, the smirking Petrow spreads his arms
(his hands barely poking out of the sleeves) and does a slow 180,
turning around to show crude spray painting on the back that says:

"LASt AMERIcAN BAD As JuAN"]

BW: [unable to contain his laughter, but also unable to speak anything
else]

GM: This is one of the most disgusting displays of disrespect I have
ever seen!

[Satisfied that he has offended just about everybody, Petrow turns
around and heads to the ring...and immediately a full cup of liquid
flies from the crowd and smashes Petrow on the shoulder, sending a
yellow spray into the air.  As it seems the situation might escalate,
Petrow screams "Hey, watch the jacket!", which seems to be enough to
contain the remainder of the onslaught to simply verbal taunts, though
security definitely has its work cut out getting Petrow safely to the
ring]

GM: Fans, I cannot condone throwing objects at this man, only because
that might accidentally hurt somebody _other_ than Petrow!

BW: [Finally recovering] Joe's just having a little fun out there!  If
Alex Martinez had any sense of humor, I'm sure that even he's laughing
himself silly in the back!

[At the top of the ramp, Petrow stops and gestures towards the referee. 
The ref assumes the position of sitting on the bottom rope and pushing
the top rope up, giving Petrow ample space to climb into the ring.  He
throws his ridiculous sunglasses into the audience, where they are
instantly torn to shreds. Surveying the rabid crowd, he sheds the
oversized, vandalized jacket of Alex Martinez, and takes off the Eternal
World's Heavyweight Championship belt.  Holding the belt in his right
hand, he raises it high over his head.  Holding the jacket in his left
hand, he lowers it behind himself, and then...

The camera quickly cuts away to a shocked and angry member of the crowd,
hurling renewed insults towards Petrow.]

GM: Good!  I'm glad that the camera is not showing this vile,
reprehensible show of disrespect that Petrow is doing with Alex
Martinez's jacket!

BW: Well, I hear that there's a shortage of toilet paper in Dallas, so
Joe's just getting by with what he's got!

GM: I just cannot understand what Petrow is thinking of here!  It
_cannot_ be a good idea to anger a man like Alex Martinez to this
extent!

[Petrow is all smirks as he settles back against the corner, propping
himself up to lie across the top rope and turnbuckle as the music turns
back to that of Rob Halford's Fight.]

GM:  Now this... THIS... will be the big man himself!

BW:  How do you know that?

[The Last American Badboy bursts through the curtain to a huge cheer,
not waiting for the appropriate musical cue.  He points a finger down
the aisle at a smirking Joe Petrow who climbs to the middle rope,
returning the gesture before dragging a thumb across his throat...]

GM:  This guy's crazy, Bucky.

BW:  There's a reason they call him "Sycho," Gordo.

GM:  I suppose there is.

[Martinez walks swiftly down the ramp, heading towards the ring with a
fury as Joe Petrow steps a foot onto the top rope, pointing out to the
roaring fans on the floor...

...and then quickly steps up top, HURLING himself off his perch towards
the incoming Martinez!]

GM:  AXEHANDLE OFF THE TOP!!!

[But the seven footer is ready for him, catching the soaring Petrow
around the throat with his left hand!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HE'S GOT HIM!!  ALEX HAS GOT HIM BY THE THROAT!!

[Martinez steps back, turning to face the crowd.]

GM:  Oh my stars!  He's got Petrow near the edge of the ramp!  

BW:  He's gonna chokeslam him on the floor!  He's gonna kill him, Gordo!

GM:  This isn't good!  This isn't good at all!  Even if you're not a fan
of Joe Petrow, I don't think anyone would want to see him-

[But before Martinez can hoist him off the wooden ramp, Petrow SLAMS an
open hand into the injured shoulder in a fierce palm strike.  The big
man recoils in pain, immediately grabbing his shoulder as he staggers
towards the ropes...]

GM:  Ohh!  He caught the shoulder!

BW:  Look out here!

[...and Petrow rushes forward, leaping up to drive a knee between the
shoulderblades, a blow that sends Martinez toppling over the ropes and
down into the ring.]

GM:  And look at the grin on the face of Joe Petrow.  He thinks he's
ruling the world right now, doesn't he?

BW:  He IS the Eternal World Champion, Gordo.

[Grabbing the top rope, Petrow arrogantly slingshots over the ropes into
the ring...

...and SLAMS the heel of his boot down onto the injured shoulder!]

GM:  A slingshot stomp?  Come on!  He's just showing off now.

BW:  And rightfully so.  He's got a former World Champion and one of the
best to ever lace 'em up down on the mat and stomping him into the
canvas.  Joe Petrow is criminally underrated in the annals of wrestling
history, Gordo.  He's a man who was the final World Champion of a
promotion that many would name one of - if not THE best - of all time. 
But how many people talk about him when they're talking Hall of Fame,
Gordo?  How many?

GM:  Not very many.

BW:  That's right - and now Joe Petrow gets his chance to show exactly
why he SHOULD be in that discussion!  If he beats Alex Martinez here
tonight - a man who many have called a sure-fire Hall of Famer - who can
doubt his spot in that discussion?

[A few more stomps land on the shoulder - blows that cause Martinez to
roll to his chest, pulling his injured arm underneath him, wincing in
pain.  Petrow arrogantly walks around the downed big man...

...and then drops down, driving his knee down into the shoulder area!]

GM:  Ohh!  

[Grabbing Martinez by the wrist, Petrow yanks back hard, bending the arm
against the knee that is still planted on the big man's shoulder.  He
punctuates it with a "Ask him, ref!"]

BW:  You heard the man.  Check him, ref.

GM:  The referee is doing a fine job out here, checking to see if Alex
Martinez wants to submit.  He does not, by the way.

BW:  Give him some time.

GM:  Do you honestly believe that Alex Martinez will submit in a match
where he has to kiss his most hated rival's feet if he loses?

BW:  Anything is possible.

[Petrow releases the arm, rising to his feet to deliver a couple more
stomps before he grabs the wrist, hauling the big man up to his feet. 
He attempts an Irish whip...

...but the big man holds his ground!]

GM:  Uh oh!

[Petrow grabs the wrist with both hands, attempting another whip...]

GM:  The big man's not going anywhere, fans!

[Martinez returns the favor, pulling hard...

...and flattening Petrow with a short-arm clothesline!  The crowd cheers
the counter as Martinez falls back to the corner, clutching his injured
arm as Petrow rolls towards the ropes.]

GM:  Martinez needs to stay on top of him, Bucky.

BW:  He definitely does.  Petrow doesn't wrestle too often which some
would call a disadvantage.  Tonight, I think it's an advantage.  He's
not coming in here with the laundry list of injuries that Martinez is.

[The big man stumbles towards the ropes, his injured arm hanging limply
at his side as he leans over to grab the downed Petrow...

...who lashes out with a kick to the shoulder!]

GM:  Ohh!  Nice counter!

[Petrow quickly kips up off the mat.  He grabs the injured arm,
executing a full armtwist.  He uses the leverage to force Martinez into
a whip, looking for a backdrop...

...but Martinez pulls up short, burying a boot into the face of Petrow,
knocking him backwards towards the ropes!]

GM:  Big counter by the big- OHHHHH!

[The crowd ERUPTS as Martinez hits a running clothesline with his good
arm, knocking Petrow over the ropes and down to the thinly-padded
concrete floor below.  The big man steps over the ropes, dropping down
to the floor where Petrow is crawling away from him.]

GM:  Petrow's trying to escape - might be a good idea.

BW:  Or it might be a brilliant strategy.  I doubt he's running for it -
I think Petrow might take a bullet for Langseth.

GM:  Really?

BW:  Well, he'd at least tell Mark that he would.

[Martinez grabs Petrow by the back of the tights, yanking him bodily up
to his feet.  Petrow frantically turns around, throwing a wild haymaker
that Martinez absorbs, ducking down to wrap his good arm around the
torso of Petrow, surging forwards...]


"CLAAAAAAAAAAANG!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  INTO THE STEEL!!

[With the big man leaning on him, Petrow's back is pressed into the
steel barricade, wincing as he tries to fight free.  The Eternal World
Champion slams a pair of elbows down on the back of Martinez, trying to
loosen his grip...

...but the big man simply straightens up and creams Petrow with a
haymaker that knocks him down to a knee.]

GM:  Good grief!  What a shot!

[Grabbing a handful of hair, Martinez drags him towards the ring,
hurling him under the bottom rope.  The big man uses the ropes to pull
himself up on the apron...

...and gets caught stepping through the ropes with a rushing dropkick to
the injured shoulder!]


"OHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The blow knocks Martinez back down onto the apron where Petrow reaches
over the ropes, grabbing the injured wing, dragging him to his feet...

...and SNAPPING the arm down on the top rope!]

GM:  Petrow keeps going to the arm, Bucky.  He just seems outgunned
unless he can go to the arm.

BW:  What's wrong with that?  He knows his opponent's weakness and he's
taking advantage of it.

[Wrapping Martinez' injured arm around the top rope, Petrow hammers it
over and over with right hands to the shoulder, causing Martinez to cry
out in pain.  Holding the arm in place, he smashes an overhead elbow
down onto the arm as well.]

GM:  More shots to the arm - he's going to make that arm useless.

[Petrow grabs two hands full of Martinez' hair, dragging him to a
standing position...]

GM:  He's got him-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  MARTINEZ GRABS THE THROAT!!

[From outside the ropes, Martinez holds the throat for a moment...

...and then hoists Petrow up, dropping him down in an awkward looking
chokeslam.  Martinez immediately drops to a knee on the apron, clutching
his injured arm as he leans against the ropes.]

GM:  He got the chokeslam but he can't take advantage of it.

BW:  It wasn't much of a chokeslam.  He couldn't get any power behind it
from where he was standing.  It was pretty much a desperation move to
keep Petrow from attacking the arm.

[Martinez slips through the ropes into the ring, grabbing a dazed and
rising Petrow by the hair to pull him the rest of the way up...

...and wraps his hand around the throat again!]

GM:  He hooks him for the chokeslam again!  This time, he might get all
of it!

[A gasping Petrow flails and wriggles...

...and grabs a handful of the referee's shirt!]

GM:  What the- let go of him! 

BW:  He's got Meekly!  He's got-

[Petrow pulls hard, smashing the official into Martinez to break the
hold.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  How is that not a disqualification?!

BW:  It was an accident!  Joe didn't know what he was doing!  He was
being deprived of oxygen to the brain by that chokehold!  Martinez was
illegally choking him and-

GM:  Give me a break, Bucky!

[Martinez stumbles back to the corner where Petrow approaches quickly,
winding up and connecting with a right hand to the shoulder area.  He
backs off, throwing a big thrust kick into the shoulder as well.]

GM:  Still going for the arm and shoulder.  Petrow has a clear target
tonight in this one.

[The Royalty manager hops up on the middle rope, grabbing two hands full
of Martinez' hair...

...and SLAMS his knee into the injured shoulder!]

GM:  Ohh!

[Petrow repeats the process, throwing three knees to the shoulder before
leaping off the buckles, slamming Martinez' face into the canvas!]

GM:  Petrow with a cover - ONE!!  TWO!! 

[The crowd roars as Martinez powerfully kicks out, throwing Petrow
aside.]

GM:  Just a two count on that.  Martinez won't stay down!

[An irate Petrow springs to his feet, holding up three fingers.  The
official shakes him off, holding up two in response as Petrow dives atop
Martinez, battering him with right hands on the canvas.]

GM:  Petrow's all over him!  Joe Petrow sees an opening in the window!

BW:  The paywindow, daddy!  Petrow sees a chance to put Martinez down
for a three count!

[Petrow gets up, throwing a series of stomps to the shoulder to the
jeers of the crowd.  He leans down, dragging him up by the hair, shoving
him back into the  corner...]

GM:  Irish whip...

[With Martinez leaning in the corner, Petrow steamrolls across the
ring...

...and runs RIGHT into a big boot in the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The big man stumbles forward, falling into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  SHOULDER UP!!  HE GOT THE SHOULDER UP!!  I CAN'T BELIEVE IT!!

[An angry Martinez slams a fist into the canvas before climbing to his
feet.  He reaches down with his good arm, grabbing Petrow by the throat
and pulling him straight to his feet...

...where the second hand grabs the throat as well!]

GM:  FIREBOMB!  HE'S GOING FOR THE FIREBOMB!!

[But Petrow wisely - and quickly - gets dirty when he rakes his fingers
across the eyes of the big man, sending him staggering backwards
blinded.]

GM:  He goes to the eyes!  Another cheap shot!

[An angry Martinez swings a wild right hand, narrowly missing a quicker
Eternal World Champion.  A second one comes up empty as well as Petrow
measures him, looking for an opening...

...and lunges in with an overhead elbow to the shoulder!]

GM:  Ohh!  

[Pulling Martinez from the corner by the hair, he hooks a side
waistlock.]

GM:  Wait a second!  What's he going for here?

[The Eternal World Champion tries to hoist Martinez up into the air.]

BW:  He's going for the Bare Essentials!  He's trying to drop the big
man right down on his tailbone!

GM:  He can't get him up, Bucky!  There's no way he can get Martinez in
the air for this!

[Gordon quickly proves correct as Petrow struggles and strains but can't
get the big man into the air.  He quickly breaks the waistlock and
HAMMERS Martinez across the back of the injured limb with a double
axehandle blow that knocks the big man down to a knee.]

GM:  Hard shot to the shoulder by Petrow... wait a second...

[Petrow arrogantly piefaces Martinez down to the mat and then heads
towards the corner where he begins climbing the ropes.]

GM:  Petrow's headed for the top... what's he gonna do up there?

[The Royalty manager reaches the perch, spinning his finger around in a
little twirl before holding both hands straight up in the air...]

GM:  Petrow's gonna fly!  He's gonna-

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  CAUGHT!!

[The big man reaches up with his other hand, getting a better grip...

...and HURLS Petrow through the air, sending him crashing down to the
canvas in a heap!]

GM:  HE THREW HIM OFF THE TOP!!  HE THREW- 

BW:  But look at Martinez, Gordo!  Look at the big man!

[Wincing in pain, Martinez kneels near the corner, clutching his
shoulder as he leans against the turnbuckles.  Petrow is writhing in
pain on the canvas, clutching his lower back...

...when suddenly the crowd's jeers grow louder.]

GM:  Wait a second!  Mark Langseth is coming out here!  

BW:  Oh, is Alex Martinez in trouble now, daddy!

GM:  Get him out of here, ref!  He's got no business being out here!

[The hurting Martinez spots Langseth and uses the top rope to pull
himself to his feet.  He leans against the buckles, lifting a weary arm
to point out Langseth to the official who is ordering the Hall of Famer
to leave.  The big man staggers across the ring, approaching the side
where Langseth is standing and watching.]

GM:  Martinez is screaming at Langseth - at first, he was trying to get
him out of here but now he's inviting him into the ring!

BW:  He just wants the DQ.  He wants Langseth to get Petrow DQd by
getting in there.  He's smarter than that, Martinez.

[With Martinez distracted by the arrival of Langseth, it allows a
hurting Joe Petrow to get up to his feet...

...and connect with a running dropkick to the back of Martinez' knee,
knocking him down to a knee!]

GM:  Ohh!  Petrow takes a knee out!

[Spinning Martinez around, Petrow hooks a front facelock, reaching back
to grab a leg...

...but the powerhouse is having none of it, shoving off Petrow!]

GM:  Petrow was going for the Bullet Train To Hell and-

[But as Martinez gets back up, Petrow rushes in, twisting his body, and
DRILLING Martinez squarely in the face with a kick!]

GM:  OHHHH!

BW:  SYCHOKICK!  SYCHOKICK!

GM:  Martinez went down like he'd been shot point blank in the head!

[Martinez' collapse to the canvas throws a hush over the crowd as
Langseth shouts "YES!  YES!" from the entrance ramp, imploring his
manager to cover the downed Martinez.]

GM:  Langseth wants him to cover but that took a lot out of Petrow as
well, Bucky.

BW:  It sure did.  He's still down on the mat and- oh, look at that...

[The crowd buzzes with concern as we catch a glimpse of a stream of
blood pouring out of the nose of Alex Martinez who is still flat on his
back in the middle of the ring.]

GM:  The big man's nose is bleeding.  These fans are in shock.  That
kick caught him right on the button - a one in a million shot by Joe
Petrow and he may very well have knocked Alex Martinez out cold!

[With Langseth SCREAMING at Petrow from outside the ring, after several
seconds, a dazed Joe Petrow pushes up to his knee.  He looks over at
Langseth who is wildly gesturing to the downed Martinez.  Petrow shakes
his head, looking at the downed Martinez like he can't believe what he's
seeing.]

BW:  Believe it or not, Joe Petrow, you just KOd the big man!

GM:  He did not!

BW:  You sure about that?

[Petrow slowly climbs to his feet, slowly approaching the downed Alex
Martinez.  Langseth is shouting "COVER HIM!" over and over as Petrow
tenatively approaches...

...and slowly reaches out a leg, delivering a little kick to the injured
shoulder and then stepping back, fists at the ready.]

GM:  Look at this guy!  He can't even believe it!  

BW:  Cover him, Joe!

[Petrow looks down at Martinez like he's considering exactly that...

...and then reaches up, scratching his chin.]

GM:  What in the world is he doing?

BW:  I have no- no, no, no!  Cover him!

[But even though every bone in his body tells him to do otherwise, Joe
Petrow heads towards the corner.]

GM:  Petrow's going up top again!  Joe Petrow is headed for the top
rope!

[Langseth looks on in shock as Petrow scales the ropes slowly, stepping
up to the top rope.  He pauses, looking out over the jeering crowd...]

"THIS ONE'S FOR YOU, JUAN BOY!"

[...and hurls his body into the air, tucking his arms and legs, and
CRASHING backfirst down on the chest of Alex Martinez!]

BW:  SUPER SHADES OF TOMMY STEPHENS!!  TAKE THAT, VASQUEZ!!

[Petrow rolls clear to his knees, throwing his arms up in the air before
quickly scrambling around into a cover.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!! 

[But Martinez kicks out with power - HURLING Petrow into the air and off
of him!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!


"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"


[Martinez sits straight up as Petrow is thrown to his knees a few feet
away, his eyes suddenly wide.]

BW:  HOW?!  HOW?!

[Petrow frantically rushes forward, throwing right hands to the seated
Martinez' shoulder...

...but the big man reaches up, drilling Petrow with a right hand that
sends him sailing across the ring!  Big cheer!]

GM:  Big right hand!

[Martinez climbs to a knee as Petrow rushes back in...

...and gets CREAMED with another right hand, sending him sprawling
backwards.  Another big cheer!]

GM:  He throws another one!

[The big man gets to his feet, pointing a finger at Petrow who scrambles
up...

...and promptly drops down to his knees, shaking his head, begging for
mercy as the former World Champion lumbers towards him.]

GM:  Now he wants mercy!  Now he wants the big man to lay off!

[But Martinez is having none of it, yanking Petrow to his feet by the
hair where he promptly SLAMS him facefirst into the top turnbuckle!]

GM:  Ohh!  Into the buckles!

[As Petrow stumbles backwards, Martinez wraps his arms around the waist,
powering him up...

...and DUMPING him down on the back of the head!]

GM:  BELLY TO BACK SUPLEX!!  He folds him up like an accordian!

[Martinez climbs back to his feet, grabbing a handful of hair.  He drags
a thumb across his throat as he drags Petrow to his feet...]

GM:  CHOKE!!

[Martinez holds Petrow's throat with one hand, shaking his head...

...and then points a finger at Mark Langseth who is shouting at Petrow
to "DO SOMETHING!"

A grin crosses the face of the Last American Badboy as he powers Petrow
up into the air and POWERS him down to the canvas!]

GM:  FIREBOMB!!  FIREBOMB!!!

[Martinez rolls to a knee, keeping an eye on Langseth as he plants a
palm in the center of a motionless Petrow's chest.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEEEEEE!!!


"DING!  DING!  DING!"


PW:  Here is your winner...

AAAAAAAALEX MAAAAAARRRRTIIIIINEZ!

[Martinez slowly climbs to his feet, at the ready in case Langseth tries
to intervene...

...but that ain't happening as the Hall of Famer backs off, eyes wide
with fear as the big man glares at him.]

GM:  And in just over a week, those two men will collide in the center
of the ring at Memorial Day Mayhem!  

BW:  Mark Langseth and Alex Martinez - two of the greatest of all time
will collide in the middle of an AWA ring and that just might be the
show-stealer, Gordo.

GM:  It certainly might and... oh boy, look at this...

[With Langseth backpedaling and Petrow still down on the mat, Martinez
retrieves Petrow's Eternal World Championship belt out of the corner. 
The crowd roars as the big man looks at the belt, grinning at the
cheers...

...and pulls it behind him just as the camera cuts away.]

GM:  Haha!  If Dallas is out of toilet paper, Bucky, I think the big man
found something he likes just as well!

BW:  That's horrible, Gordo!  That's one of the highest regarded title
belts in the history of our sport and Alex Martinez is wiping his- 

GM:  Watch it there, Bucky!

[The camera cuts back to Martinez who has brought the belt back out in
front of him, still grinning...

...and drops the "used" title belt down on the prone Petrow.]

GM:  Alex Martinez has defeated the Eternal World Champion in the center
of the ring and now he has a date with destiny - with Mark Langseth, the
man he believes to be The Dragon - in just over a week's time.  Fans,
we're going to take a quick break but we'll be right back with the
Control Center and our Main Event right after this!

[Martinez gingerly lifts an arm in triumph as he heads back up the ramp
and 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 we come back live to inside the Crockett Coliseum where the fans are
still buzzing about what they just saw.]

GM:  Welcome back to Saturday Night Wrestling, fans - the final SNW to
be held inside this building all summer long as the AWA is headed out on
the road but boy, these fans have gotten their money's worth, haven't
they, Bucky?

BW:  They sure have... and it ain't over yet, Gordo.  We're about to
witness the absolute destruction of that needle-necked jerk Juan Vasquez
and it's going to be the ultimate act of leaving on a high note.

GM:  We'll see about that.  It's just moments away but first-

[A voice rings out over the PA.]

ZDK: It's a love-uh-lee day for a party, boys and girls! 
Hoo-hoo-hoohoohoo!

[From the entrance portal comes the wacky critter who calls himself--]

BW: Zyppo D. Klown!

GM: It appears that we're being joined by, well, by the sideshow.

[Trundling down the aisle, Zyppo pushes a dessert cart like one might
see in a hotel.]

BW: I thought he was just in the Rumble.  Why is he here tonight?

GM: Chances are that Zyppo doesn't have much to do these days.  A
garbage fighter and, for lack of a better term, transient, I doubt he's
getting much work elsewhere.

BW: That's an awful sad story for such a happy-looking guy.

GM: The smile's just painted on, Bucky.  I did some reading up on this
guy.  The reason he became a clown is that his career in wrestling had
flatlined.  He couldn't handle the failure and, somehow, clowning turned
things around.

[As he reaches the ringside area, Zyppo starts to sing.]

ZDK: Pie in the face!  Pie in the face!  Lookin' like a clown, with a
pie in the face!

BW: That sounds familiar and wait, why's he got the desert cart from
catering!?

[Doling out tasty tarts of fruit, custards and slices of pie, the
sinister-looking clown nevertheless draws a hearty cheer from fans.  He
dances as he sings, raps really, hopping from foot to foot as he goes.]

ZDK: With the red on your mouth, feet turned sideways!  Pie in the face!

GM: He's treating our great fans here in the arena.

ZDK: Call yourself a smiley-Tom.  Pie in the face!

BW: What the heck's a smiley-Tom?

GM: Ask him yourself, here he comes.

BW: Hey, Zyppo!

[Freezing in place, Zyppo grins at Bucky, both hands on the push-rail of
the cart, one foot thrust out behind him.  He almost looks like a photo
of a demented ice-skater.]

BW: Uh, yeah, hey, you didn't hand out the last chocolate cream pie did
you?  I get one of those every show!

[Beat.  Zyppo's a statue.]

BW: With whipped cream, you got that?  If you gave the last slice out
I'm...

[Bucky trails off as he can't keep his focus with a freaky clown staring
him down.]

GM: Maybe you should just let it go?

[Reaching under the tablecloth atop the cart, Zyppo withdraws a pie,
slathered in whipped cream.]

ZDK: You want a pie for your face?

BW: I want to eat a pie, yes.

ZDK: Pies are for good boys!

BW: I'm fine.  Give me my pie!

ZDK: You asked for it!

*SPLAT!*

[And it's a face full of cream as the tin the pie was in goes wide, it's
contents completely coating Bucky's face.]

GM: Good grief, Bucky!

BW: Son of a--I'm fine!  Stupid clown!

ZDK: Say there Gordon, what's the difference between a meal and a facial
scrub?

GM: What?  I don't--

*SPLAT!*

ZDK: Circumference and LOCATION LOCATION LOCATION!

GM: GAH!

[Cackling to himself, Zyppo wobbles back up the aisle, leaving Gordon
and Bucky to wipe pie off their faces.]

GM:  Unbelievable.  Let's go to the Control Center.

BW:  Can someone get me a towel?!

[We abruptly crossfade to the logo for the Memorial Day Mayhem Control
Center.  After a moment, the logo fades to reveal Jason Dane standing in
front of a bank of television monitors - the shot that has become
universally known to mean that the Control Center is about to go down.]

JD:  Hello everyone and welcome to the FINAL edition of the Memorial Day
Mayhem Control Center!  We are just over a week away from the big event
itself which will be coming to you LIVE here on WKIK from Tulsa,
Oklahoma.  It's one of the biggest events of the year for the AWA and it
is one you will NOT want to miss!

Two weeks ago, we left you with twenty-five entrants in the Memorial Day
Rumble... and I'm about to be joined right now by one of those
twenty-five men.  And I can't help but notice that this man appears to
be even more angry than usual.

["Dirty" Dick Bass steps into view, a scowl on his face, a black Stetson
on his head, and a bullwhip lovingly named "Delilah" coiled in his
tight, tan leather gloves.]

JD:  Dick Bass, you demanded to be allowed to come out here and say
what's on your mind so let's get to it...

[Bass sneers at Dane, saying nothing.]

JD:  Look, you told me you had something to get off your chest...
something's apparently been bothering you all week.  The floor is yours,
Mr. Bass.

JD: Everybody please help me in welcoming "Dirty" Dick Bass. Who
demanded he be allowed to say what is on his mind here tonight.
 
(Once again the crowd "welcomes" the tough guy with a rain of boos. Dick
Bass shakes his head in disgust as Jason Dane continues.)
 
JD: Dick Bass, tonight you told me in the back that you had something to
get off your chest. Something that has been bothering you all week. Well
the floor is yours.

[Dane holds up the mic, waiting to see if Bass speaks.  There's a long
pause before Bass looks up towards the camera.]

DB:  You know, for once in your pathetic life, Jason Dane, you actually
got something right for a change.

(Bass glances at Jason Dane with a look that it would be safer to just
not argue before continuing.)
 
DB: I do have something on my mind that has been buggin' me since that
paper champion Juan Vasquez...

[Bass glares at Dane who audibly scoffed at the comment.  Bass bites his
lower lip, a look of hated in his eyes as he looks somehow even angrier
than he did a moment ago before speaking again.]

DB:  ...SINCE that paper champion demanded Jim Watkins give him a match
against the "black cloud" that has been hanging over the American
Wrestling Alliance. But of course, what seems to be the norm around
here, Jim Watkins decided to make it a four man match to protect his
lovin' champion.
 
[Bass grins at Dane's obvious disdain for what he's saying.]
 
DB: But that is a matter of a different kind that I don't feel like
getting into.  When it was announced that it would be a ten man tag team
match, I figured for sure I would be involved. Heck, I've been coming
out here week after week demanding these pansies face me in the ring. I
challenged everyone in that locker room to come on out to the ring and
let's see what you got. But you know what happened?
 
[Bass spits on the ground.]
 
DB: It fell on selective deaf ears, that's what.
 
[Dane tries to speak up.]

JD:  Mr. Bass, I-

[Bass pokes a meaty finger at Dane's face, nearly poking him between the
eyes.] 

DB: _SHUT UP!_

[Jason Dane apologizes out of mic shot as Bass continues to glare at
him. Feeling he got his point across, Bass continues.]

DB: I figured that yellow bellied coward Jim Watkins would want to make
an example of me. I thought for sure he would throw me into the ring
with four of the best he had to offer to "teach me a lesson."
 
[Dick Bass smirks in disgust.]

DB: But instead Jim Watkins, you make it a poll for these stupid,
ignorant, unintelligent fans to decide and low and behold I wasn't a bit
surprised that I didn't win the popularity contest. Why put Dick Bass
into the ring with the supposed "stars" of AWA, when he could
potentially end every single one of their careers? Why put the new guy
from PCW, the guy who has ended careers, higher then these fans can
count, in against their most favorites?

[Bass shakes his head.]

DB: Because the answer is easy. Nobody wants anything to do with Dick
Bass. "Just let him do whatever he wants, but keep him over there."
seems to be the normal conversations in the back.

[The whip gets raised and Dane jumps back, holding the mic at full arm's
length to try and keep getting comments.]

DB: Well no more AWA! I heard the "Stench" brothers...

JD:  I'm sorry.  The who?

DB:  The Stench Brothers.

JD:  Are you referring to the LYNCH brothers?!
 
DB:  That's what I said, ain't it?

[Bass pauses, waiting for an argument.  Getting none, he moves on.]

DB: I heard my name out of one of those Stench Brother's mouths.  Now
Jack, you should know better _boy_.  You call me a "problem" for the
AWA?  Well instead of doing what you Stenches do best and run your
mouths like your daddy.  Why don't you come and do something about it? 
The truth be told.  I've been slapping around your old man and your
brothers for years, Jack - and I have no problem doing the same to you. 

So either ya keep my name out of your mouth. Or unlike the rest of the
AWA, you walk down to that ring and we'll settle our differences man to
man.

[Bass points a finger at the camera.]
 
DB: But it don't matter about tonight. You have your little circus
match. You avoid Dick Bass because at Memorial Day Rumble, NONE of you
will be able to run and NONE of you will be able to hide. But I do plan
on making every single one of you suffer before I win the Rumble and go
on to become the new National Champion.
 
[Bass slowly raises the whip, reaching out to lightly tap it on the
chest of Jason Dane menacingly.]

DB:  Mark my words!
 
[Dick Bass smirks at the cowering Dane before walking off set.]

JD:  And that's just one of the twenty-five men entered into the Rumble!
 Now, before we get to the final five - let's talk about the rest of the
show.

We've got the AWA National Title on the line when City Jack competes for
the final time to challenge Juan Vasquez for the biggest prize in our
sport.

We've got the National Tag Team Titles on the line when Rough N Ready
defends the gold against the Rockstar Express.

We've got the Longhorn Heritage Title on the line when Nenshou meets
Sweet Daddy Williams in a grudge match!  That means ALL the gold is on
the line!

Sultan Azam Sharif will collide with his most fierce rival, Supernova,
in singles action as well!

Plus, we learned earlier tonight that The First Family will meet
Violence Unlimited in a Number One contenders match!

And in what could be a Main Event anywhere in the world, Alex Martinez
will meet his long-time enemy and rival, Mark Langseth, in one-on-one
action.  Is Langseth the Dragon?  Martinez believes so and he believes
he can beat the truth out of the Hall of Famer in just over a week's
time!

[Dane grins.]

JD:  And now, the final five men to enter the Rumble...

First, it's the dark avenger of the AWA, the mysterious Corax!

[A shot of Corax, bat in hand, appears on the screen.]

JD:  That leaves us with four.  And how about this addition to the
Rumble, fans?

[We cut to a darkened hallway. Leaning up against the wall is a
dark-haired man with a goatee, dressed in a black T-shirt and blue
jeans. The T-shirt is partially obscured by the shadows, but it appears
there is something printed on it. He's got a sinister look on his face,
a cold stare in his eyes.]
 
"So, the AWA is offering open invitations to anyone to enter the
Memorial Day Rumble."
 
[A laugh.]
 
"That may be the biggest mistake Jim Watkins ever made... because look
who just took up his invitation.
 
You people don't know me, you say? Well, let me tell you fools about who
I am... you've seen the things the likes of Royalty, Anton Layton,
Nenshou, James Monosso and the First Family have been doing in this
place... there's only one word that describes them.
 
Amateurs."
 
[Another laugh.]
 
"See, I know what evil truly is... because I dealt with it all my life,
until I learned that the only way you can truly conquer it is to go even
further than most evil men would go."
 
[With that, he turns toward the camera so his T-shirt can be easily
see... you see a yellow diamond with just two words on it.
 
DEAD END.
 
Ladies and gentlemen, this is "Dead End" Derek Martin.]
 
DM: I've had to deal with the underbelly of this wrestling business...
that's where it really gets dirty, people... and I've seen the toughest
men get crushed by it, sent running out of the business and never come
back because they couldn't take it...and heck, it almost consumed me.
 
Until I learned the only way to deal with the underbelly was to be even
worse than it could ever be... and I've done a lot of bad things to men
and those men were never heard from again.
 
Although I see one man I've dealt with before has suddenly become the
hero in this place.
 
[A slight smile.]
 
DM: Juan Vasquez.
 
Yeah, here you get to be the one everybody looks up... that knight in
shining armor who is gonna come save the day from the forces of evil.
But I've seen you at your worst, Juan... I know what type of man you
are, deep down inside, and what it takes to push you over the edge.
 
You might think you have it good here in the AWA, but ask yourself this:
Do you really believe this talk about how the fans got to pick your
partners tonight and then they'd saddle you with a man you spent months
chasing, wanting to right every wrong he committed, then take him out
personally... do you really think the fans who think of you as this hero
would want to put that man on your side?
 
I don't think so... you should know it's those folks in the back who
talk about how they love you, then decide they're just gonna pull the
rug out from under you.
 
[A sick laugh.]
 
DM: But enough about the hero in this place... let's talk about me,
"Dead End" Derek Martin. Just what am I doing here?
 
It's simple... I'm gonna do something that will cause even Joe Petrow to
soil himself, wondering why he didn't think of it first.
 
I'm gonna enter the Memorial Day Rumble... and win it.
 
I'm gonna get a title match against Vasquez or whoever may be the AWA
National champion... and win it.
 
And then I'm gonna take that title with me and head out into the night
with it, never to be seen again.
 
[A snicker.]
 
DM: How can I do that, you ask?
 
Simple... the open entry only says you get a title shot if you win the
Rumble... but it doesn't you say you have to sign an AWA contract to get
that shot.
 
So what better way to cash in on my prize and put the knife into the
heart of this place, by winning the Rumble, then winning the title and
saying goodbye as I take my ill-gotten games home.
 
Don't like that, you heroes of the AWA?
 
Got a sick pit in your stomach, those of you in the AWA who think you
know evil?
 
[The twisted smile on his face disappears and his stare hardens.]
 
DM: Then I dare you to stop me.
 
[Fade out to the Control Center to Jason Dane who looks incredulous.]

JD:  I can't believe it!  I can't believe the nerve of this guy!  The
AWA gives Derek Martin an opportunity and THIS is how he chooses to use
it?  He's going to win the Rumble, win the National Title, and go
running back to... well, wherever the heck he comes from?!  You can bet
there'll be twenty-nine other men who will do WHATEVER it takes to make
sure that won't happen.

Now, that leaves us with three names left...

[Dane grins.]

JD:  And according to the front office, I am not at liberty to announce
ANY of those three names. 

All three men will be MYSTERY ENTRANTS!

[Dane pumps a fist... cause he's excited... seriously.]

JD:  It's going to be one heck of a night in Tulsa, Oklahoma, fans.  I
can't wait!  And if you can't be with us in Tulsa on Memorial Day, make
sure you're right here with us on WKIK for all the action!  I'm Jason
Dane from the Control Center - now let's go back to the ring for our
Main Event!

[As we crossfade back to the ring, we can see it's been filled up with
nine of the ten men in our ten man tag team Main Event.

And Juan Vasquez is shouting at a ringside official who is shrugging his
shoulders.]

GM:  Welcome back to ringside, fans... and as you can see, we've got a
problem here.  

[Vasquez looks especially hot under the collar, shouting at the AWA
official who has come down to talk to him.]

GM:  The introductions were done during the Control Center and if you do
a quick count, you will find one man missing.  The one man that nearly
every member of this match expressed suspicions about here tonight -
"Hotshot" Stevie Scott!

BW:  Did you really expect Stevie to team with the man he hates more
than anyone else on the planet, Gordo?

GM:  He made a commitment!  He agreed to be a part of this match!  He
needs to be here!

BW:  Well, he's not - and by my count, that makes this a handicap match.

GM:  Maybe not.  Mark Langseth was essentially forced out here by a pair
of AWA officials.  He's been looking for a way out of here at every
chance he gets.  He wants no part of this match.

BW:  So, let him walk!  We'll make it an eight man tag!

[After much shouting and complaining, Jim Watkins joins the sea of
officials at ringside.  He speaks to both teams and then makes his way
over to the ring announcer as well.]

GM:  What's this all about?

BW:  It's decision time.  What's it gonna be, Big Jim?

[Phil Watson nods a few times and then lifts the mic to his lips.]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen, the AWA Championship Committee has made the
following rulings.

Due to a clause in Mark Langseth's AWA talent contract, the AWA legal
team has insisted that Mr. Langseth be EXCUSED from this match.

[Langseth grins at the jeering crowd.  The Hall of Famer approaches the
ring announcer, giving him a few words.  Watson nods.]

PW:  However, due to the gracious nature of Mr. Langseth, he has HIRED
someone to take his place in the match.  And that person is...

[Dramatic pause.]

#Reach out and touch faith#

[The crowd explodes in jeers as "Ravishing" Robert Baldwin jogs through
the curtain.]

GM:  Robert Baldwin is the fifth man tonight in Dallas!

BW:  Langseth's hired one of the Blonde Bombers to take his place!

GM:  Just like he hired the Blonde Bombers to assault Alex Martinez back
at The Main Event!  He IS the Dragon, Bucky!

BW:  That's the most circumstantial evidence I've ever heard of.  You've
got no proof of that!  He's just a charitable guy to someone who was
looking for a chance to go here tonight on Saturday Night Wrestling.

[Baldwin shakes hands with Mark Langseth before stepping into the ring
to join the other four men.]

GM:  Fans, as you may have also noticed, there's no sign of Larry Doyle.
 That's also thanks to Jim Watkins who has BANNED all managers, valets,
and seconds from this match.  I think that's a fantastic idea as there's
already too much going on out here for one man to keep track of.

BW:  It's not fair, Gordo!  Who's gonna keep control of Monosso or give
Nenshou some advice?  Who's gonna translate for Sharif?!

GM:  Tonight, those men will have to rely on themselves!

[Phil Watson speaks again.]

PW:  The Championship Committee has also ruled that since "Hotshot"
Stevie Scott has not informed the AWA of an intention not to show up for
this match, he will NOT be replaced in the match!

[Vasquez fires off another shout in Watkins' direction.  The big
executive glares at Vasquez in response as Phil Watson quickly exits the
ring...]

GM:  So it IS a handicap match!

BW:  I told you, Gordo!  I told you!

[A quick huddle-up leaves Nenshou standing in the ring on one side of
the ring and Supernova in the ring on the other side.]

GM:  It'll be Nenshou and Supernova starting off... and this should be
VERY interesting, fans.  

[The two men circle, the crowd roaring already, and then tangle up.]

GM:  Quickly into the collar and elbow, Nenshou moves into an overhand
wristlock...

[Big cheer as Supernova throws him off and down to the mat!]

GM:  Whoa!  Big show of power by Supernova!

[The fired-up youngster shouts something at Sultan Azam Sharif who is
out on the apron.  Sharif blasts back with a spray of gibberish before
Nenshou gets back up, tying up once more...]

GM:  Back into the collar and elb- good grief!

[Supernova throws Nenshou down out of the tieup again, this time
breaking into a full most muscular pose in front of him with his tongue
sticking out and the crowd roaring.  An angry Nenshou scampers up,
kicking the bottom rope in frustration...

...and gets a slap on the shoulder from Sharif!]

GM:  Oh boy!  Here comes Sharif!

[The Sultan steps through the ropes to the jeers of the crowd.  He
points at Supernova, striking a double bicep pose before lowering his
arms, slapping his shoulders as he calls for Supernova to do the same.]

GM:  What is this, a posedown?

[Supernova shakes his head at Sharif before raising both arms, showing
off his muscular physique.  He turns to show the far side of the
arena...

...and gets a forearm to the back of the head by Sharif, sending him
stumbling towards the ropes.]

GM:  Cheapshot by Sharif... now he's on the move...

[Swinging Supernova around, Sharif buries a knee into the torso.  A
second one has the Venice Beach native gasping for air as Sharif grabs
an arm, attemping an Irish whip...]

GM:  Whip by Sha- reversed!

[Supernova bowls over Sharif with a running clothesline!]

GM:  Clothesline by Supernova!

[Sharif quickly gets back up...

...and gets run over again!]

GM:  Another one!

[A fired-up Supernova pounds his chest as Sharif rolls out to the
apron...

...but it's no escape from Supernova who grabs the top rope, catapulting
Sharif over the ropes and down hard on his back!]

GM:  Good grief!

[Pulling Sharif off the mat, Supernova hooks a front facelock, backing
to the corner where he slaps the hand of Sweet Daddy Williams.  The
Atlanta native enters to a big cheer, driving a boot up into the ribs of
the trapped Sharif.  Winding up a right hand, he cracks Sharif in the
temple with it, knocking him back into the corner.]

GM:  Big right hand by Sweet Daddy Williams there...

[Grabbing the arm, Williams hauls Sharif out to the middle of the ring,
flinging him towards the closest set of ropes, and dropping down for a
backdrop...

...but Sharif pulls up short, burying his hooked boot into the throat of
Williams!]

GM:  Ohh!  He kicked him in the throat, Bucky!  That's not exactly
legal!

[With Williams gasping for air, Sharif drags him towards the corner,
slapping the hand of Robert Baldwin.]

GM:  Baldwin in... he's looking for a double team here...

[But Sharif steps out to the apron, not understanding Baldwin.]

BW:  And there's a perfect example of the communication breakdown!  If
Adrian Bathwaite was out here, that fat oaf would've gotten hit with a
big ol' double team right there, Gordo.

GM:  It's also an example of Sharif's unfamiliarity with the world of
tag team wrestling.

[An irritated Baldwin pushes Williams into the buckles, cracking him in
the jaw with an uppercut.  He grabs Williams by the arm, firing him from
neutral corner to neutral corner...]

GM:  Crosscorner whip... 

[Baldwin charges in on Williams, leaping up to smash his knee into the
chest of the big man.]

GM:  Ohh!  Running knee in the corner!  Right up into the chest!

[Grabbing Williams by the hair, Baldwin hauls him towards his corner...

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

GM:  Williams is fighting back!

[A second right hand to the gut lands, breaking Baldwin's grip. 
Williams starts towards the corner...

...but Baldwin drops down, taking him off his feet with a drop toehold. 
Holding the trap on, Baldwin reaches up to slap the hand of a waiting
Anton Layton.]

GM:  In comes the Prince of Darkness...

[Layton rushes in, dropping a big elbow across the neck of Williams,
breaking up his tag attempt.  Rolling to his knees, Layton simply wraps
his hands around the throat of Williams, howling loudly as the official
orders him to break and starts a five count.]

GM:  That's a blatant choke, Bucky!

BW:  He's got a five count.

GM:  And you can bet he'll use every bit of it.

BW:  Smart man.

[Breaking at four, Layton gets up, dropping another elbow down into the
chest of Williams.  He rolls to his knees again, grabbing the hair of
Williams to batter him with clenched fists to the skull.  The Prince of
Darkness gets to his feet, still holding the hair to use to drag
Williams across the ring, slapping the hand of James Monosso.]

GM:  And in comes the big man...

[Monosso steps through the ropes...

...and shoves Layton aside.  The crowd "ooooohs" at the sight of the
Unholy Alliance members having trouble.]

GM:  What in the world?

BW:  I have no idea.  What's gotten into these guys tonight?

[Monosso grabs Williams by the arm, dragging him to his feet, and
hurling him into his own corner...

...where Monosso points a finger right at Juan Vasquez.]

GM:  Uh oh!  Monosso wants the champ!

[Vasquez gladly slaps the hand of Williams, all fired up as he steps
into the ring and rushes towards Monosso, opting for right hands above
anything else.  The crowd explodes as the National Champion pounds the
skull of Monosso, forcing him back to the ropes...]

GM:  Vasquez is all over him!  He's hammering away at Monosso!

[Grabbing the arm, Vasquez attempts a whip...

...but Monosso easily reverses.]

GM:  Reversal and- ohhh!

[The crowd gasps at sight of Monosso just rearing back with both arms
and CLUBBING Vasquez across the face with both arms!]

GM:  Good grief!  He flattened him!

[The wildman gets to his feet, shouting something incoherent at Vasquez
before leaping up and SMASHING the flat of his boot down on the face of
the National Champion.]

GM:  Monosso just drove his boot into the face - and I don't know what
it is but James Monosso has seemed a little more crazy than usual as of
late.

BW:  Don't let him hear you say that.  He'll rip your arms off and beat
you with them.

[Monosso stalks around the ring, shouting at Vasquez.  We can catch
words like "hero," "manipulate," and "pets" before Monosso charges in,
kicking an on-all-fours Vasquez in the ribs brutally.]

GM:  Good grief!  Another hard shot by Monosso!

BW:  And those were to those ribs that Vasquez hurt some time back.  He
says they're healed but Monosso might be about to put that theory to the
test.

[Monosso grabs Vasquez by the hair, dragging him off the mat...

...and getting caught with a right hand to the stomach!]

GM:  Vasquez fires back!

[Monosso buries a right hand into the skull of Vasquez...

...who throws another right hand into the gut!]

GM:  They're trading right hands and-

[Vasquez straightens up, throwing three quick right hands to the side of
the head before grabbing two hands full of hair...

...and SMASHING his skull into Monosso's with a headbutt!]

GM:  Ohhh!

[Monosso stumbles backwards from the impact, clutching the top rope
behind him as Vasquez moves in, grabbing the arm...]

GM:  Sends him across...

[Vasquez leaves his feet, going for a dropkick, but coming up empty as
Monosso hooks on to the ropes, causing the champion to hit the mat hard
on the back of the head.  A sneering Monosso walks slowly across the
ring, raising his right arm...]

GM:  ELB- ohhh!  VASQUEZ MOVES!!

[And the National Champion keeps rolling to his corner, slapping the
waiting hand of City Jack.]

GM:  And Juan Vasquez just tagged in the man who he will defend the
National Title against in just over a week.

BW:  I'm sure he's happy about that.

[City Jack steps in to a big cheer.  A big grin crosses his face as he
salutes the fans before attempting an elbowdrop of his own...

...and CRASHES down hard on the chest of Monosso!]

GM:  Ohh!  That's over three hundred pounds down on the chest of Monosso
and maybe he now knows what it feels like when he drops that big King
Kong kneedrop on someone!

BW:  You think City Jack's elbow comes even CLOSE to the King Kong
kneedrop?

[Jack gets back up, dropping another elbow.  He scampers up again,
dropping a third.  He repeats the process one more time before climbing
to his feet, the crowd roaring...

...and kisses his own flabby arm before dropping a fifth elbow down!]

GM:  Oh yeah!  Five big elbows... cover for one!  For two!

[But Anton Layton slips in, making sure that a boot to the back of the
head breaks up the pinfall.]

GM:  Oh, come on, referee!

[Layton delivers a couple more stomps, drawing an irate Supernova in...

...but the official cuts off Supernova, forcing him out of the ring as
Layton pulls City Jack up and blatantly jams his straightened fingers
into the throat of City Jack, leaving his gasping for air as he stumbles
back into the neutral corner and the Prince of Darkness exits the ring.]

GM:  Some blatantly illegal actions there by Anton Layton - right up the
alley of the Unholy Alliance.

BW:  But on Memorial Day, in that Rumble, none of those things will be
illegal.  How can you not think that a member of the Unholy Alliance is
the favorite to win that big Rumble?

GM:  They've got four men in the match - James Monosso, Anton Layton,
Nenshou, and Polemos.  It's hard to bet against them, I'll grant you
that.

BW:  If Percy and Anton can get everyone on the same page, I don't see
any way possible that they lose.  Imagine it, Gordo.  Monosso vs Vasquez
for the title?  Maybe Polemos, the God of War, winning the Rumble in his
FIRST AWA match and then going on to challenge City Jack... heck, what
DOES happen if City Jack wins the title at Memorial Day Mayhem?  He says
it's his last match!

GM:  The Championship Committee has been discussing that from what I've
been told and we should have an answer on that before the title match
happens in about a week.

[Monosso regains his feet, driving a hard back elbow into the chest of
the cornered City Jack before moving back towards the corner where he
slaps the hand of Nenshou.]

GM:  In comes Nenshou...

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion puts Jack against the buckles, lighting
up his chest with chops and kicks before a leaping back kick knocks Jack
down to a seated position in the corner...

...and Anton Layton tags himself back in, charging across the ring to
just out of reach of the fan favorites, something tested by Sweet Daddy
Williams who takes a swing at the Prince of Darkness.  Spinning around,
Layton charges the corner, DRIVING his knee into the face of the seated
City Jack.]

GM:  OHHHHHH!

BW:  That might do it, Gordo.

[Grabbing the foot of Jack, Layton drags him away from the ropes before
applying a lateral press.]

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

[But Jack fires a shoulder up at two to the cheers of the crowd and the
applause of City Jack's teammates, all of whom are stretching out for
the tag as Jack rolls to his side.  Layton quickly gets up, driving boot
after boot into the side of City Jack's head before turning to mock
Supernova, stretching out his hand like he too is seeking a tag...

...when suddenly the crowd begins to stir.]

GM:  Wait a second!

BW:  I can't believe it, Gordo!

[The crowd buzz comes as a result of "Hotshot" Stevie Scott appearing in
the aisleway dressed to wrestle.  He pauses just beyond the entrance
curtain, hands on his hips.]

GM:  What's he doing out here?

BW:  I'd assume he's come out here to fight!

GM:  I'm not so sure about that.  He sure is taking his time getting
down here.

BW:  The man has always known how to make an entrance, Gordo.

[The former two-time National Champion slowly walks down the entrance
ramp towards the ring where Juan Vasquez has spotted him, shaking his
head in irritation.]

GM:  Vasquez doesn't look too happy to see him, Bucky.

BW:  Well, in this instance, I'm not sure I can blame him.

[Layton pulls City Jack closer to the corner, slapping the hand of
Nenshou who walks along the apron, grabbing the top rope with both
hands...

...and slingshots himself into a somersault, bringing his leg CRASHING
down across the throat of the man who will challenge for the National
Title in just over a week.]

GM:  OHHHHH!

[The Longhorn Heritage Champion rolls into a lateral press.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  

[But again, Jack fires the shoulder off the mat to the cheers of the
crowd.  Reaching up, Nenshou slaps the hand of Robert Baldwin.]

GM:  In comes "Ravishing" Robert... and look at this...

[Baldwin and Nenshou work together, firing Jack into the ropes...]

GM:  Double clothesli- ducked by Jack!

[And the big man stampedes off the far ropes, DESTROYING both men with a
double clothesline of his own!  HUGE CHEER!]

GM:  HE TAKES 'EM BOTH DOWN!!!

[With Baldwin and Nenshou both down on the canvas, City Jack begins
crawling towards the corner, his teammates cheering him on.

The camera cuts to Stevie Scott who has reached the end of the ramp and
is looking back and forth between the corners, like he's trying to
decide where to go...]

GM:  Come on, Jack!  Get there!

[Suddenly, Stevie Scott leaps onto the apron next to a shocked
Supernova, reaching his arm over the ropes with a "COME ON, JACK!!  MAKE
THE TAG, BABY!"]

GM:  What in the-

BW:  Well, I guess we know where Stevie's loyalties are!

[On the other side of the ring, Robert Baldwin slaps the hand of Anton
Layton who charges in at full speed...]

GM:  Layton's in!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  SO IS STEVIE!!

[The Hotshot slingshots himself into the ring with a flourish, pointing
a warning finger at Anton Layton who freezes in his tracks for a
moment...

...and then charges back in!]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  HEATSEEKER!!  HEATSEEKER!! 

[The superkick snaps the head of Anton Layton back, knocking him flat on
the canvas.  The Hotshot throws his arms up into the air, doing a full
spin in celebration as the crowd roars...

...and Supernova slaps him on the shoulder, tagging himself into the
match!]

GM:  Supernova tags in!

[The Venice Beach youngster quickly scales the ropes and with a shout,
hurls himself off the top, crashing down with a splash across the chest
of Anton Layton!]

GM:  OHHH!  WHAT A SPLASH!!

[Supernova pops back to his feet, pounding on his chest before turning
around...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  WHAT THE HELL?!

[The crowd responds in kind as Stevie Scott has just uncorked a second
Heatseeker, this one squarely under the chin of Supernova, a blow that
knocks him flat.  An irate Juan Vasquez tears through the ropes, getting
right into Stevie Scott's face with his fist drawn back but the official
throws himself between the two, keeping Vasquez tangled up...

...which allows a smirking Stevie Scott to simply shrug his shoulders,
stepping through the ropes to the ramp where he slowly makes his way
back up the aisle, soaking up the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  What the heck was THAT all about, Bucky?

BW:  Ask Supernova!

GM:  What?!

BW:  Stevie had this match in hand with the Heatseeker and Supernova
tagged himself in!  That punk kid just HAD to have the glory all to
himself - well, the spotlight's on ya now, young buck, 'cause you just
got LAID OUT by the former National Champ, daddy!

[The twin Heatseekers have left both Supernova and Anton Layton
completely laid out as the referee starts a ten count on both men...

...but a protesting Juan Vasquez is right in there again, shouting at
the official...]

GM:  Vasquez is- look out!

[A shouting Vasquez got a little too close to the other corner where
James Monosso clubs him in the back of the head with a forearm smash. 
Vasquez spins around after a moment, throwing a right hand to the jaw. 
The crowd roars as Monosso and Vasquez get tangled up in the ropes,
throwing heavy blows as quickly as they can...

...which leaves Vasquez' exposed back wide open for Robert Baldwin who
drills him with a dropkick in the back that knocks Vasquez through the
ropes and down to the floor.]

GM:  Ohh!  Baldwin sends him to the floor!

[With the referee distracted, Nenshou manages to drag Layton to the
floor as Sharif steps in, pulling Supernova to the center of the ring
and rolling him to his stomach..]

GM:  Sharif's going for the Camel Clutch!  It's breaking down out here!

[The camera cuts quickly to the floor where James Monosso has Juan
Vasquez' throat draped over the steel barricade, strangling the air out
of him as we spot Robert Baldwin suddenly brawling with Sweet Daddy
Williams out on the floor as well.]

GM:  Sharif's all alone in there with Supernova!  He's gonna sink in the
Clutch!

[Setting in to his crouch, Sharif hooks the arms of his rival over his
knees, sitting down on the back as he reaches under to hook his hands
under the chin, pulling back hard!]

GM:  CAMEL CLUTCH!  HE'S GOT IT ON!!

[The camera quickly cuts to the floor where James Monosso has scooped up
Juan Vasquez...

...and DROPS him ribsfirst on the steel barricade, sending a howl of
pain into the air from the National Champion!]

GM:  OH MY STARS!!

[With Vasquez down and hurting, Monosso abandons him, rolling under the
ropes into the ring...

...and ordering Sharif to release the Camel Clutch!]

GM:  What the-?!

BW:  No, no!  Where's Percy?!

[Sharif looks puzzled at Monosso, letting up on the pressure as the big
man approaches, a wild glare in his eyes as he repeats his demand.  The
former Olympian shakes his head, totally confused at the order...

...and EATS a big boot to the jaw!]

GM:  OHHHHHHHHH!

[Sharif gets flattened by the blow, the official screaming at Monosso as
he pulls the dazed Supernova off the mat, hurling him into the ropes,
and clubbing him with a huge clothesline to the throat!]

"IS HE THE FUTURE?!"  

[A hard stomp to the skull.]

"CHEER HIM!!  CHEER HIM NOW!!"

[A second hard stomp to the skull.]

"CAN HE BUY FOOD WITH YOUR CHEERS WHEN HE'S BROKEN?!"

[Another hard stomp.]

GM:  James Monosso has snapped!  He's lost it!  THIS GUY'S NUTS!!

[Monosso stops in mid-stomp, turning his cold eyes around to bear on
someone new...]

BW:  Oh.  My.  God.

[...Gordon Myers.]

BW:  Gordon... Gordon, listen to me... you gotta get out of here.

GM:  What in the- why is he looking at me like that?

BW:  He heard you!  Gordon, he heard-

[Monosso suddenly breaks away from Supernova, stepping through the
ropes, and stepping right down on the announce table where he promptly
kicks a television monitor off the table, sending it sailing several
feet away.  He drops down off the table, shoving Bucky Wilde aside, and
grabbing Gordon Myers by the tie before he can flee.]

"AM I CRAZY, GORDON?!  AM I A FRUITCAKE?!  A NUTBALL?!"

GM:  James... Jam- please let go of me... I'm sorr- I'm sorry, James! 
I'm sorry!

BW:  James, he didn't mean-

"SHUT UP!"

[Monosso pulls Gordon closer by the tie.]

"YOU'RE NO BETTER THAN MICHAELSON!  YOU TELL THESE PEOPLE HOW GREAT THIS
BUSINESS IS!  YOU MAKE HEROES OUT OF FOOLS!  YOU MAKE THEM ALL BELIEVE!"

[A hard pull of the tie allows Monosso to shove Gordon's face up against
the wooden table.  He kneels down, his face very close so that Gordon's
mic picks up his whispered words.]

"I'll make YOU believe, Gordon."

[Monosso suddenly straightens up, grabbing the steel ringside chair that
Bucky Wilde was just in.  He lifts it quickly, not giving Gordon a
chance to move as he aims the edge of the chairback at his skull,
violently swinging it down...]



"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANG!"



[The crowd erupts at the sight of Juan Vasquez, clutching his ribs,
executing a suicide dive through the ropes, colliding with the steel
chair and toppling James Monosso down to the thinly-padded concrete
floor!

The cheers grow louder as a furious Vasquez pummels Monosso repeatedly
on the floor.  A sea of AWA officials - including Jim Watkins - flood
the ringside area as the bell begins to ring.  

The camera cuts to Watkins, fire in his eyes, as he's shouting at anyone
and everyone in sight.  Inside the ring, outside the ring, battles are
raging all over the place.  

A quick cut back to Vasquez shows that he's been upending, James Monosso
hammering him with stone-like blows to the skull now.

Another quick cut finds a red-faced Gordon Myers gasping for air,
clutching his throat as a pair of AWA medics attend to him.

And one final cut to the wide shot of the Crockett Coliseum, chaos
ensuing all around as the fans roar for the final time until
September...

...as we fade to black.]