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                            American Wrestling Alliance 
                                   Proudly Presents 
                         AWA Saturday Night Wrestling

                         Live from the Barton Coliseum
                               Little Rock, Arkansas
                                   June 11th, 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" from the end of the Memorial Day Rumble where
Sultan Azam Sharif is trying to muscle Supernova over the ropes.]

GM:  Sharif's trying to get 'Nova over the top!

[Supernova falls over the ropes, slumping down on the apron again.  An
angry Sharif reaches down, dragging Supernova back to his feet, drilling
him with a right hand... and another... and another.]

GM:  Sharif's hammering Supernova, trying to knock him off the apron...

[A hard headbutt knocks Supernova down to a knee, Sharif's hands
grabbing the rope for leverage...]

GM:  Another hard shot but 'Nova continues to hang on!

[Suddenly, Supernova springs to his feet, grabbing the top rope...

...and SLINGSHOTS Sharif over the ropes, sending him crashing down to
the thinly-padded floor!  HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

GM:  HE'S GONE!  SHARIF'S GON-

[Sudakov sprints across the ring, looking to knock Supernova off the
apron...

...but still holding the rope, 'Nova simply drops down, pulling the top
rope down with him as Sudakov goes sailing over the ropes, crashing down
to the floor alongside his comrade!  DEAFENING ROAR!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA WINS IT!  SUPERNOVA WINS IT!

[An exhausted Supernova falls through the ropes into the ring.  Senior
Official Michael Meekly slides in, raising a stunned Supernova's hand.]

PW:  Here is your winner of the 2011 Memorial Day Rumble...

SUUUUUUUUPERRRRRNOOOOOOOVAAAAAAAA!

[The crowd EXPLODES in cheers again as Michael Meekly helps Supernova to
his feet, the face-painted warrior throwing both arms up in the air,
celebrating his victory.]

GM:  Supernova has done it!  Supernova has outlasted twenty-nine other
men to win the Memorial Day Rumble - and the future shot at the AWA
National Championship!

[Supernova scales the ropes, pointing out to the roaring crowd.]

GM:  What a night!  It's been a wild night, a crazy night, but in the
end, it's been a great night!  Fans, we're out of time... we've gotta
go!  For Jason Dane, Mark Stegglet, and Bucky Wilde - I'm Gordon Myers
and there's only one thing left to say, Bucky.

BW:  What's that?

GM:  Juan Vasquez, can you feel the heat?!

[With the crowd roaring their support for the celebrating Supernova, 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 Barton Coliseum in Little Rock, Arkansas where over 8,000 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.

Steel barricades also line the long aisle leading up towards the locker
room, security personnel stationed every twenty feet or so up the aisle.
 There's a gap in the railing towards the back that leads to an elevated
platform where the set of Todd Michaelson's "Money Pit" has been
assembled 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 hard
floor of the basketball arena, 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 a couple of weeks
removed from a huge night of action at Memorial Day Mayhem!

BW:  I love Memorial Day Mayhem, Gordo.  I love the action, the Rumble,
and I love that it means we're out of Texas for the whole summer!

GM:  That's right.  Little Rock, Arkansas is the second stop on the
AWA's summer tour and keep checking your local listings to see where
we'll be coming next but tonight, we're here to show Little Rock a good
time in a special THREE HOUR edition of SNW, Bucky!

BW:  We are - and the best way to do that is with a Royal Coronation!

GM:  Joe Petrow has informed the world that there WILL be a coronation
right here tonight... and I'm guessing that's why you're all dressed up.

[The camera zooms back as Bucky does a twirl to show off a purple and
gold sequinned tuxedo.]

BW:  Oh yeah, daddy!  Big Bucks Bucky is always the fashion plate around
this joint but tonight is a special occasion and I had to look my very
best for the King!

GM:  Mark Langseth will apparently be crowned the King of Wrestling here
tonight in celebration of his victory over Alex Martinez two weeks ago.

BW:  And in celebration of Langseth being EXACTLY what he said he was
all along.

GM:  Which is?

BW:  NOT The Dragon.

GM:  I see.  It certainly appeared he is not the Dragon after we saw the
brutal assault on Alex Martinez by his long-time friend and rival, Jeff
Matthews!  What a shocking moment that was, Bucky.

BW:  It certainly was.  I didn't see that one coming.  But then again, I
didn't see a lot of things coming at Mayhem - like that face-painted
twerp Supernova winning the Rumble.

GM:  Supernova has won the Rumble and that earns him a future shot at
Juan Vasquez, who retained the title over the retiring City Jack at
Mayhem, and the AWA National Title.  In fact, I'm being told that
Supernova is about to come out here right now and let us all know
exactly when he intends to take that title opportunity.

[Metallica's "Seek and Destroy" kicks in over the PA, drawing a loud
crowd response.]

GM: And here comes the winner of the 2011 Memorial Day Rumble,
Supernova!

[Indeed, the blonde-haired, face-painted wrestler emerges from the back,
dressed in a pair of blue jeans and a black Supernova T-shirt (get yours
now!), a serious look on his face. He walks down the ramp to the ring,
but is willing to stop at points to  reach over and slap hands with the
fans.]

BW: I'll give him credit, he overcame the odds to win the Rumble and the
top contender spot, but I'm willing to bet the Foreign Legion still has
a few things to settle with him.

GM: We all remember what went down after Supernova's match with Sultan
Azam Sharif... we have yet to hear from Jim Watkins about those matters,
but perhaps Supernova will have something to say.

BW: Once he's finished pandering to these fans, that is!

[Supernova takes his time getting to the ring given his willingness to
high-five ringside fans. He then reaches the ring, ducking between the
ropes, giving a howl to the crowd, before taking the microphone from
ring announcer Phil Watson.]

GM: Listen to these fans, Bucky... they truly love this young, rising
star!

BW: Who cares who they love... it's about who they respect... or should
respect, and men like Sultan Azam Sharif and Vladimir Velikov deserve
respect!

GM: I don't think any fans has respect for Velikov after what happened
at Memorial Day Mayhem... they might respect Sharif, though, if he
wasn't with the likes of Adrian Bathwaite.

BW: Bathwaite deserves respect, too! You should know better, Gordo!

[We go up to Supernova, as the fans have quieted down enough for him to
speak.]

S: You know, I should be feeling pretty pumped about winning the
Rumble...

[The fan response indicates they would agree.]

S: ...but I've got something else on my mind, too.

One would think that outlasting Sharif and Sudakov to win the Rumble
would give me peace of mind... but there's something else that's
bothering me.

And it's what happened to a man I have nothing but respect for, the
Chairman of the Championship Committee, Jim Watkins!

[The fan response indicates they all remember what happened.]

S: I really can't say I'm surprised, though, that men like Vladimir
Velikov and Ivan Kostovich would stoop to such a level... I don't know
what Count Adrian Bathwaite knew about it in advance, but I know he's
the kind of man who would stoop that low and I wouldn't be surprised if
he's celebrating it.

And then there's Koyla Sudakov... you know, Koyla, I had given you
plenty of chances to redeemn yourself, despite your situation... but
after what went down at Memorial Day Mayhem... whether you liked what
you had to do or not, the fact you put your hands on Jim Watkins tells
me you've had enough chances from me!

[The fan response shows they agree!]

S: And I can promise you that the Foreign Legion is going to have plenty
to answer to... and I will deal with them all in due time.

But I also know how much the fans were happy to see me win the Rumble
and become the top contender to the AWA National title... and I
certainly don't want to disappoint those great fans who want to see me
challenge for that National title.

[The fan response shows they would like to see that!]

S: And so, I would like to announce that I will be challenging Juan
Vasquez... another man I have nothing but respect for... to an AWA
National title championship match at the next show... which I understand
will be called Wrestlerock!

[The fan responses shows they like this turn of events!]

S: And I will say that...

[The open to "Saz O Avaz Mahdor" cuts Supernova off, and the boos drown
out the cheers as the familiar duo of Count Adrian Bathwaite and Sultan
Azam Sharif head to the ring. Bathwaite is wearing an expensive suit,
dressed more like he's at a formal ball than in a wrestling show.  His
dark green jacket is adorned with formal golden-colored epilauts and a
patchwork of service ribbons on the right breast... from where they come
is anyone's guess. He wears a silver waistcoat and black tie under that,
and black slacks. The silver-haired Eurasian manager still does have
that pesky cane, and he waves it threateningly at Supernova as he
proceeds down the aisle.  Sharif is also dressed consipicuously, in a
royal-purple bisht with gold, green, and scarlet patterned trim.  This
bisht is clearly made of finer materials than his usual reddish-brown
one, and though he still wears a plain white kaffiyeh, the agal
(headband) that goes with it is colorful, made of Iranian Termeh.  While
his normal garb looks baggy and flowing, this set of attire looks neatly
pressed and orderly.]

S: All right, hold on... what in the world do you want now?

[By this time, Sharif has climbed up to the ring apron.  The Persian
grappler points a stern finger of warning at Supernova as he steps
inside, holding the ropes open for his manager as he does.  The fans are
already on it.]

"U!  S!  A!      U!  S!  A!      U!  S!  A!      U!  S!  A!   U!  S! 
A!"

[Bathwaite has his own mic.  It's ivory-plated.  Because he's a pompous
arse.]

CAB: First of all, you needle-necked serf, of course I knew what was
going to happen to that low-blooded dirt farmer Watkins!  He deserved
every bit of it, and it's about time an ignorant American was shown that
the real nations of worth in this world understand the concepts of
nobility and birthright. But since both of those words have too many
letters for you, I'll make this real simple.

At Memorial Day Rumble, you cheated your way to an undeserved victory! 
And to make matters worse, you deliberately provoked my friends Vladimir
and Kolya to get my man disqualified, right as he was about to counter
your pathetic attempt at submission wrestling!

[Supernova has the stunned sort of expression that most people get when
confronted with brain-breaking stupidity.  Or in this case, denial.  We
can see him mouth "Whaaaaaat?" as Bathwaite continues.]

CAB: Since you obviously can't make any legitimate claim on any
championships when you have yet to be able to legitimately defeat my man
the Sultan, I think you had better retract everything you just said and
finish what you started, you slime-encrusted commoner.  The Sultan's
record is far more impressive than yours, the Sultan's breeding is
first-class, and the Sultan's got the Olympic medals to prove that he's
a thousand times the wrestler you are!

[Supernova starts to turn red with anger.  But now it is Sharif who puts
up a placating hand.  The Iranian speaks in his exceedingly heavy
accent.]

SAS: Assalamu 'alalikum Wa rahmatullah, Mistair Count Batwaite, but I
diddunt need to say vat all my accomplaishmunt vas.  Humility is very
omportunt, un Supairnova, you diddunt show humility ven you punch my
managair.  But I know dot you vun Mamorial Day Mah-hem Battail Royal
motch. I congratulate you on dot you won dot motch... BUT RAMEMBAH!

You diddunt beat me ven ve fought dot night!  I vus countairing dot
hold, vatevah you call it, un den you attock my Roosian friends just
like vat dot Mistair Count Batwaite said!  Ve gonna finush it!  Un den
ven I beat you, insha'allah, you learn humility!  Un den I'm gonna be
deh one to shallunge Jewan Vuzquez!

[SUpernova looks incredulously at Sharif.]

S: You're kidding me, right? You really believe I was the one who
attacked the Russians?!

SAS: Ya, dot is vat Mistair Count Batwaite said!

[Before Supernova can develop this line of inquiry, Bathwaite
intervenes.]

CAB: Don't you go casting aspersions on me, you lowborn grubworm!  I
used to eat punks like you for breakfast, and I'm not too old to slap
the mascara from your face down to your colon!  And the Sultan would
proceed to show the world what that colon looks like!

S: Oh, really, Bathwaite? Well, take your best shot!

[Supernova takes an aggressive step forward.  Bathwaite doesn't
backpedal, but he does choose some quick words to revise this line of
thought.]

CAB: You... you're lucky today, kid.  Look at how I'm dressed!

[Bathwaite shows off some shiny gold-and-ivory cufflinks.]

CAB: The Sultan and I have a formal affair to attend.  Class and
dignity...so no wonder you're not invited.  We're going to show our
respect for a man who deserves it, and we'll not have our garments
sullied while thrashing a boy who does not deserve it!

[Supernova rolls his eyes at the obvious excuse.  The Sultan just nods
his head and pronounces "Allahu akbar!"]

CAB: So consider this a gift, and walk away.  Forget about challenging
Vasquez or anyone else!  You have Sultan Azam Sharif to contend with,
and that's more than you deserve and FAR more than you can handle.
Besides that, I can save the world some time and declare that you're not
championship material. I know it when I see it, because I was winning
world championships before your equally-lowborn parents were old enough
to have children!

S: What world championships? Name me one time...

CAB: WHAT DID I TELL YOU ABOUT CONTRADICTING ME, YOU SNOT-NOSED
FINGER-PAINTED SEWER RAT!?

[Bathwaite jabs the cane into Supernova's ribs.  HARD.

Those ribs are like a washboard... if the washboard was made of rock. 
The jab has about as much affect as throwing spitwads.  Supernova's eyes
bulge, and Bathwaite hits him again. The fans are going nuts, urging
Supernova on to react!  And the facepainted hero beats his chest in a
rush of adrenaline, and reaches for Bathwaite!

All he catches is a hooked boot to the head.]

GM: Oh, come on!  Bathwaite provoked Supernova into attacking him, to
provoke the Sultan into blindsiding Supernova!

BW: I wonder if Kolya taught him to kick that high!

GM: Not the same style of kick, but effective, especially with that
horrible footwear!  And the Sultan laying into Supernova with the
boots... but not keeping him down!  Supernova to his feet and fighting
back!

BW: Hey!  He's mussin' up Sharif's formalwear!  They have a coronation
to go to!

GM: Then he should have known better than to come out and attack! 
Supernova staggered, and Sharif backing him up to the corner...
Irish-Whip... REVERSED!  __HEAT WAVE__!

[The fans go crazy for the flying avalanche, as the Sultan hits the mat
in a flopping pile of cloth!  Supernova picks him up, and whips him to
the opposite corner!]

BW: Oh no!  Not another one!

GM: Big head of steam... and here comes...

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

[The crowd responds with jeers as Kolya Sudakov enters the ring and
catches the flying Supernova across the sternum with a standing version
of the Russian Sickle - not as effective as the running one but enough
to put Supernova down on the mat!]

BW: HERE COMES THE SICKLE, DADDY!

GM: SUDAKOV!  FROM NOWHERE!

[From the aisle, actually, and Vladimir Velikov is following with a
chain in one hand and a Soviet flag in the other.  Kolya stomps away on
Supernova, and Sharif joins him.  Bathwaite is directing traffic, and
Vladimir Velikov wraps that large, menacing chain around his fist. 
Having been laid out with the Sickle, Supernova isn't offering much
resistance.]

BW: That was a crazy Sickle, Gordo!  Supernova threw HIMSELF into it! 
Kolya's not playing around tonight!

GM: Sudakov does not do things halfway, whether he wants to do them or
not. Sharif with a half-nelson lift, half-nelson chickenwing to
immobilize Supernova...

[The crowd buzzes as Velikov, chain wrapped around his fist, winds up...

...and DRILLS Supernova between the eyes with it, knocking him flat once
more!]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

BW: CHAIN TO THE FACE BY VELIKOV!  And look who else is joinin' the
party... heh, the Party.

[Ivan Kostovich is here, and he is unfurling that Soviet flag... his
plans for it are obvious, and the crowd jeers vehemently!]

GM: NOT AGAIN!  Not another... Soviet burial!

BW: Oh, yeah.  Supernova is going to learn what happens when you provoke
the wrong guys... and he's done that so many times now, they ought to
give him two or three burials!

GM: Velikov setting up for a chain-assisted Sickle!  Don't let him do
this! No!

[The fans... EXPLODE IN CHEERS!]

BW: Wow, the fans really want to see Supernova get his!  And here it
comes!

[Velikov rushes to waylay a held Supernova with the chain-assisted
Sickle... but suddenly, Sharif steps out in front and takes the bulk of
the blow for his hated rival!


...


...


...why would he do that?  Because Juan Vasquez just dropkicked him in
the back to send him stumbling out there, that's why.]

GM: VASQUEZ!

BW: NO!  MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!

[Vasquez takes advantage of the shock by launching a vicious right cross
at Velikov, flooring the chain-wielding veteran!  He turns to do the
same to Sudakov...but the former mixed martial artist is not about to
get caught with a telegraphed punch.]

GM: Vasquez floored Velikov, but Sudakov intercepted the right cross
with a block-and-strike combination!

BW: Vasquez and Sudakov!  Toe to toe!

GM: And Juan Vasquez can't win this battle fighting this way!

[The National Champion throws down with the former National Champion,
trading blows, but it's evident which of them is the better striker.
Sudakov batters Vasquez down, and lunges forward to take the wind out of
Juan with a headbutt to the ribs.  He then sends Vasquez off the ropes,
cocks the arm...]

BW: YEAH!  SIC (kle) 'EM!

GM: SUPERNOVA!

[...but the resiliency of SUpernova has again been underestimated, as
the young superstar flattens Sudakov with a beautiful diving clothesline
before he can connect with the Sickle!  Spared the impact, Vasquez
continues off the ropes, and drops the World's Most Famous Senton* on
the felled Russian War Machine!

* - or a famous facsimile thereof]

BW: NO!  How'd he get up already!  He got hit in the face with a chain!

GM: He's tough!

[Supernova beats his chest and bellows to the white-hot crowd...

...and is Release German Suplexed out of his boots by Sharif!]

BW: So's the Sultan!

GM: After getting hit with that chain also?  The Sultan must be made of
iron!

[Sharif kicks Vasquez in the chest, and tries to suplex him... but
Vasquez blocks it!  However, Vladimir Velikov double-axehandles him
before he can hoist the former Olympian into the air.]

BW: They're still outnumbered, daddy!

[Velikov tries to help Sharif with a double suplex on Vasquez... but
Vasquez floats over the top!  He dropkicks both men, one foot for each!]

GM: But the National Champion still has the fight in him!

BW: He won't in a minute... look!

[The grizzled visage of Ivan Kostovich can be seen behind Vasquez,
glaring. He clasps his hands together... readying the Soviet Hammer...
and Juan doesn't see him!]

GM: There's too many of them!

BW: OH NO!  LUNATIC ALERT!  LUNATIC ALERT!

[Kostovich straightens up, and exits the ring in an unhurried manner. 
That's because Corax just hit the ring, baseball bat in hand. Vasquez
peppers Velikov with rights and lefts, and the Sultan's attempt to nail
the National Champion in the head is met with a bat to the ribs!]

GM: Corax is here!  And Tyler Lee is right behind him!

[The powerhouse Lee thunders into a recovered Sudakov with a tremendous
shoulder tackle.  Supernova is up, and peppering the doubled-over Sultan
with rights and lefts.  Vasquez hiptosses Velikov straight out of the
ring! Corax, looking at the big picture, points the bat at Kostovich...
who glares, and walks away.  Bathwaite pulls the Sultan by the boot,
having to command him to flee.

Which leaves Sudakov.

Lee is ready to continue the attack, but Supernova pulls him back.  The
faces give Kolya a long look, and the fans cheer...

...Kostovich stops walking, and turns to regard this scene.]

GM: Now is the time, Kolya!  Kostovich has no power here!  His men are
now the ones who are outnumbered!

BW: Cowardly ganging-up on the Russians and the Sultan, I might add.

GM: All Kolya Sudakov has to do is step away from Kostovich!  This is
America... there is no indentured servitude here!

BW: You must not have a mortgage to pay, Gordo.

[Kolya gives it a long look...

...and slowly steps out of the ring, to the disappointment of the crowd.
Kostovich chuckles darkly.]

GM: ...why?!

BW: He ain't an American citizen.  Think about it.  Who can revoke his
visa and green card in the snap of a finger?

GM: This is wrong.  Plain wrong.

[The foreign contingent exits, leaving Supernova, Vasquez, Lee, and
Corax in the ring.  Corax slides out and hops the railing... gone as
abruptly as he came.]

BW: Okay, that makes me nervous.  That creepy Corax just... vanishes! 
An' who knows where he is?!  He just blindsided the Sultan with his bat
not two minutes ago!

GM: Wait... I think there's more to be said in the ring!

[The three men look briefly in Corax's direction, then turn to look back
up the aisle, before Supernova grabs the mic that has been left in the
ring.]

S: Bathwaite... Sharif... Velikov... Kostovich... and as much as I hate
to say it... Sudakov... you want it that way?

So be it... you are ALL at the top of my list of people who need to feel
the heat!

[The fans like that! So does Tyler Lee, who slaps Supernova on the
shoulder.

The face-painted wrestler turns to Vasquez.]

S: Juan... I hope you understand when I say that we'll need to postpone
that title match... that unfinished business I have needs to come first.

[The National champion understandingly nods his head.]

JV: Amigo, go ahead and take care of your business. Don't even worry
about our match, 'cause when you're done putting those fools in their
place, I'll be right here waiting for you with the National title!

[Pop!]

JV: But if you don't mind a little help with your battle, then how about
*I* lend you a hand?

[The crowd responds with a big pop at the idea of a Vasquez/Supernova
team-up!]

JV: You ain't the only one that's been disappointed with the way
Sudakov's been handling things, but maybe giving The Russians a good
beating will smarten him up just a *little* bit. What I'm sayin' is me
and you... the champion and the NUMBER ONE CONTENDER! [Pop!]

We combine forces and take on Velikov and Sudakov...

[Juan suddenly holds out his hand to Supernova.]

JV: ...TONIGHT!

[Supernova doesn't even hesitate, quickly grabbing and shaking Vasquez's
hand to a huge pop from the crowd!]

GM:  That's a challenge, Bucky!  The National Champion, Juan Vasquez,
and the Number One contender, Supernova, want to team up and face the
Russians right here in the Main Event tonight!

BW:  That's big, daddy!  And big is the only way the AWA knows how to do
it!

GM:  Speaking of big, what about Supernova saying he's going to hold on
to that title shot just a little bit longer until he takes out the
Foreign Legion?

BW:  By the time the Russians and Sharif are done with him, there may
not be anything left of Supernova to challenge for the title.  And Juan
Vasquez, as I keep saying, is on borrowed time!  He's made so many
enemies over the past couple years, it's only a matter of time before
one of them finish him off once and for all.

GM:  It's a wild start to what should be a big night of action here in
Little Rock, Arkansas... and now, let's go backstage where Jason Dane is
standing by with a special guest.  Jason?

[Crossfade to the backstage area where we get a close-up of a grinning
Jason Dane.]

JD:  Thanks, guys.  Jason Dane standing here with what WAS one half of
the former AWA National Tag Team Champions, Kentucky's Pride. But...

[The shot slowly zooms out as Dane turns towards the tall, grizzled Tin
Can Rust, dressed in a pair of jeans and a plan white T-shirt.]

JD: Now I guess it's just you now, Tin Can Rust.

[Rust gives Dane an annoyed look.]

TCR: For now, yeah, it's just me. Jack, he's enjoying his retirement and
God bless him for it. There's not a man around here that deserves to
just not worry about anything. But for me, Jason, I may be only one
person... BUT Kentucky's Pride will keep on livin' on, no matter what!

JD: But, without Jack, how can you say Kentucky's Pride will still be
around?

TCR: I know. Kentucky's Pride was Jack and me. I get that. But Jack, he
ain't coming back no more. But I'm still here, if you didn't realize it,
alright?

[Rust pauses, making sure Dane got that last point.]

TCR: From the moment I came to the AWA, my purpose was one thing and one
thing only - to be in the best tag team this sport's got going. And
it'll be my honor to keep the good name of Kentucky's Pride going - keep
bein' a top team, year in, year out!

JD: Ok, so you intend to keep wrestling as a tag team, but with who?

[Rust continues on, ignoring Dane's question.]

TCR: And I'll tell ya another thing, Jason - I got my eyes set on the
Cup this year.

JD: The Stampede Cup?

TCR: Yeah, what other Cup you got around here, huh? Of course the
Stampede Cup! Kentucky's Pride will be in the Stampede Cup and
Kentucky's Pride will make it to the finals this year! And we will win!

JD: Who's "we"?

[Instead of an answer, Rust gives Dane a look and shakes his head before
walking off from the shot.]

JD: Well, I don't know if that's official or not, but Tin Can Rust - or
Kentucky's Pride - intends to enter the Stampede Cup on Labor Day
weekend.  Let's go back down to ringside for our opening matchup!

[Crossfade back to the ringside area to our announce team.]

GM:  The Stampede Cup has been on the minds of a lot of people over the
past couple weeks as the first batch of teams for the annual big tag
team tournament have been announced.  We already knew that Rough N
Ready, Violence Unlimited, the Blonde Bombers, and the Rockstar Express
had entered.  Last night, we received breaking news that former World
Tag Team Champions, Dynasty, would be teaming for the first time in five
years to go for the one million dollars as well.  And now, I guess we
can Kentucky's Pride to the list!

BW:  Who the heck is that old fossil gonna find willing to team with
him?

GM:  We'll find out in the weeks ahead I'm sure.  But for now, we're
about to go back up to the ring for more action - more debut action at
that, Bucky.  The young man about to come out here - his name is Jeff
Jagger, they call him the Carolina Crusher, and he's yet another
graduate of Todd Michaelson's Combat Corner!

BW:  Michaelson's really crankin' 'em out right now.  Jagger this week,
Ricky Armstrong about a month ago.  And of course, Eric Preston's
hangin' around as well.

GM:  With this young man coming out of the Combat Corner, you can be
sure he'll be fundamentally sound but does he have what it takes to
succeed on the biggest stage in the sport?  

BW:  I ran across this kid in the back earlier tonight, and he looked
like a deer in headlights when he saw me.  I get that reaction a lot, as
you well know, but this kid looked a little too excited to be here if
you ask me, daddy.

GM:  We're going to take a step towards finding out right now.  Take it
away, Phil Watson!

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

PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit!  Introducing first, already in the ring, hailing from
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, standing six feet tall and weighing in at
two hundred forty three pounds, he is the
SOUTH......PHILLY......PHIIIIIIIIIIIIGGGGHHHTTERR!!!

[The crowd boos without much conviction as The Phighter raises an arm
into the air, as he chews on an unlit cigar.  He's clad in a pair of
oil-stained jeans, black boots and an red Phillies shirt that has seen
better days.  Frankly, he looks homeless.  The camera pans back to
Watson.]

PW: And his opponent!  Making his AWA debut as a graduate of the Combat
Corner, hailing from Charlotte, North Carolina... He stands five feet,
eleven inches tall and weighs in at two hundred ten pounds, please
welcome... 
"CAROLINA CRUSHER"... 

JEFF... JAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGERRRRRR!!!

["Zero" by Smashing Pumpkins kicks in over the PA system and from the
entrance portal emerges young Jeff Jagger.  Clad in a long pair of
wrestling tights, royal blue in color with "CAROLINA" written down one
leg in white lettering and "CRUSHER" down the other.  White wrestling
boots with a blue "JJ" on them cover his feet, while his chest is bare. 
His medium-length brown hair is pulled back out of his eyes, revealing a
young and eager face that carries a smile the size of Arkansas itself. 
The crowd provides a modest face pop as Jagger quickly makes his way
towards the ring, slapping the outstretched hands of as many fans as he
can reach.]

BW: Another kiss-up.  Fantastic.

GM: There's nothing wrong with a young man appreciating the fans who
paid their hard-earned money to see him perform, Bucky.

BW: Nobody paid a cent to see him perform.  Nobody has ever even heard
of him.

GM: He's here to change that tonight!

[As Jagger reaches the ring apron he grabs the top rope, pulls back and
leaps over into the ring, quickly scampering over to a turnbuckle and
climbing up, reaching an arm into the air, his pinky finger, index
finger and thumb outstretched, signaling the crowd, eliciting a
favorable response.]

GM: The young Jeff Jagger signaling to the crowd that he loves them.  I
have a feeling the emotion will soon be reciprocated!

BW: Not from this direction, daddy.

[He leaps back down as "Zero" fades out and heads over to where The
Phighter awaits.  Marty Meekly calls for the bell and the match is
underway.  Jagger reaches out to shake hands with The Phighter as a show
of good faith.  The Phighter looks around, looks down at his greasy hand
and shrugs, then shakes Jagger's hand.]

GM:  A show of surprising sportsmanship from the Phight-

[The good will stops there, though as The Phighter yanks Jagger close to
him and immediately begins peppering the youngster with lefts and
rights.]

BW: Apparently Michaelson doesn't teach common sense at the Combat
Corner.

GM: Definitely a rookie mistake by Jagger there.  The list of AWA
competitors who are willing to shake hands before a match these days is
pretty short.

[The Phighter backs Jagger into the corner, pummeling the 19 year-old
with lefts and rights to the body.  The brawler from Philadelphia whips
Jagger across the ring and into the opposite turnbuckle.]

GM:  A series of rights and lefts downstairs - big whip here... and here
comes the Phighter!

[He takes a moment before barreling across the ring after him, giving
Jagger an opportunity to boost himself to the second rope and leap off,
meeting The Phighter with a dropkick directly to the knee that leaves
him howling.]

GM: Jagger zeroed in on that knee and the dropkick landed with
precision!

[Jagger quickly scrambles back to his feet and wastes no time in holding
The South Philly Phighter's knee down on the mat, then pushing himself
into the air and coming down with his own knee.  He repeats the exercise
two more times as The Phighter clutches at his knee in pain.]

GM:  Jagger's going after the leg - I know that the figure four leglock
is one of his favorite holds.  

[The Carolina Crusher then looks to take advantage of his handiwork,
grabbing the legs of The Phighter and spinning into a figure four
leglock.]

GM:  And there it is!

BW: Well, he is following up on the damage to the knee.  Perhaps he's
not a complete idiot.  

GM: Hardly, Bucky.  I know this young man's father and despite his age
he's grown up around this sport and knows how to break down an opponent.

[The Phighter writhes in pain as Jagger leans back on the figure four. 
Eventually The Phighter reaches the ring ropes and Meekly instructs the
young Combat Corner graduate to release the hold, which he does
immediately.]

BW: If he truly knew how to break down an opponent he would of held on
to that figure four for another few seconds.

GM: Jeff Jagger respects the authority of a referee, Bucky, believe me. 
His father has been a referee in the Carolinas for almost three decades!

BW: He'll follow in his father's footsteps if he doesn't get himself a
killer instinct, Gordo.

[Jagger allows The Phighter to get to his feet and the two meet in the
center of the ring with a collar and elbow tieup.  The Phighter comes
out a bit ahead in this exchange, twisting Jagger around into a
wristlock.]

GM:  Jagger finds himself trapped inside that wristlock, the veteran
cranking up the pressure on the arm...

[As Jagger winces in pain, The Phighter uses his free arm to size up the
youngster and shoot forward with a lariat.  Jagger's quickness is on
display, however, and he ducks underneath.  The Phighter spins around in
surprise and catches a European uppercut for his troubles, stunning
him.]

GM:  Ohh!  Jagger popped him under the chin!

BW:  The Phighter may need to check his dental work after that.

[Jagger quickly hooks him and tosses him backwards with a stiff snap
suplex!  The crowd pops in appreciation for the sweet science that is on
display.]

GM: Jagger with a nice display of technical wrestling right there,
Bucky.

BW: Let's see if he steps on the gas here, though.  He's more likely to
help The Phighter up and give him a hug based on what I've seen thus
far.

[The Phighter stumbles up after the snap suplex, but the Carolina
Crusher is already there waiting for him, drilling him in the stomach
with a boot, doubling the Philadelphia brawler over.  Jagger quickly
wraps his arms around his waist and spins him up and over with a
gutwrench suplex!  He hooks the leg as Marty Meekly dives in for the
cover.]

GM: ONE!!   TWO!!  And no, The Phighter kicks out of that one!

BW: That may have worked in North Carolina, but here in the AWA it takes
a lot more, daddy!

GM: Excellent execution on the gutwrench though!

[Not to be deterred, Jagger quickly scampers to the outside on the ring
apron and grabs the top rope, slingshotting himself back into the ring
and lands a leg clean across the throat of The Phighter to the delight
of the Little Rock faithful.]

GM:  He dropped that leg on him while swinging over the ropes.  A good
show of athleticism by the kid here in his debut, Bucky.

BW:  Not bad.

[Jagger is back up quickly, and heads over to the corner, climbing up to
the top rope.  He raises his arms in the air as the crowd cheers in
anticipation.  That elicits a large grin and a momentary pause from the
Combat Corner rookie.]

BW:  The kid's wasting time up there, Gordo.

GM:  He's enjoying the cheers from these fans here in Little Rock and-

[That pause ends up costing him, however, as he leaps off the top with a
senton, but The Phighter rolls out of the way and Jagger catches nothing
but mat!]

BW: See, Gordo?  Pandering to these idiots gets you nothing but pain and
suffering!  How many times do I have to say it!?

GM: This is the first time this young man has been in front of an AWA
crowd; we can't expect him not to be taken aback by the moment, Bucky.

[As Jagger clutches at his lower back in pain, The Phighter climbs to
his feet and stumbles over towards the youngster, rearing back and
planting a big boot right in the lower back.]

GM:  Hard stomp to the back... and another...

[He repeats that a few times before yanking Jagger up by the hair and
tossing him roughly into the corner.  The Phighter closes in and begins
lacing into the Carolina Crusher with stiff lefts and rights to the body
and head.]

GM:  Look at the Phighter just teeing off on Jeff Jagger!  Get him out
of the corner, ref!

[The referee's count forces the Phighter to back off after about a dozen
blows in the buckles.  Standing back, he waves Jagger forward, throwing
a big haymaker at the stumbling rookie...

...and finds nothing but air.]

GM: Jeff Jagger ducks out of the way!

[The Phighter spins around with another haymaker which Jagger easily
sidesteps and then quickly slaps on a Fujiwara armbar, dropping the
brawler to the mat howling in pain!]

BW: He's got that thing locked in good, Gordo!  Shades of Jeff Matthews
on Alex Martinez at Memorial Day Mayhem!

GM: Funny you should mention it, Bucky, because Jeff Matthews, along
with Caleb Temple, were two of Jagger's idols growing up!

BW: He'd be wise to start getting in their frame of mind!

[Fortunately for The Phighter, he's near the corner and after enough
flailing, his legs find one of the bottom ropes and Meekly instructs
Jagger to release the hold.]

GM:  Ohh!  The Phighter got to the ropes.  He's putting up a heck of a
fight here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  The Phighter ain't no pushover, Gordo.  He's double tough.

[Jagger complies, but continues his assault and yanks The Phighter up to
his feet, and attempts an Irish whip to the ropes.]

GM:  Whip by the rook- reversed!

[Jagger bounces off the ropes, ducking under a big swinging clothesline,
slamming on the breaks...

...and hooking in a sleeperhold!  The crowd cheers in response!]

GM:  He calls that The Carolina Clutch, Bucky!

BW: Well he sure is cutting off the air to The Phighter, daddy!

[Bucky speaks the truth as The Phighter's desperate flailing doesn't
last long as Meekly runs in to check on him, raising his arm and
dropping it to no response.  He raises it again, and again it falls with
no response.  He gives it one more shot, reaching in and raising The
Phighter's arm and once again it drops!  He signals for the bell.  Ding!
Ding! Ding!]

GM: He's done it, folks!  Jeff Jagger wins his debut here in the AWA and
does so in an impressive, clinical fashion!

BW: Impressive by what standards?

[Jagger excitedly climbs the turnbuckles once again as the crowd pops in
response as "Zero" by Smashing Pumpkins comes blaring across the PA
system once again.  Phil Watson chimes in with the official decision.]

PW: Here is your winner... "CAROLINA CRUSHER" JEEEEEEEEEEFFFFFFFF
JAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!

[Jagger hops down off the middle rope, nodding at the official as he
sits the Phighter straight up, squeezes his neck a couple of times, and
then SLAPS his hand into the back of the neck, causing the Phighter to
flail about in surprise.]

GM:  And Jeff Jagger does the right thing there, waking the Phighter up
before any permanent damage can develop.  The sleeperhold is a dangerous
hold, fans, and you kids would do well to NOT try it at home.

[Jagger climbs from the ring and heads back up the aisle where Jason
Dane awaits, slapping the fans' hands every step of the way.]

GM: It looks like we're going to hear from the young rookie.  Jason,
take it away!

[We cut to Jason Dane, microphone in hand, as Jagger approaches.]

JD: Thanks, Gordon!  Jeff Jagger, welcome to the AWA!

[Jagger beams as he leans in to the microphone.]

JJ: Man oh man, are these fans not amazing or _what!?_

[That elicits yet another pop from the Little Rock faithful.]

JJ: And allow me to say, Jason, it's an honor to meet you, sir.  I'm a
big fan o' what you do and I'm thrilled to finally be here in the AWA to
meet you in person.

[Dane seems happy that someone appreciates his work and continues.]

JD: You recently graduated from Todd Michaelson's Combat Corner.  He
says you're perhaps the most technically proficient competitor he's
worked with.  What did you learn in the Combat Corner?

JJ: First off, I'm flattered to hear that Todd said that.  He taught me
a ton about how to be a professional in this business and I'm eager put
those lessons to the test.  He was firm, but fair in everything we did
in the Combat Corner.  Todd has sent quite a few men to the heights o'
this business.  Some listened to what he preached, like Eric Preston...

[Pop!  Jagger nods in agreement.]

JJ: ...and others ignored everything he said, like Calisto Dufresne.

[Big heel pop at the mention of the vanquished Ladykiller.]

JJ: I plan on takin' everything Todd taught me, plus everything I
learned from my daddy and doin' both of 'em - and these fans - proud!

JD: Speaking of your father, he is a long-serving referee in the
Carolina territories.  What did you learn from him growing up?

JJ: While Todd taught me a bunch about bein' a wrestler, my daddy taught
me how to be a man.  He taught me what it means to have honor.  What it
means to be a man of your word.  What it means to put a hard day's work
in and pull yourself up by the bootstraps.  I live by that creed every
day o' my life, Jason, just like the fine folks o' Little Rock!  

[Pop!]

JD: Who were some of your idols growing up, Jeff?

JJ: Well, bein' from North Carolina it was hard not to idolize some of
the local legends like Caleb Temple and Jeff Matthews.

[The crowd boos at the name of Jeff Matthews, who brutally assaulted
Alex Martinez at Memorial Day Mayhem.  Jagger puts his hand up, asking
for patience.]

JJ: Now I don't know what the heck got into Jeff Matthews two weeks ago
when he did what he did to Alex Martinez, but that ain't who I am,
folks.  You can rest assured that like Caleb Temple and Jeff Matthews
that I'll most certainly give you your hard-earned money's worth every
time I step inside the squared circle.  But I'm my own man.  And while
I've been training for months with Todd Michaelson, I've been watching
men with no honor run roughshod over this organization.

[Jagger shakes his head in disgust.]

JJ: It makes me sick to see men like Juan Vasquez, Alex Martinez and
Supernova continuously on the business end o' backjumpin' and
cheap-shottin'.  Well, I hope I can help even the scales just a l'il
bit, Jason.  'Cause while my daddy sure taught me about honor, respect
and hard work, he also taught me not to go startin' fights.  But he also
taught me that if someone comes lookin' for one...

[A big grin from the North Carolina native.]

JJ: ...that I sure as heck better know how to finish it!  

[Pop from the crowd as "Zero" by Smashing Pumpkins kicks in one more
time as Jagger shakes Dane's hand and then makes his way back through
the entrance portal as we fade to black.

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
find a locker room in the Barton Coliseum that is empty except for one
man who is throwing a black duffel bag across the room, smashing hard
into a locker.  

Travis Lynch stands in front of the camera attired in a pair of blue
jeans, a white short sleeve polo shirt and his traditional cowboy boots
made from vintage cognac smooth ostrich leather with turquoise crunch
goatskin highlights. The smile that is usually upon the face of Travis
is replaced a scowl.]

TL: What is going on in the AWA?

[Travis walks with a purpose across the locker room and grabs his duffel
bag from the floor slamming it onto the bench. Travis pauses for a few
moments before he begins to speak again.]

TL: You have the Russians brutalizing the head of the Championship
Committee ... you have James Monosso, who's two sandwiches short of a
picnic, running roughshod through announcers and whoever else happens to
cross his path ... and you have a ghost from the past, costing me my
chance at winning the Memorial Day Rumble!

[Travis grabs his duffel bag and once again tosses it on the floor in
frustration.]

TL: Sure there were some highlights in the Rumble ... Dick Bass, you
decided to run your mouth about me and my brothers and what happened to
you? One discus punch and you were looking at the lights, no longer a
part of the Rumble. And you Derek Martin ... well this Lynch boy made
sure you met a dead end in your attempt to win the Rumble.

[Travis runs his hands through his wavy, dirty blonde hair.]

TL: But Rex Summers ... once again you decided to stick your nose in
Lynch business ... my business ... and this time ... this time you
didn't leave me laying with the Heat Check ... no, this time you tossed
me over the top rope and cost me a chance at the AWA National
Championship!

[Travis slams the palms of hands into the wooden bench.]

TL: But what I don't get, what I can't grasp my mind around is how? How
can a man without a contract, a man who wasn't even in the Rumble cost
me my shot?!?

[Travis once again grabs the duffel bag from the floor and just tosses
it across the room once again into another locker. After a loud thud the
bag falls to the floor. Travis kicks the wooden bench before speaking
again.]

TL: Come hell or high water things are gonna change!

[The camera pans back to the black duffel bag on the floor and a pair of
black cowboy boots can be seen, and a slow, drawling voice can be
heard.]

"You done? That duffel bag had enough?"

[The camera pans up over the black jeans, the button up black dress
shirt, and the black cowboy hat won by Travis' oldest brother. Jack
Lynch. Lynch is leaning against a locker, his lanky, 6'7" frame more
poised and relaxed than his brother's fired up demeanor. Its clear the
two are related, though Travis inherited the looks in the family, Jack
looking more rugged, like their father, Blackjack Lynch.]

JL: You know, no one likes to see you all fired up like this more than
me. Heck, as I recall, I've stirred the pot a couple of times, just to
watch you go off. But this? Trashing a locker room? What purpose does
that serve?

[Travis' attention shifts to Jack.]

TL: Purpose? Why do my actions need purpose? It seems no one else in the
AWA has a purpose outside causing chaos! 

JL: Listen, Travis. You know where Jimmy is right now? He's down in the
basement, doing jumping jacks, gettin' ready for our match against Shock
and Awe tonight. And if I know Jimmy, he's probably doing 'em barefoot.
Point is, he's doing somethin' productive, and later on, he's gonna do
something productive on their faces. This? This ain't helpin' anyone,
least of all yourself.

Ya know I always like to watch the shows at the bar, after we've left
the arena. Well, I watched Mayhem, same as I always do. And I heard
Stevie Scott sayin' some things that I took to heart. He said that this
ain't PCW. This ain't Blackjack's back yard. This is the AWA. He's right
about that. But he's wrong about everything else.

Because see, I know, that I _never_ expected anything to be handed to
me. And I know that James never expected anything to be given to him.
And I'm damned sure, Travis, that you've never, once in your life, sat
back and waited for someone to give you somethin'. I know it because
I've seen you every day of your life, and I've seen what you can do.

But this? This isn't you either.

Lemme tell ya somethin'.

[Jack peels himself off the wall, and moves close to his brother.]

JL: Stevie Scott is right. This ain't PCW. But this?

[Jack raises his right hand, and slowly curls his fingers forward,
forming, what else? The claw.]

JL: This is something to be feared. This is something that goes beyond
PCW or AWA, or anywhere else. This is the weapon that this gonna take
you, Jimmy and me all to gold here in the AWA. This is the thing that
_no man_ no matter how big or how tough, can escape. This is Blackjack's
legacy, and your inheritance.

This claw, it means somethin'. It means that the Lynches are Texas
wrestling. It means that we are, quite frankly, the future of the AWA.
And it means that you, brother, are better than some whiny kid throwin'
his things around.

You're a Lynch, Trav. I want you to remember what that means.

And...

[Jack steps back, grinning.]

JL: If you're not busy, I'd love for you to come out and watch our backs
tonight. With everything that's going on, you just know someone is going
to come gunnin' for us. What do you say?

[Travis looks at Jack and flashes his pearly whites in his usual smile.]

TL: You know exactly what I'm going to say, Jack.

[Jack nods at his brother as he pats him on the shoulder as we crossfade
back down to ringside just as the bell rings.]

PW: The following contest is set for one fall, and a ten minute time
limit!

[The fans buzz as a new wrestler hops over the top rope into the ring. 
He is a light-brown haired man with a slightly receding hairline and
mustache.  He wears black thigh-length tights and black sneakers, as
well as a leather jacket.  He raises his arm to the crowd, smiling and
shouting.  His enthusiasm is pretty infectious, and he gets a reaction.]

MC: Introducing first... from Dallas, Texas... weighing two-hundred
fourty-four pounds... BRUCE "WILD AND CRAZY" GUY!

[The fans give the hokey nickname a cheer, and Guy starts hopping on the
balls of his feet to ready himself.  It is not long before the small
cheer turns to boos as an overweight man wearing olive and tan military
fatigue pants comes marching through the entranceway.  He has a slight
gut, but he does have some definition in his chest, neck, and arms;
there are novisible scars or tattoos on his body.  He has brown eyes,
brown hair with a bald spot on the top of his head and a brown handlebar
mustache.   Draped over his bulky form is a camoflauge jacket with the
flag of South Africa on the back.  His red beret is in his right hand as
he enters the arena.]

PW: Hailing from Capetown, South Africa... weighing in at two-hundred
and seventy-one pounds... He claims to respresent all that is pure, here
is... COLONEL P.W. DE KLERK!

[There is no entrance music as de Klerk takes a few steps and stops,
donning his red beret and looking over the crowd with a measuring gaze. 
He tucks his left arm behind his back, and uses his right arm to twist
his handlebar mustache as he peers out at the crowd to assess them.  He
offers them a military salute, which is met with some relentless booing,
and continues to the ring.  He climbs into the ring and raises his right
arm above his head, hand balled into a fist and then offers another
military salute to the crowd.]

GM: Alright, Bucky, this is the Saturday Night Wrestling debut of two
men whom we've been hearing about backstage.  P.W. de Klerk and Bruce
Guy have been competing in non-televised events for a number of months
now, and both have an opportunity to show their wares to our full
audience tonight.

BW: Lemme sum 'em up for ya.  de Klerk is a wrestling machine who has
been honed for combat his whole life, and he's on a mission to make the
world a better place.  Guy's an idiot who showed up one day and somehow
got into a wrestling match without ever bein' trained.  He doesn't even
own a pair of boots, for cryin' out loud!

GM: I do NOT advise any of our fans try that, but Bruce Guy has
impressed everyone with his toughness and willingness to stick with it. 
De klerk has impressed noone with HIS attitude, and I can't believe you
said that he's trying to make the world a better place!  He is a racist
and a eugenicist!

BW: A eugawhoozit?

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: Look it up.  We are underway, and de Klerk... not ready for the
match to begin.  So much for "honed for combat".

[De Klerk has stepped out onto the apron, and is questioning the referee
about his opponent.  He is twirling his mustache as he speaks.]

GM: Is he... did he just ask Meekly to find out where Guy's ANCESTORS
came from?

BW: He's not just a eu... scientist like you said, but he's a historian!

GM: He is NOT a scientist.  He is a racist.

BW: That's slander, Gordo.  Better watch out he don't hear you say that!

GM: I don't know if he's stalling for time and an opening on the
untrained, inexperienced fighter Guy, or if he's serious.  I would guess
both.  Meekly is having none of it, and he's ordering de Klerk out
into...

[The crowd groans at the scene in the ring.]

BW: Ha ha!  That idiot Guy charged him, and de Klerk made him eat army
boot!

GM: Those spit-shined combat boots are barely legal, but they are legal
and Guy just found out why they are called 'combat' boots. De Klerk
moving in, measuring... and a hard forearm to the back.  P.W. de Klerk
is slow and methodical, but rarely makes a mistake. He has wrestled for
over twenty years all over the world, but rarely in the United States. 
He had a significant run in the Pacific Northwest some years ago, but
this is arguably the biggest stage he has competed on in this continent.

[As Gordon gives us de Klerk's history, the South African grappler
applies a half-nelson onto Bruce Guy, uses it to walk him into the
corner, and smashes his head into the top turnbuckle.  He then snapmares
him, and applies a reverse chinlock.]

BW: Still, that's a lot of experience. 

GM: And a lot of age, though to be fair, de Klerk is a strong man even
now.

BW: Right, but he ain't too old to go, not yet.  Better an older guy
with some wear on him and some wisdom in his head than a fool off the
street.

GM: Bruce Guy knows very little about technical wrestling, as you can
see him struggle in the chinlock.  He's very charismatic, moderately
athletic, but his main qualities are toughness and fighting instincts. 
He has reached the ropes, and de Klerk must break the hold.

BW: When he's done.  He has a five count.

GM: Elbow to the head by de Klerk after milking that five count.  Guy is
clutching for oxygen after the hold, giving de Klerk an opening... and a
HARD body slam in the center of the ring!  Followed up by a stomp, and
another, and another!

BW: Those boots are so shined you can see your reflection in 'em... but
they won't be for long!

GM: This may not be the winning strategy for de Klerk against this
opponent, but the former officer in the South African military has
always been overconfident of his abilities.  Guy is scrambling to his
feet, and a hard shot lands in the ample midsection of P.W. de Klerk! 
And another!  De Klerk with an obvious weak point, and Bruce knows to
target the weak spots!

BW: Hey, hey, de Klerk isn't out of shape!  That's padding!

GM: Ineffective padding!  Guy... what a kick to the face!  He wound up
and just slammed his boot... er, sneaker into the side of de Klerk's
head!  Now an Irish-whip... and a big  jumping forearm smash finds the
mark on the South African!

[The fans are cheering now as Bruce Guy goes for the slam... er, no.]

GM: Going for the body slam, but de Klerk uses his low center of gravity
to block!  And an elbow to the ear by P.W. de Klerk!

BW: Hit a man there and you can literally ring his bell, Gordo.  That
can stun a man!

GM: It would only be 'literally' if there were an actual bell in his
head, Bucky.

BW: You obviously ain't ever talked to Bruce Guy.

GM: "Wild And Crazy" or not, he's on the receiving end of an abdominal
stretch by the Colonel.  And... de Klerk is using the ropes for
leverage!  Come on, Meekly!

[The referee is blocked from seeing this by the large frame of the South
African.  De Klerk takes the opportunity to look over the crowd again. 
He scowls.  They boo.]

BW: I don't think de Klerk likes the look of these fans.  A lot of ugly
people in the crowd tonight.

GM: That's not the part of their visual makeup that offends him.

BW: But you ain't denyin' that they're ugly.  Gotcha.

GM: Bucky...

[In the meantime, the referee goes to check the ropes, but the cagey de
Klerk has already let go.  Pieter Wilhem de Klerk denies the allegations
of his cheating with a defiant shake of the head, as he is asked why the
rope is shaking.  With no evidence, Meekly returns to asking Bruce Guy
if he wants to submit... leading de Klerk to hook the ropes again.]

GM: And this is absurd.  Flagrant violation of the rules.

BW: It's legal in South Africa.

GM: This isn't South Africa!

BW: That's good to hear.  De Klerk told me they ruined that country
years ago.  Wonder what he meant by that.

GM: Drop it.  Once again, the referee checks on the top rope, but again
de Klerk has released the rope... and he breaks the hold to savagely
strike Bruce Guy in the ribcage with a double axehandle!

BW: Workin' them ribs, it looks like.  Settin' up the State Of
Emergency!

GM: That unusual piledriver variant hits the face and the abdomen both,
and it will be over if de Klerk applies it.  A hard stomp to the ribs,
and now de klerk sets his man up for a vertical suplex... NO!

[The veteran gets Guy up for the vertical suplex, turns, and drops him
stomach-first on the top rope!  The crowd boos!]

BW: That hurts... a lot.

GM: I believe it.  De Klerk balling a fist, and absolutely takes the
measure of Guy with a big right hand!  Bruce is out on the apron, and
look at de Klerk!

[Smugly, the Colonel raises a salute to the fans.  They boo, and he
twists his mustache a bit as he marches confidently to the ropes.]

BW: That is a man with a message.  And his message is that he's
dominating this match.

GM: That's the only message I want to hear from him.  Or to put it this
way, he requested interview time for this program, and it was declined.

BW: Violating his first amendment freedom of speech!

GM: If he were an American citizen, you would have an excellent point. 
Thunderous vertical suplex from the apron to the inside of the ring by
the Colonel.  He is looking to follow up now... off the ropes... MISSES
THE ELBOW!

[The fans react with cheers as an attempted elbowdrop to the ribs by
P.W. de Klerk is dodged.  The Wild And Crazy One staggers up to his
feet, and runs off the ropes himself.]

BW: Aw, no.  

GM: Bruce Guy with a head of steam, and a hard jumping knee into de
Klerk!  And raking the back of the two-hundred-seventy-plus pounder from
South Africa!  Guy throwing punches now... a furious flurry of blows!

BW: NOW who's cheatin'?

GM: Indeed, he needs to open those fists!  But he has battered de Klerk
to the corner!  Grabs his head... and RAMS the back of his head into the
top turnbuckle!  A desperate move by Bruce Guy, but he is back in this
match!

BW: For now.  But he's still gotta finish it, and how does he think he's
gonna do that?  He doesn't know any moves!

GM: He has picked up some of the basics, let's see if he can use them. 
Guy ducking an attempted strike by de Klerk, and smashing a swinging
double axehandle blow into the side of his head!  The Colonel is down!

[The tremendous blow gets the approval of the fans, and Guy does a strut
across the ring to fire them up a bit more.  Then he turns and dashes at
de Klerk, who is pulling himself up in the corner...]

BW: Blind charge!  Look out, Pee-Dubya!

GM: RUSHING KNEE TO THE BACK SENDS DE KLERK INTO THE POST!

[As the Wild And Crazy man's knee hits the still-on-one-knee de Klerk in
the upper back, the momentum sends the South African military man's head
and shoulders through the ropes into the post!  He bounces back and
lands flat in the ring... and Guy covers him!]

BW: NO!  NOT A FLUKE LIKE THAT!

GM: MAJOR UPSET... ONE, TWO, AND NO!

BW: De Klerk's too tough!  You need better than one lucky shot to get
him!

GM: Bruce "Wild And Crazy" Guy would get instant career validation if he
can win this match!  He drags de Klerk up... eye rake by the South
African!  A dirty tactic!

BW: A winning tactic!

GM: De Klerk Irish-Whipping guy to the corner... reversed!  And... WHAT
A MOVE!

[Guy rushes in and pounds the barrel-chested de Klerk right in that
barrel chest with a running axehandle, smashing him into the corner! 
The momentum of the hit bounces both men out of the corner, and Guy
recovers quickly, snatching up the rubber-legged Colonel with the move
he failed earlier in the match!]

BW: Body slammed him that time!  What's he think he's doin' now?

GM: Going for his flying elbow!  The matches he has won, he has won with
this move!

BW: Uh oh!  Don't tell me this goofball is going to win a match on TV!

GM: Guy is on the top rope, way up high... raising the arms in token of
victory and leaping...


"THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


BW: NOBODY HOME!  The Colonel has been doin' this for 25 years, daddy! 
You better bring a heck of a beating if you want him to stay down for a
top rope move!

GM: Bruce Guy gambled on the momentum, but he didn't hit the jackpot
that time!  de Klerk dragging him up... head between the legs...

[Wasting no time or motion, Col. P.W. de Klerk hoists Bruce Guy up in
piledriver position, lifts him... lets the blood flow to the head for a
bit... and then swings him down forward, dropping to his knees to bring
all that weight down on the back of the head as Guy's body crashes into
the mat!]

BW: _STATE OF EMERGENCY_!  But that's gonna be the State Of Emergency
Room for a certain wild and crazy guy.

GM: De Klerk with the cover, and yes!  An easy three count after that!

"DING!  DING!  DING"

MC: The winner of the match... COLONEL P.W. DE KLERK!

[Booooooo!  The Colonel stands up, moves his left hand behind his back,
and wipes his boots on the fallen Bruce Guy.]

GM: And what a sickening display this is!

BW: Hey, I said earlier that his spitshined boots were gettin' dirtied
up!  He's just cleanin' the crud off.

GM: De Klerk with a decisive victory, as we go back to the replay.

[We see the State Of Emergency in slow motion... the face-first
piledriver variation.  De Klerk has Guy up for the piledriver, but lets
go of the waistlock to instead grasp Guy by the hips.  He goes up to his
tiptoes as he shoves down and forward to drive Guy's body down... and
drops to his knees just before his foe gets parallel.  Guy hits flat,
and all 274 pounds of the Colonel are right on top of his head when he
hits!]

BW: Here ya see the State Of Emergency.  He developed this for places
where piledrivers are illegal.  It goes down on the face, so it don't
really have the impact on the neck like a piledriver.  But it mushes
your face, your ribs, and he can time the drop ta hit one or the other
harder if he wants to.  Either way, you ain't gettin' up from this, no
matter who you are.

[We cut back from replay; De Klerk is walking away with that slow walk,
legs extending in a military march, left hand behind his back and right
hand twirling the mustache.]

GM: I'm sure we'll be seeing him again in the weeks to come.

BW: You think so?  With as biased against him as people like the
Committee and you are, I'd be surprised if we EVER get to see him again.
 Oh, hey... speaking of not being able to see again, check out who's
joining us...

[Bucky cackles as the shot cuts to ringside to find Sweet Daddy
Williams, eyes covered in dark sunglasses approaching the announcers. 
He glares at Wilde from behind the shades as he grabs the mic.]

SDW:  You're a funny man, Wilde.  You'd look even funnier after I break
every tooth in your mouth!

[The crowd cheers as a freaked-out Bucky backs off.  Gordon raises a
hand to intervene.]

GM:  Now, I think we've seen enough violence directed towards announcers
lately, wouldn't you?  Sweet Daddy Williams, welcome to Saturday Night
Wrestling... and I'm sure you've got a lot to say about what went down
at Memorial Day Mayhem.  In all honesty, sir, I believe you should be
wearing that Longhorn Heritage Title belt right now.

SDW:  You and a lot of other people judging by the cards and letters
I've been gettin', Gordo.  Everyone saw it, Childes.  Everyone saw that
I had your boy BEAT... AGAIN!  The hand was comin' up and goin' down and
you can bet your bottom dollar, it was gonna slap the canvas three
times.  Sweet Daddy Williams was well on the way to championship gold.

[Williams adjusts his sunglasses.]

SDW:  But Nenshou decided otherwise, spewing that mist into my eyes
again... 

GM:  It was a different color too, Sweet Daddy.  It was a blue mist!

[He nods.]

SDW:  So I hear.  And to be honest with ya, it knocked me out for a sec.
 I don't know how.  I don't know for how long.  But when I woke up, the
match was over and my eyes were burnin' again.

GM:  I would assume you will be looking for a rematch.

[A nod.]

SDW:  As long as that belt is in the hands of the Unholy Alliance, I'll
ALWAYS be lookin' for a rematch, Gordon.  But at the same time, I know
there's other men deserving of a shot too.  I may not like the way I
lost at Mayhem but at the end of the day, I didn't get the job done...

...and maybe someone else can.

GM:  What are you trying to say?

SDW:  I'm sayin' that earlier this week, I went to see the Championship
Committee myself and told 'em that the doctors don't know if I'll be
able to wrestle on the 4th of July at Wrestlerock...

...but that I thought big ol' Robbie Donovan would make for one heck of
a challenger!

[BIG CHEER!]

SDW:  Now, I ain't got no stroke with the Committee so I don't know that
they's gonna sign it.  But if they do...

[Williams grins.]

SDW:  You can BET that I'll be at ringside for it.  And if I see Nenshou
spit one drop 'a mist outta his mouth, I'm gonna bust his jaw -
guaranteed, baby!

[Williams claps Gordon Myers on the shoulder before walking out of view
to the cheers of the crowd.]

GM:  How 'bout that, Bucky?  Sweet Daddy Williams wants to see Robert
Donovan challenge Nenshou for the Longhorn Heritage Title at Wrestlerock
- and he wants to be at ringside for it!

BW:  See, Percy's right.

GM:  What?!

BW:  Williams knows he can't beat Nenshou so he's gonna send someone
that he thinks can do it... and then he'll waffle him if he does to get
another shot!

GM:  Give me a break.  Fans, up next, we have a match that AWA fans have
surely been waiting to see for the last few months, as Raphael Rhodes
will be returning back to action after suffering rib and torso injuries
at the hands of MAMMOTH Mizusawa.

BW: Yeah, but the scoop I've got is that he hasn't said a single word to
anyone since he got to the building.  We tried to send that flunky Jason
Dane to talk to him, and Rhodes just shunned him.

GM: I must admit, yes, that's true.  Thusfar, we haven't had been given
a single spoken word since his doctor released him from medical care.

BW: That ain't like Rhodes.  Not at all.

GM: Whether he's speaking to reporters or not, he's about to be in
action.  Let's take it up to Phil.

[We crossfade to the ring, where Phil Watson is standing along with a
referee, and a stocky young man wearing red tights and black boots.]

PW: Ladies and gentlemen, our next bout is set for one fall with a ten
minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, weighing in
at 241 pounds and hailing from Chicago, Illinois, here is Joey
Jakubowski!

[A polite response for the Chicago native.  "Shot By Both Sides" by
Magazine begins to filter through the public address system.]

PW: And his opponent, making his return to the AWA, weighing 213 pounds,
and hailing from Wigan, Greater Manchester, England...

RAPHAEL RHODES!

[The music plays for about thirty seconds, as the camera stays fixed on
the entrance.]

BW: Well?  Where is he?

GM: I'm not sure, I know he's in the building, but...

[Rhodes finally parts through the entrance curtain, dressed in a black
t-shirt, black trunks with the Wigan coat of arms patched onto the left
front side, black kneepads, black wrestling boots stopping just above
the ankle, and white wrist tape.  A few fans rush up to the guardrail to
greet the returning Briton, but he merely walks past them, removing his
shirt and sliding head-first into the ring.]

GM: Raphael Rhodes is all business on the way to the ring... we've seen
what happens when he behaves this way in the past.

BW: Is it just me, or does he look bigger?

GM: The rumor is that as soon as he got a clearance to resume training,
he set out to gain ten pounds of muscle, and so far it's fairly clear
that's what happened.

[Rhodes rises to his feet, waits for the signal...

DING DING DING!

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAP!"

... and immediately blitzes Jakubowski with a running forearm smash
right to the nose!]

GM: Oh my stars, Raphael Rhodes right out of the gates with a forearm!

[Jakubowski staggers back, holding his nose.  Rhodes ducks underneath of
the Chicagoan, grabbing the back of Jakubowski's left leg and pushing
him forward, causing Jakubowski to fall to the ground.]

GM: Rhodes has taken down the larger Jakubowski, looks like he's going
for a grounded switch...

BW: Rhodes isn't messin' around, daddy!

[Rhodes navigates to Jakubowski's shoulder, grabbing a chickenwing hold
while Jakubowski lies on the mat, then laces his forearm right across
Jakubowski's nose, which is now bleeding.]

GM: Rhodes going for a crossface chickenwing, and I believe that young
man's nose may have been broken.

BW: Not even back in the AWA for 30 seconds and he already broke a guy's
nose.  This is the Rhodes I remember!

[Jakubowski tries grabbing Rhodes' forearm to prevent pressure to his
nose, but Rhodes cinches in against the broken nose, places a knee
across Jakubowski's spine, and violently jerks Jakubowski's head and
neck back.]

"YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAARGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGH!!  I GIVE!"

GM: Is that...

BW: I think it was...

[The referee signals for the bell, then tries to get Rhodes to release
the hold.  Rhodes doesn't release right away, instead grinding his
forearm into the bridge of Jakubowski's broken nose, a smile spreading
across his face before finally releasing.]

GM: Folks, I don't know if that was a record, or even what to call
that... it looked like a crossface chickenwing, but I've never seen one
applied so violently before.

BW: I remember how Rhodes came to the AWA, Gordo... that's the Raphael
Rhodes I remember, not the shriveled up punk that got sent home in a
shoebox.

GM: I'm going to try and get a word with this youngster.

PW: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by submission...

RAPHAEL RHODES!

[Rhodes smiles as he looks down at Jakubowski's blood on his forearm and
allows the referee to raise his hand.  He leaves the ring, where Gordon
Myers awaits him with a microphone.]

GM: Mr. Rhodes, a shockingly quick and brutal victory in your return to
the AWA.  Your thoughts?

[Rhodes' eyes narrow, staring at Myers.]

GM: I... I'm sorry, Raphael, was it something I said?

[Rhodes looks down at his forearm, sees Jakubowski's blood on his
forearm, and smiles again.  He looks back up at Myers, his smile quickly
fading.]

GM: The fans want to hear from you, Raphael, you've been gone for quite
some time.  Would you like to say a few words?

[Rhodes stares at Myers for a second, then shakes his head and walks
away, back through the entrance.  We pan back over to Bucky.]

BW: Wow, I haven't seen that side of Raphael Rhodes in a long while. 
Gordo, hey, guess not everybody wants to talk to you, huh?

[Gordon walks back into frame.]

GM: I'm not sure what happened to that young man while he was injured,
but he clearly seemed happy with what he did to Joey Jakubowski.  Folks,
we'll try to get a word from him soon, I promise.  Let's take a quick
break.  We'll be 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 the backstage area to Jason Dane, who is surprised
to be standing next to none other than Jonas Olrikke. Olrikke is dressed
to wrestle, which is surprising, as he is currently not under contract
to the AWA and therefore is not scheduled to wrestle tonight. Olrikke
paces slowly back and forth as Dane begins the interview.]

JD: I'm backstage with the Pride of Sweden, the Beautiful one, Jonas
Olrikke. Jonas, I've got to wonder.. your comments and actions at the
Rumble, what are you thinking? You've got your sights set on the Unholy
Alliance, and you made comments directed at James Monosso. Just what are
you trying to prove?

[Olrikke turns his head at Dane, surprised at the tone of Dane's
questioning.]

JO: I just can't compromise my principles, Mr. Dane.

For the longest time, I've been on a crusade against what I consider
'ugly'. It's not just the physical aspect of a person, there are plenty
of ugly attitudes in this world today. I feel that society today has
either gone blind to the ugliness in the world, or embraced it in their
own ignorance. I was hoping to show up at the Rumble, and do what I
said, and provide hope and change by winning the Rumble and being the
beautiful face that this business needs. Unfortunately, I fell short.

[Olrikke nods slowly in disappointment.]

JO: Quite short, as a matter of fact. 

I targeted the Unholy Alliance, Mr. Dane, because they represent the
'ugly' that has permeated the AWA. I couldn't stand to see any one of
them win, and get the chance to be the unfortunate face of the AWA.

JD: Unfortunately, Jonas, you were only able to take the fight to
Polemos during the Rumble, and as we all saw, he took care of you quite
convincingly. With your comments towards James Monosso, and your
struggles against Polemos, are you sure you want to go after the
Alliance like this?

JO: Mr. Polemos.. 

[Olrikke pauses for a moment to ponder Dane's comment, as if Dane is
trying to warn.]

JO: It's unfortunate that a man of his size, and surprising skill, has
to associate himself with such ugly, disgusting filth. I'd have half a
mind to respect the man but it appears that his commitment to the
Alliance has run way too deep. I hope that some day he can realize that
he does not need the Alliance and that he can take care of himself. I
have a feeling that he needs a mask for a good reason, but I can forgive
the man if he can at least change on the inside.

Now, getting to Mr. Monosso.

[Olrikke crosses his arms, and looks up to the ceiling.]

JO: At least he actually went after people that can defend themselves.

JD:  That certainly seems like an understatement to me, Mr. Olrikke.  He
destroyed several men in that Rumble match! All of them accomplished!
He's likely going to do it again, and you might be in his crosshairs at
some point, even as soon as tonight. Are you really sure you want this?
I'm surprised you're even here tonight, as your contract ended at the
Rumble..

[Olrikke interrupts Dane once again.]

JO: Let me go back to the beginning of our interview. I'm not going to
compromise my principles just because I'm no longer under contract. I'm
taking full responsibility from this point forward.

I just can't leave leave as long as people like the Unholy Alliance,
people like James Monosso.. are polluting my ring. As long as they are
allowed to run unchecked throughout the AWA, as long as they continue to
undermine what wrestling is all about. Even if I have to do it myself,
and I might as well have to..

[Dane nods, realizing that Olrikke has no friends in the AWA. Olrikke
pauses for a second and turns back towards Dane.]

JO: I've never wanted to know what it's like to go hunting, it's such a
barbaric sport. If the AWA is going to be cleaned up, I may as well
start with the cleansing right now.

[Olrikke turns and storms off, looking like he means business.]

JD: I don't believe what I've just heard, guys. Jonas Olrikke is going
to go after the Unholy Alliance, and maybe even go after James Monosso
himself. I hope he knows what he got himself into.  Let's go back down
to the ring to Phil Watson!

Crossfade to the ring where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW: The following tag team contest is set for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first, already in the ring, at a combined
weight of 477 pounds is the team of Dale Dallas and Albert Showens!

[Some polite applause from the AWA fans acknowledge the jobber tag
team.]

PW: And their opponents--

#REACH OUT AND TOUCH FAITH!#

KG: From the Edge of Night...

[Moving out of the entrance portal, two men with shockingly blond hair
stand at the edge of the arena, hands on their hips, grinning. Each
wears long tights with the word "Bombers" running down one leg, and a
name down the other; "Baldwin" and "Avalon" respectively.]

PW: Weighing in tonight at a combined 479 pounds...

[Joined then by an obnoxious and loud chubby little man in a neon green
suit who berates the fans for no reason, they move up the aisle and
towards the ring.]

PW: Accompanied to the ring by "Hollywood" Larry Doyle and the Masked
Menace...

[Out from the back, moving more slowly than the others, the massive form
of the Menace stalks the arena.  Stopping short at the head of the pack,
Doyle calls back to Menace, imploring him in to ringside.]

PW: "Ravishing" Robert Baldwin and the "The Machine" Johann Avalon... 
The team of the BLONNNNNNND BOMMMMMBERRRRRS!

[Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" continues to rock the PA as the Bombers
hop up to the apron and duck inside.  Doyle climbs the steps and directs
traffic, yelling out at the fans to keep quiet.  Menace, meanwhile,
takes his position at ringside and just looks _menacingly_ around at
anyone and anything that his eyes fall on.]

GM: And the Bombers all set to take on this duo of Dallas and Showens.

BW: And look at Doyle, Gordo.

[Cut over to where Larry Doyle angrily shouts up at referee Marty
Meekly.]

LD: Is this a real match?  Seriously?  Do you know who these two men
are?  Those geeks are as much opposition for my boys as the neighbor's
cat was for my sports car!

[Meekly cocks an eyebrow and shrugs, turning to call for the bell.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: And we have Johann Avalon in the ring now with Dale Dallas.  What
are your thoughts, Bucky?

BW: My thoughts?  My thoughts echo those of Larry Doyle.  See, Johann or
"the Machine" as he's best called is just that!  Everything he does is
mechanically perfect and expertly performed.

[A collar-and-elbow is quickly turned into a gobehind, waistlock
takedown and floatover as Avalon rises to his knees.  Grimacing,
somewhat angry at Dallas' reaction (laying flat and covering his face)
Avalon smacks him several times in the head before rising to his feet. 
Heel pop!]

BW: Ha-ha!  That's the way to do it!  Did you see that succession of
moves, Gordo?

GM: Avalon having an easy time taking down Dale Dallas but he doesn't
look happy Bucky.

[Waving at Dallas to get up, Avalon shakes his head and begins to circle
his opponent.  Unsure of himself, Dallas gets to his feet, but dives at
the ropes, clinging tightly to them as Avalon shoots for a leg!]

GM: Dallas wanting no part of Johann Avalon.

BW: Would you?  This is a second generation talent with skills refined
by a lifetime in this business.  Add a mean streak and the tutelage of a
genius mind like Larry Doyle?  Getting in the ring is like suicide!

GM: I don't know about that.  Dallas tagging out to Albert Showens. 
Showens ... striking a martial arts pose.

BW: Oh really now?

GM: Showens is a Judoka and a decent grappler in his own right.  It
should be interesting to see a Greco-Roman facing off against a Judo
master.

BW: *Snicker* master?  Think so huh?

[Going for a collar-and-elbow, Avalon is shocked to find himself tossed
by Showens!]

GM: Whoa!  

[Avalon scampers up and gets taken over with a hiptoss.]

GM:  Hiptoss by Showens as well and-

[Hooking around the upper body, Showens uses his leg to sweep out
Avalon's as he throws him down to the mat!]

GM:  Another throw and there's a cover!

BW: And not even a one count!  Those tosses are lacking in oomph, if you
take my meaning.

GM: Showens pulls him up--but a fireman's carry puts the Bombers back in
control.

[Holding onto the wrist, Avalon drags Showen over to his corner before
the martial artist can react.]

GM: There's the tag and in comes Baldwin.

[Holding back Showens' arms and keeping him on his knees, Avalon waits
out the 5-count as Baldwin throws heavy bones at Showens' head.  As he
leaves the ring, Showens collapses, and Dale Dallas enters the ring,
protesting the doubleteaming.]

BW: Look at that!  A few shots from Baldwin and he drops like a rock!

GM: Baldwin waving Dale Dallas off as if he didn't even matter.  Laying
him in position, and ascends the second rope!

[Hopping off, Baldwin lands with a horrendous KNEE to Showens face! 
Tumbling right back to his feet, Baldwin shakes his head as Showens
thrashes around, screaming in pain.]

BW: This is just sad.

[Tagging back out, Baldwin doesn't even bother doing anything else to
the pitiful Showens.]

BW: The ref might actually consider stopping this one.  I mean, he's
checking on him, right?  He can't be saying it's cool or anything like
that.

[Cinching in a gutwrench, Avalon heaves Showens right up and off the mat
before dropping him stomach-first across his knee and letting him fall
to the wayside.  At this point the fans are continuously booing the
abuse of this poor man.]

GM: For once I agree with you Bucky.  The Bombers are tag specialists
and Baldwin has not only beaten the World Champion in a tag match but
he's come close to taking the title off him in a singles match!  Add
Avalon to the mix plus the brawn and the brains on the outside...  You
can see that even Larry Doyle isn't happy.

[Cut down to Doyle who paces, periodically looking at the Menace who
dispassionately watches the abuse in the ring.  Meanwhile, Avalon has
dragged Showens to his corner and swung his limp arm against the leg of
Dale Dallas!]

LD: What the--just finish this!

[Looking over at his manager in surprise, Avalon looks up at Dale Dallas
whose eyes bug out in recognition of the situation and drops down off
the apron!  Quick as a hiccup, however, Avalon manages to get a handful
of hair and one wrist, dragging him through the ropes before he can
escape!]

BW: It's kinda funny when you think about it.

GM: Wait!  Dale Dallas with a right hand!  Pressing Avalon back to the
ropes with strikes!  Irish whip-

[But Avalon charges back hard, ducking under a haymaker before leaping
straight up, popping Dallas in the back of the skull with a kick!]

GM: OHHH!  HEAD KICK!  THAT TAKES DOWN DALLAS!  And good heavens, Bucky,
this is not a match... it's a massacre at this point!

[On the floor, beside himself, Doyle calls again for an end to the
match.  Eye contact between the partners and Baldwin nods on the apron.]

GM: Baldwin in, no tag, and SUPERKICK!  Avalon with a Russian Legsweep
at the same time! 

[With Dallas down on the mat, Avalon applies a press as Baldwin sprints
across the ring, throwing himself through the ropes in a crossbody that
knocks Showens down to the floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Baldwin takes out Showens to boot!

BW:  Haha!  He'd just gotten back on the apron!  He was leaning on the
ropes to stay on his feet!

[The referee quickly (and mercifully) makes the three count.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: And there's the bell!  Finally this one is over!

PW: Ladies and gentlemen ... the winner of this bout, the team of
"Ravishing" Robert Baldwin and "The Machine" Johann Avalon ... THE BLOND
BOMBERS!

[More heel heat as Doyle ascends the ringsteps, microphone in hand.]

LD: That was garbage!  Pure garbage!

[In the ring, Doyle is joined by his team, who have scarcely even broken
a sweat, as well as the Masked Menace.]

LD: These men, these wonderful men, who could take any team on virtually
any given night to the limit and bury them six-ty feet down are reduced
to the status of humble trashmen?  If you don't get what I'm sayin' and
I doubt that you do since everybody in Little Rock is home-schooled by
inbred porch-dwelling hound dogs!

["WTF" pop ... that quickly turns into a near nuclear heel pop.  No heat
like cheap heat.]

LD: What I'm sayin' is that these two little hunks of rotting meat are
nothing but trash!  When they wake up from their respective comas they
should thank their lucky stars that it was the #1 team in the universe
that put them in the hospital!  Don't like that?  I don't care!  We
proved ourself when we came back by taking down the likes of Alex
Martinez and the National Champion, Juan Vasquez, and we'll do it
again... 

...when the Blonde Bombers take the Stampede Cup!

[Mixed pop!  Heel pop for the heels, face pop for the big tag
tournament.]

LD: When we're done the boys who think they're in charge of this company
will have no choice but to acknowledge once and for all that we are the
talent!  We are the show!  We _are_ the AWA!  C'mon boys.  Let's get out
of here.  This place stinks...

[Dropping the microphone unceremoniously, Doyle leads his boys to the
back as "Personal Jesus" plays again.  Cut back to Bucky and Gordon at
the announce booth.]

GM:  Larry Doyle has quite the burr under his tail this week, Bucky.

BW:  Can you blame him?  They came back to the AWA at the Main Event and
destroyed Alex Martinez... then they beat Martinez and Juan Vasquez in a
tag match... then "Ravishing" Robert almost wins the National Title...
and then they get left OFF the lineup for Memorial Day Mayhem!  These
are some ticked-off Bombers and that's not good news for anyone.

GM:  And they, along with every other tag team on the planet, have their
sights set on the Stampede Cup coming up in September - as do the two
men standing by backstage with Mark Stegglet right now - Scotty and
Marty - the Rockstar Express!

[We crossfade to the locker room area where Scotty Storm and Marty
Morgan are standing alongside Mark Stegglet.]

MS:  Thanks, Gordon.  Guys, you came oh-so-close to winning the National
Tag Team Titles two weeks ago in what I thought was one heck of a match.
 What are you feeling right now?

SS:  We're feeling a little sting, Steggster.

[Morgan nods.]

MS:  Still hurting from the match?

MM:  Absolutely, baby.  But not the way you're thinkin'.  I'll say it
loud and proud - Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers are two of the
toughest sons of guns that we've ever tangled with.  They hit hard, they
slam hard, and they fight hard.  And at the end of the night, I felt
like I'd been in a car wreck or two and I'm sure Scotty would say the
same.

SS:  We woke up the next morning with bumps and bruises in places that
we didn't even know we had... and I promise you, it wasn't from the
afterparty.

[Morgan grins.]

MM:  Well, maybe a few of 'em were.  That Sarah was a tomcat, I tell ya.
 I love Oklahoma ladies.

[Storm continues.]

SS:  But that ain't the sting, Steggs.  The sting is knowing that we
dropped the ball.  Now you can go on and on about Joe Petrow and some of
his ringside shenanigans but the fact is, we didn't get the job done. 
We let ourselves down... and worst of all, we let our fans down.

MM:  That's right.  And now, we're gonna all have to sit through some
kind of coronation thing tonight because of it.  

SS:  But we're not thinkin' about no coronation tonight, Steggster. 
We're thinking about a different kind of coronation.  We're thinking
about the kind of coronation that's gonna go down in just about three
months when the Rockstar Express makes one last stop of the summer in
Hotlanta, Georgia for the Stampede Cup.

We're thinkin' 'bout the kind of coronation that's gonna go down when we
outlast 'em all and become the best dang tag team runnin' in this sport,
Marky Mark!

[Stegglet grins.]

MM:  And you know what else we're thinkin' about, Mark?

MS:  What's that?

MM:  We're thinkin' it's high time that someone shut Larry Doyle's
yapping jaws one more time.  We're thinkin' that in two weeks time, the
Rockstar Express wants to challenge the Blonde Bombers right here on
Saturday Night Wrestling, baby!

So, you bring Revoltin' Robby and the Masked Moron and Jughead Johann,
buy a few tickets for the best show on four legs, and the Rockstars'll
rock 'em all over the joint.

[With a "Wooo!", the two men high-five and exit, leaving Mark Stegglet
behind.]

MS:  That sounds like a challenge to me.  The Rockstar Express want to
meet the Blonde Bombers in two weeks' time right here on Saturday Night
Wrestling, fans!  Let's head back down to the ring for more action!

[Crossfade back to Phil Watson.]

PW: Ladies and Gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall
and has a ten minute time limit.  Introducing first, already in the
ring, hailing from Bonsteel, South Dakota, standing six feet, four
inches tall and weighing in at 280 pounds, he is Madhouse McWesson!

[Light scattering of boos]

PW: And his opponent...

[The lights dim and the sound of birds' wings flapping pumps out of the
PA system.  A mist starts to pour out of the back as a lonely churbell
tolls...the beginning of Concrete Blond's "Vampire Song".  As the
baseline picks up, a long figure appears and the entryway: His head
tipped forward, and the "Crow" style face paint is partially obscured by
his long dark hair that hangs down in front of his face.  He's wearing a
long black trench coat, a black long legged singlet
with matching gloves, boots, knee, and elbow pads...and on his shoulder
sits a raven, its raucous 'caw' audible over the cheers of the audience]

PW: Standing six feet and one inch tall, weighing in at 236
pounds...hailing from New Orleans, Louisiana, he is CORAX!

[Corax waits..as soon as Phil Watson's introduction is over, he moves,
stalking towards the ring, not quickly, but not dawldling...moving at
his own pace, and with a purpose, his eyes locked on the squared circle.
 As he arrives, he walks around once, placing the raven on a roost near
the time keeper, then sliding under the bottom rope and removing his
trench coat.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

BW: You know, I can't say that I'm too happy about having this criminal
out here for a match.

GM: Criminal?  Don't you think that's a bit strong, Bucky?

BW: Not at all.  That painted freak viciously attacked an innocent
elderly man with a brutal weapon, Daddy!  He should have been taken away
in cuffs!

[As Corax rolls his bat out of the ring, McWesson wastes no time in
going after the vigilante, charging from behind and hitting a running
forearm that sends him stumbling into the turnbuckle.]

GM: Corax needs to be careful in this match, Bucky...McWesson outweighs
him by a good fifty pounds and has two inches on the New Orleans native.

BW: With that makeup, I just keep waiting for him to do the mime thing
and get stuck in a box.  Hey, maybe he'll run out of air!

[McWesson seems to think Bucky's got the right idea as he wraps his
meaty hands around Corax's throat and starts choking the life out of
him.  The official gets in and calls for a break, which McWesson
complies with at the 4 1/2 second mark of the count.]

GM: Corax is having the fight taken to him by the always wiley Madhouse
McWesson, Bucky.

BW: Shows how tough he is when he's not attacking senior citizens,
Gordo!

GM: He beat Sultan Azam Sharif!

BW: That was pure luck, Gordo!  Shariff was... uhh... he was tired! 
Corax may have drugged him too!  I've heard that!

GM:  Give me a break.

[Corax stumbles out of the corner, his right hand on the ropes. 
McWesson steps around the official and charges, only to have Corax duck
his head and back drop the bigger man over the top rope to the apron
before falling to the floor.]


"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


GM:  Good grief!  A hard fall to the floor by McWesson!  Corax with a
big move right there to buy himself some breathing room and-

BW:  Big move?!  Big move?!  He tried to kill the man, Gordo!  This guy
is a criminal!  Somebody get me a phone!  Let's call the police! 
McWesson could have busted his skull out there on the floor!  The man
has children to feed!  Think of all the little McWessons!

GM: I don't think there ARE little McWessons, Bucky.

BW: There's always little McWessons, Gordo.

[Having recovered from the early onslaught, Corax ducks through the
ropes, pulling McWesson off his kneeling spot on the floor to his feet,
then drags him up on the apron.  Corax immediately greets him with a
left hand to the face.  McWesson tries to fire a tired right hand in
response but has his punch blocked.]

GM:  They're trading blows over the ropes!

BW:  McWesson needs to be careful out there.  Corax may knock him to the
floor again just for giggles!  He's a madman!

[Corax throws a couple more left hands before ducking down, burying a
shoulder into the gut of the big man.  He hooks a front facelock,
powering him over the ropes with a suplex into the ring that rattles the
canvas!]

GM:  Look at the POWER Corax showed there, Bucky...he lifted McWesson up
and over the ropes like it was nothing!

BW:  I think he works out by kicking puppies and kittens.

GM:  Bucky, come on!  Is that necessary?

BW:  I think so, yes.

[Corax pulls McWesson to his feet, then sends him into the turnbuckle
hard... and follows immediately after him.  As McWesson hits and slumps
down, a moment later, Corax nails him in the face with a running
kneestrike.]

GM: Corax really pouring it on now...that running knee to the face can
knock a guy out if it lands right.

BW: It'll definitely mean a trip to the dentist, daddy.  I don't like
him, but that's a vicious move.

[Corax doesn't let up, moving methodically as he pulls McWeeson up and
hits a series of resounding knife edge chops that stagger the groggy big
man back into the ropes.  In desperation, McWesson swings a big
roundhouse that Corax ducks, then nails a ring shaking belly to back
suplex.]

BW: Whoa Daddy!

GM: BIG belly to back suplex from Corax and now Madhouse McWesson's in
BIG trouble, Bucky!

[Corax is back up on his feet, staring down at McWesson as he stuggles
to get up...then looks around to the cheering crowd and makes a quick
throat cutting motion...grabs McWesson by the hair and absolutely PLANTS
him with the Raven Death Drop DDT and quickly makes the cover...]

GM: Good night, gracie!

BW: It's just a formality now, daddy...ain't no way the big boy's
gettin' up from that one...but the Russians won't be nearly that easy...

[The referee dives to the canvas, slapping it three times before waving
for the bell.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  Corax is your winner in impressive fashion and at some point in the
near future, you have to imagine that he'll get another shot at Sharif
and the Russians just like his ally Supernova will later tonight in the
Main Event when he teams with the National Champion, Juan Vasquez, to
battle Kolya Sudakov and Vladimir Velikov!  Fans, we've got to take
another break but we'll be right back with more Saturday Night
Wrestling!

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 Mark Stegglet, standing by somewhere inside the
Barton
Coliseum. We hear shouting in the background.]

MS:  Welcome back, fans.  Mark Stegglet here and I have been told
there's something going on in the back. Let's go check it out.

[He leads the cameraman around the corner and we see Louis Matsui
gesturing animatedly at a large man, a head taller than him, with a
blond mullet and handlebar mustache, standing before a door marked
"GREEN ROOM" in front of him. The man is also dressed in a shirt with
the Barton Coliseum logo on it.]

LM: Don't you know who I am? Don't you-

M: No, sir, I don't know who you are. All I do know is only special
guests and AWA front office staff are only allowed in the green room. 
AWA talent have got the locker rooms...

LM: Talent? TALENT? I'm more than AWA talent! I'm the AWA's premiere
talent manager! I'm Louis Matsui!

M: Well, Mister Matsui, you prove who you are and I'll let you into the
green room. Maybe the talent you claim to manage will vouch for you...
If they're here...

LM: I... My... Why, I'll have your job for this, boy! If my clients hear
of this, I'll have more than your job! No! You know what?

[He unbuttons his suit jacket and shrugs it off, throwing it to the
floor for emphasis.]

LM: [Loosening his tie.] You're going to let me in, even if I have to
fight my way in! I'll fight you, don't you doubt it; I'll slap the
redneck right out of you!

MS: [Interrupting.] Louis! Louis, what's going on here?

LM: Ah, Stegglet, my friend, tell him. Tell him who I am. Just because
Engel isn't here with me tonight, doesn't make me any less of a manager!
Tell him!

MS: If you don't mind me asking, Louis, where IS Ubelmacht tonight?

LM: He, um, he's not here. Engel has got other business elsewhere to
take care of... And after his performance in the Memorial Day Rumble, I
thought it's good for him to stay away from the AWA ring for a while.
Not that I blame him, of course. It's all the fault of Jack Holland. I
tried calling my friend Johnny, but the CEO of Playboy Enterprises seems
to have forgotten his friends, apparently. All I'm saying is, if
Casanova can't keep his employees in line, maybe he shouldn't be running
Playboy Enterprises.

MS: And what about MAMMOTH Mizusawa? We haven't seen him in more than a
month now. Is he even still under your management? Is he still employed
by the AWA? Are you?

LM: Of course I am, Steggson, and of course he is! MAMMOTH Mizusawa is
still very much a part of the Matsui Corporation and the two are very
much part of the AWA? Are you doubting me, Mark?

MS: It's just that, Louis, after MAMMOTH's loss to Juan Vasquez, the
Matsui Corporation just hasn't had as much of an impact on the AWA as...

LM: As what, Stegglet? As the Unholy Alliance? Is that it? As those
foreigners: the Russians and the Sultan? As Royalty? Joe Petrow gets his
coronation ceremony, but Louis Matsui isn't even allowed in the green
room! The boys talk about a growing darkness in the AWA, but tell me,
Mark, what has the darkness done that Louis Matsui hasn't already? Just
because I don't have my monster by my side... They speak of the
mysterious Dragon, a man who has yet to show his own face, but what has
the Dragon done? Played mind games with that dumb brute Alex Martinez?

I have caused Vasquez to doubt himself! My giant has pushed your hero to
his limit, and still the hero has not slain the giant; merely put him to
sleep. Someday, the giant will wake to take what he wants and in the
meantime... In the meantime...

[Louis Matsui falls silent, his brows furrowed in thought.]

MS: Louis, are you there? Are you alright, Louis?

LM: [A smirk growing on his face.] In the meantime, Steggma-breath,
Louis Matsui does what he does best: put his brain and his charm to
work. [To the big, blond, mulleted man.] Keep your green room, buddy;
the locker rooms will do... For now...

[He picks up his jacket, fishes around its inside pocket and pulls out a
cellphone.]

LM: Got some friends to call, some people to talk to, some hands to
grease... Snub me at your own risk, Mark; the AWA'll rue the day they
decided to make me, Louis Matsui, an afterthought. That's right,
Stegglet, I said "rue!"

[Slinging his jacket over his shoulder, Matsui walks off.]

MS:  There seems to be some... issues... in the Matsui Corporation. 
Now, let's go back down to ringside to Gordon Myers and Bucky Wilde! 
Guys?

[We fade back to the ringside area.]

GM:  Thanks, Mark.  Louis Matsui is having some trouble for sure - and
not just here tonight, Bucky.

BW:  How DARE they not let him in there?

GM:  Mark Stegglet makes a good point!  Does Louis Matsui even HAVE
clients left for him?  No one has seen MAMMOTH Mizusawa in MONTHS
despite Matsui's false promotion that he had a BIG surprise for the
Rumble!

BW:  He never promised Mizusawa!

GM:  And now Ubelmacht's gone as well.  Who DOES Matsui manage?

BW:  You're just as biased against him as everyone else around here.

GM:  Fans, in a few moments, Nenshou is about to get back to the
rigorous title defense schedule which he maintained when he first won
the championship back in November. Of late, he's been sidetracked by a
variety of things... and his own predilection for ending contests
prematurely with his sickening poisonous mist hasn't helped matters.

BW: Well, I don't think it ended 'prematurely' in Tulsa, Gordo. In fact,
it ended right on time. Ask anyone who saw it; which'd be everyone in
the building except Sweet Daddy Williams! Ha!

GM: Nenshou used a strange blue-colored mist that we hadn't seen before,
and I found it curious that he was able to pin Williams immediately
after that. But according to Sweet Daddy, he briefly blacked out!

BW: Man, how many different mists does he have?!

GM: It doesn't matter; they are ALL illegal. It's not like having a
repetoire of suplexes or submission holds, Bucky.

BW: Right... it's way more effective than that, daddy.
 
GM: Well, he has no easy task tonight as he'll be defending against the
red-hot Kendall Stanton. Stanton has racked up some victories in
non-televised bouts of late, including wins over P.W. de Klerk and the
Canadian star Rene Rousseau. He will need whatever momentum he can get,
however, if he wants to elevate himself to the next level. Let's get the
introductions.

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

PW: The following contest, set for one fall and a ten minute time
limit... is for the Longhorn Heritage Championship!

[HUGE CHEER!]

PW: Introducing first, the challenger! From Dallas, Texas... weighing
two-hundred thirty-two pounds...

KENNNNNDALL STANNNNTON!

[The lanky Texan arrives at ringside, and hops over the top rope to a
nice-sized cheer. Tall and skinny with long blond hair, Kendall gets
some affection from the women in the audience. He's wearing white trunks
with a red cattle skull on the back upper-left corner, as well as
red-and-white boots. He slips off his white ring jacket as the familiar
thunderclap opening to "Raijin's Drums" by George Sakalis starts to
play.]

PW: His opponent, coming towards the ring. He is managed by "The
Collector Of Oddities" Percy Childes! From Japan, weighing two-hundred
thirty-six pounds...

...he is the AWA Longhorn Heritage Champion...

NENNNNNNSHOU!

[In the lead is Childes; the rotund manager wears a white dress shirt,
black tie, black pants, and dark sunglasses. The bald-headed "Collector
Of Oddities" sports a Van Dyke beard and thin mustache, and cradles the
Longhorn Heritage Title Belt over a shoulder as if he himself were the
champion.

The man who actually holds that honor stalks silently behind him. His
features are obscured by a black-and-green ring jacket with a tall
pointed hood, but he wears loose-fitting black pants with red and silver
kanji patterns emblazoned on it. The fans boo mightily as the Longhorn
Champion heads to the ring.]

BW: Yeah, good luck, kid. You called Kendall Stanton 'red-hot'... you
know who's red hot?

GM: Well, besides Sweet Daddy Williams, we also have Robert Donovan.
Donovan is absolutely chomping at the bit to get Nenshou in a title
match. Childes has proclaimed that Nenshou is willing to face him, but I
wonder if that's a half-truth.

[In the meantime, Nenshou has leapt into the ring, and ditched his ring
jacket to reveal a red-and-mint-green painted face. He extends a hand in
front of him, two taped fingers pointing up, and starts meditating.
Stanton circles him, but Nenshou makes no move.]

GM: Be cautious, young man.  Nenshou's 'meditation' does not leave him
unaware.  I suspect he uses this to lure in the unwary.

BW: Which means Kendall's doomed.  HA HA, look at that!

GM: Stanton moved in, but Nenshou with a hard spin kick to the ribs!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM: We are underway, and the blistering speed of Nenshou coming to the
fore early!  Combination of blows... chops, kicks, elbows!  Stanton
staggers into the ropes!

BW: You're not gonna beat Nenshou to the draw.  Kid's tryin', but this
won't work.

GM: Stanton with a hard overhand right backs up the Longhorn Heritage
champion!  He follows in with another!  A big boot... Nenshou rolls
under!  OH! 

[Kendall tries to use his lanky frame to his advantage by swinging a big
boot to the head of Nenshou.  However, while his attack did not lack
quickness, Nenshou's quickness is another matter entirely, and the
Japanese superstar does a diveroll under his man, ducking the kick
entirely.  He kicks out into a kip-up in mid roll, turns, and levels
Stanton with a half-spin front elbow in the side of the head.]

BW: He about took Kendall Stanton's head off, and the one good thing
about that is it wouldn't make him any dumber.

GM: A headscissors by Nenshou, seeking to ground Stanton.  A curious
strategy, given the decided advantage the Heritage Champion had on his
feet.

BW: If ya work the head and make a guy fuzzy, he makes more mistakes. 
When they're already Kendall Stanton-level dumb, ya pretty much win by
default.  Nenshou's usin' his powerful legs ta put th' squeeze on
Kendall's gourd, so he's obviously got a plan.

GM: After that harsh elbow, this sort of followup would indeed be
effective in injuring the head.

[The fans stomp to get behind Kendall, and the tall Texan pumps a fist
in recognition.  Working himself up, Kendall rolls over to his knees. 
Childes angrily snarls at the fans to silence themselves, but that (of
course) just makes them louder.]

BW: He's tryin' ta kick out, Gordo.  Lessee if he has th' snap in him ta
do it.

[Stanton plants his hands on the mat, and kicks his feet backwards in an
effort to escape the headscissors, but Nenshou maintains the hold.  The
impassive facepainted champion slowly shakes his head 'no' at Stanton. 
But the fans keep chanting, and he tries again... this time making it
out!  And immediately, he decends on Nenshou with a lunging clothesline,
smashing his arm into the face of his adversary who is still in a seated
position!]

GM: Stanton escapes, and there's a clean shot connecting with the
champion!  That red and green paint smearing on the arm of Kendall
Stanton...

BW: Disrespectful is what it is!  He's tryin' ta mess up the man's
heritage!

GM: His facepaint isn't his heritage, Bucky.  The only heritage Nenshou
is concerned about is the Heritage title, and Stanton applies the side
headlock in an effort to wrest that title away!

BW: Stanton's tryin' ta keep hold on Nenshou until he figures out what
ta do with him.  Actually a smart move, lettin' him clear his head.  

[Nenshou sends Kendall into the far ropes, and drops down.  The Texan
leapfrogs, bounds off the far ropes, and ducks a leapfrog by Nenshou. 
He barrels off the far ropes, looking for a clothesline... but is caught
with a hiptoss.  But not a plain hiptoss; Nenshou drops to a knee,
causing the back of Kendall's head to come down on his outstretched
knee!]

GM: WHAT WAS THAT?!

BW: Excedrin headache number eighty-seven, daddy!  Nenshou let him get
all that momentum, and then smacked his head across his knee with it!

GM: An innovative maneuver by the Longhorn Heritage Champion, who is in
complete control.  Nenshou extending his fingers... and driving into the
windpipe of Stanton!  That should be illegal!

BW: It's as legal as a punch.

GM: Closed fists are illegal!

BW: They can't be too illegal, Gordo, seein' how people throw 'em by the
dozens an' never get DQed.

GM: Nenshou hoisting up Kendall Stanton, Irish-Whip... and a back body
drop plants the young Dallas native down!  You know that Kendall Stanton
wishes this match were back on home turf, Bucky.

BW: Why?  He'd still be fightin' Nenshou!    The only difference is that
he wouldn't get beat down in front of friends an' family.  Assumin' he
has any friends, an' assumin' his family members cut eyeholes in th'
paper bags this time!

GM: Kick to the ribs, and a nervehold!  Nenshou targeting the trapezus,
and the painful pressure on the nerve clusters in the side of the neck
must be excruciating for Stanton.  Nenshou is looking around... possibly
for the likes of Sweet Daddy Williams, who he robbed at Memorial Day
Mayhem.

BW: No, no, no.  Sweet Daddy was not 'robbed'.

GM: He wa-

BW: He was ROBBED BLIND!  AHAHAHAHA!

GM: Despicable, Bucky.  Just despicable.  But Nenshou will have a
reckoning, if not from Sweet Daddy, then from the intimidating veteran
Robert Donovan.  Donovan has been after a match with Nenshou for months,
and rumor has it that the Championship Committee had indeed targeted him
as the next top contender for the Longhorn Heritage Title.  

BW: He's already beaten him once!  Nenshou shouldn't have to go back
over previously-conquered territory.

[During this exchange, Kendall has fought his way up, but was stopped by
a knee to the ribs.  A knife-edge chop and another thrust to the throat
puts him back down, and Nenshou runs off the ropes, SNAPPING an
elbowdrop down into Kendall's skull with authority!]

GM: Vicious elbowdrop, with a snapping motion created by the hips.  The
explosiveness of Nenshou on display, and we have a cover!  

BW: Only a two.  Stanton don't know th' meanin' of the word quit.

GM: I agree, he-

BW: It has too many syllables for him.

GM: Nenshou standing up Stanton, lifts him... OVER THE BACK!

[Nenshou went for the backbreaker, but Kendall pushed up and floated
over Nenshou's back.  When the Longhorn Heritage Champion turned around,
he was pasted by a lunging clothesline that nearly knocked his boots
off!  The fans cheer wildly as it looks like Stanton has a chance!]

GM: WHAT A SHOT!  

BW: What a LUCKY shot, you mean!  

GM: No, that was the heart and determination of Kendall Stanton! 
Stanton feeding on the cheers, and he is up on his feet and unloading! 
Rights and lefts into Nenshou!  Irish-Whip... AND A JUMPING LARIAT SENDS
NENSHOU HEAD-OVER-HEELS!  THE CHAMPION IS IN TROUBLE!

BW: Percy!  Get him out of there to regroup!

GM: Kendall Stanton has come alive, and this capacity crowd is behind
him all the way!  Lifting up Nenshou, and an atomic drop sends the man
from Japan reeling!  Following up with a back suplex!  Nenshou is
down... AND A COVER!  WE COULD HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!

BW: No!  He's out of there at two!

GM: Close!

BW: Because that idiot Meekly is applying a fast count!

[Stanton jumps up, slaps the mat with both hands, and clenches his fists
out in front of him, taking in the cheers.  Nenshou gets to standing,
and goes back on the attack.]

GM: OH!  Side kick by Nenshou!

BW: Ha ha, that idiot Stanton went around looking for cheers, and lost
control of the match!

GM: Nenshou with an Irish-Whip, following in... LOOK AT THAT!

[The Japanese grappler attempted the old Irish-whip knee to the ribs
move that flips a man over.  Unfortunately for him, Stanton's long legs
gives him an insurmountable reach advantage when striking moves
collide... and this time, the boot to the head isn't ducked!]

BW: NO!

GM: STANTON NEARLY KICKS NENSHOU'S HEAD OFF!  Go get him, young man!

BW: Stop cheering, Gordo, you're supposed ta be impartial!

GM: After all the darkness in the AWA, Bucky, I just don't feel
impartial anymore.

[As the crowd roars approval, Stanton picks up nenshou, lifts him in a
vertical suplex... and holds him there.  He holds him... before jumping
back and crashing down with a BIG delayed vertical suplex, floating over
beautifully into a cover!]

GM: Float-over!  COVER!  ONE!  TWO!

BW: NO!

GM: THREE?

BW: His shoulder was up!

GM: Nenshou escaping at the last moment!  

BW: Spit in his eyes, Nenshou!

GM: Don't you dare!  Weren't you just chiding me about partiality?!

BW: Yeah, but it ain't in MY job description!

GM: Kendall Stanton setting Nenshou on the turnbuckles!  IT COULD BE A
SUPERPLEX!

[HUGE CHEER!]

"FIVE MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  FIVE MINUTES REMAIN!"

GM:  We've hit the halfway point in the time limit and-

BW: Stanton is up there, and he has him hooked...

[Kendall goes for the superplex, but it is blocked as Nenshou hooks the
top rope with one hand and gets his left calf under the top turnbuckle. 
Stanton lets go and starts to throw punches, but Nenshou cuts him off
with a series of rapid-fire chops.  Seated on the turnbuckle, Nenshou
suddenly springs into action... quickly swinging up his left foot to
plant it on the top turnbuckle, stepping up with a CRUSHING right knee
to Stanton's jaw!  The loud CRACK of the kneesmash silences the crowd!]

GM: WHAT A KNEESMASH!  Fast and brutal, it came in the blink of an eye
with Nenshou using the turnbuckle pad as a stepping stone!

BW: That was a Shining Wizard, Gordo!  But he used the turnbuckle
instead of the guy's knee!  And I think he knocked Stanton out!

[Kendall slowly falls back off the second turnbuckle, landing flat on
his back as his eyes roll back into his head.  Without missing a beat,
Nenshou turns around on the top turnbuckle.  And everyone in the
building know what's next... Percy Childes already has his hands raised
in victory.]

GM: __MOONSAULT__!  

BW: SEE YA!

GM: There's no question about it... it's over!

[The three count is academic, and the bell rings to end the match to the
boos of the crowd.]

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

["Raijin's Drums" plays again, as Nenshou keeps the pin on the unmoving
Stanton, just to make a point.  Childes ascends the ringsteps with the
Longhorn Heritage Championship Belt, and a big smile on his face.]

MC: In seven minutes, three seconds, the winner of the match... 

AND STILL AWA Longhorn Heritage Champion...

NENNNNNSHOU!!!

GM: I have to hand it to him, that was a clean defeat of a very game
Kendall Stanton.  He didn't rely on the mist this time.

BW: He's never 'relied' on the mist, daddy.  Nenshou is awesome.

GM: He can be when he wishes to be, yes.  As Jason Dane comes to
ringside to interview Percy Childes and Nenshou, let's go back and take
a look at the finish.  This is the Castrol High Performance Replay Of
The Week!

[First, the superplex counter.  Stanton is standing on the second
turnbuckle on the inside, and Nenshou is straddling the top turnbuckle
with both legs towards the outside of the ropes.  Nenshou has gripped
the top rope with his right hand, and hooked his left calf under the top
turnbuckle in an effort to block the superplex.  Stanton stops trying to
suplex Nenshou and starts throwing punches at him, not leaving the
second turnbuckle.  The moment he does, Nenshou extracts his left leg
from underneath him, and leans backwards so that he can step up.  He
pushes off of the seated position, using his right foot (on the second
rope)to do so.  This gives him clearance to plant his left foot on the
top rope, and step straight up into a kneesmash to Stanton's jaw. 
Nenshou's right knee hammers into Kendall's chin, straightening the
Texan out.  This blow sends Kendall into a slow fall straight back, as
Nenshou recovers himself, crouching to get his balance on the ropes and
avoiding a dangerous fall.]

BW: Take a look at this, boys an' girls.  This is why Nenshou is the
Longhorn Heritage Champion, an' maybe the next National Champion. 
Stanton thought he had him, an' WHAM.  From nowhere, daddy, from
nowhere.  

[Then the moonsault.  With Stanton down and out, splayed out on the mat
before him, it was a simple matter for Nenshou to reposition himself
with a quick hop so that he was facing outwards instead of inwards. 
From there came the moonsault, adjusted for height as Kendall was very
close to the corner.  He was also at an odd angle to the corner, so
instead of landing across his chest, Nenshou landed on his head and
upper body.]

BW: An' if knockin' him ten shades of unconscious wasn't enough, let's
just moonsault his head ta make sure.  This is killer instinct, with a
capital KILL.  An' that's a win with a capital W.  So let's go up to a
capital fellow, Percy Childes, bein' interviewed by a capital nerd,
Jason Dane.  Take it, Jason.

[The replay ends, and we're at ringside with Childes and Nenshou.  Jason
Dane starts the interview.  Childes stands with a grin, brandishing the
Longhorn Heritage Title, while Nenshou pretty much ignores them in his
meditation.]

JD: Percy Childes, another impressive title defense for Nenshou... this
time without the mist.

PC: Are you trying to bait me, Dane?  It won't work, lucky for you. 
What you saw here was what you saw on Memorial Day: Nenshou vanquishing
another overmatched opponent.

JD: I'm not sure that Sweet Daddy is quite as 'vanquished' as you think
he is, but that does lead into the next question: what is next for
Nenshou?

PC: Ah, yes, what indeed.  Williams gave my man an excellent fight, as
we knew he would.  He is, after all, a ruthless and vicious opportunist
who stops at nothing to get ahead.  And therefore, Nenshou proved
himself more ruthless and more vicious.  But there are others who have
called on the name of Nenshou, who have declared themselves worthy of
our attentions.  And worthy they are.  So we go on to...

AL:  PERCY, PERCY!  The time is upon us!

[Where did HE come from?!  Anton Layton has appeared, having bolted down
the aisle at his full-speed walk and arrived on-site to join the
conversation.  Layton is clad in his black velvet style hooded robe. 
The hood came off during his power-walk to the ringside area to reveal
his face smeared with some red paint in no real comprehensible pattern.]

PC:  Anton, what are you doing out here?

[Layton's eyes narrow as he glares at Childes.]

AL:  Do not presume to ask me questions!  The Master sends me forth to
do his bidding.  He tells me where to go... he tells me what to say...
he commands my movements and actions... 

...not you.

[Childes meets Layton's cold stare.]

PC:  Fine.  What do you want?

AL:  Justice.

PC:  What?

AL:  I seek justice... vengeance in the name of my Master...

PC:  Anton, what are you trying to-

AL:  There are those here in the AWA who try to rise against us, Percy. 
You walk the halls and you can hear their whispers.  They conspire
against us.  They plot to do us harm.  They plan to isolate us and
destroy us one by one.  

Do you hear them, Percy?

[Childes doesn't respond.]

AL:  I hear them.  I hear their pitiful, pathetic wails to powerless
empty suits who promise them opportunities for retribution.  I hear them
call out for heroes... for the sun to break through the shadows and cast
out the darkness.

My Master hears them as well... and he commands us to show them TRUE
darkness.

[Percy shakes his head.]

PC:  That's all fantastic, Anton.  We'll... uhh...

[Percy seems to search his mental "crazy" dictionary.]

PC:  We'll consecrate the lands of the South with the blood of our
enemies!

[Layton throws his head back in a cackle.  He liked that.]

AL:  Yes... yes.  That is what we'll do, Percy.  Starting at
Wrestlerock.

[Percy looks confused.]

PC:  Anton, I've already talked to the Committee abou-

[Layton raises a hand.]

AL:  As have I.  And I have sealed our contract in the blood of my own. 
At Wrestlerock, the Unholy Alliance will take on these... Lynch
brothers...

[HUGE CHEER!]

AL:  Yes!  Cheer!  Cheer the destruction of your heroes!  Cheer the
funeral pyre that we will build in the middle of the ring, torching
their bodies, and letting the night sky dance with the fires of our
Master!  EHEHEHHEHEHEHE!

[The crowd's cheers quickly turn to boos.]

PC:  Wait a second, Anton.  Who?  Who is facing the Lynch brothers?

AL:  Myself.  Our God of War... and... him.

[Layton lifts a hand to point at Nenshou.  Childes shakes his head.]

PC:  No, no... not Nenshou, Anton.  You can't have Nenshou.

[Layton's gaze turns cold, falling on Childes again.]

AL:  You presume to defy me, Childes?

[Childes shakes his head.]

PC:  Anton, I already signed a contract for Nenshou!  He's going to
defend the Longhorn Heritage Title against Donovan!

[Another huge cheer!]

PC:  So, I need you to-

AL:  YOUR NEEDS DO NOT CONCERN ME!

[Layton reaches out, grabbing Percy by the tie.  Nenshou surges forward
but a raised hand from Childes keeps him back.]

PC:  Anton... 

[Childes gasps for air.]

PC:  Anton, don't do this.

AL:  You seek to defy me again, Childes.  You leave me with little
option.

[Childes' face is rapidly turning red as Layton keeps his grip.]

PC:  Not... not Nenshou...

[Layton tilts his head, glaring at Childes.]

PC:  The Beast.

[Layton's eyes widen.]

PC:  You can have... the Beast!

[Layton's grip releases, the corners of his mouth turning up in a
smile.]

AL:  Yes, yes... a perfect consort...

[Layton nods.]

AL:  Yes, Childes!  I accept your beast into my welcoming arms!  Bring
him forth at Wrestlerock to stand by my side in the blood-covered fields
of battle!  Keep your servant for his childish golden games...

[Nenshou again tries to step forward but again is held back by Childes.]

AL:  Yes.  The Lynch family was born in the light of day... but at
Wrestlerock, they will die in darkness...

[Layton throws his head back again, cackling his way up the aisle as a
red-faced Percy Childes looks on, coughing occasionally.]

JD:  Mist- Mr. Childes?

[Percy ignores Dane.]

JD:  Two big announcements there for sure.  The Lynches versus the
Alliance as well as Nenshou defending against Robert Donovan - both big
showdowns at Wrestlerock but what did we just see?  This is becoming a
regular occurance, sir!

PC:  I have...

[Percy pauses, rubbing his throat, and seems to think better of what he
was about to say.]

PC:  ...no comment.

[With a signal, Nenshou leads the walk back up the aisle as an angry
Percy Childes walks behind him, fingering the crystal at the top of his
cane as we fade back to the ring.]

PW: Ladies and gentlemen already in the ring from Shenandoah,
Pennsylvania … he stands in at an six feet one inch and weighs two
hundred and twenty nine pounds …this is Mark Hoefner!

PW: And his opponent …

[“Tom Sawyer” by Rush hits the speakers.]

PW: Coming to the ring now. Hailing from Dallas, Texas. Standing six
feet, three inches, and weighing in tonight at two hundred and sixty
pounds...

TRAVIS LYNCH!!!

[The curtain pulls back to reveal the youngest of the Lynch brothers,
and as it does so the screams of the ladies in attendance nearly drown
out Tom Sawyer. The youngster is, as always, dressed in his classic
white wrestling trunks with a yellow and black stripe along the top of
them, his two knee pads and wrestling boots are also white. He comes to
the ring in a slight jog as the fans reach over the barricade and slap
his arms and shoulders. As he nears the ring a few lovely ladies are
able to get over the barricade and kiss him a few times on the cheeks
before being escorted back to their seats. Travis smiles as the ladies
are brought back to their seats and he slides under the bottom rope
where he goes to his corner, waiting for the bell.]

GM:  There's the bell and off we go!

[The two men with an elbow and collar tie up in the center of the ring.
Hoefner though is a bit quicker and is able to shift into a side head
lock.]

BW: Hoefner showing Lynch what happens when you have to earn your place
in the AWA. 

GM: Mark Hoefner with that side head lock clinched in but Travis powers
him into the ropes and drives an elbow into the ribs.

[As Hoefner loosens his grip on the side of Lynch’s head, Travis uses
his obvious power advantage and shoves Hoefner to the far side ropes.]

GM: A running shoulder block sends Hoefner crashing to the mat. And now
Lynch rebounds off of the opposite side ropes as Hoefner is back to his
feet and once again he’s down from another shoulder block.

BW: He pulled his hair, Gordo.

GM: What? He hit him clean with the shoulder block.

BW: You’re just on the Lynch bandwagon.

[The females in the arena scream as Travis flexes quickly before pulling
Hoefner to his feet and drives him into the mat with a scoop slam.
Travis takes a few steps backwards and then runs forward leaping into
the air and drives his knee into the side of Hoefner’s head.]

GM:  Biiiiiiig kneedrop by Lynch!

[Leaning down, Lynch pulls his opponent up by the arm, flinging him
towards the ropes.]

GM: Hoefner off the ropes... Lynch catches him and just presses him into
the air!  What a display of strength!

[Travis presses Hoefner into the air three times before dropping him to
the mat. The females scream loudly again at Travis’ display of
strength.]

BW: What a showboat.

[Lynch reaches down and grabs Hoefner by the hair pulling him back to
his feet. Lynch drives the point of his elbow into the forehead of
Hoefner before grabbing him by the waist and sending him into the mat
with a belly to belly suplex.]

GM: Travis is showing off his strength tonight against the smaller Mark
Hoefner. 

BW: Just the Lynch way - picking on people smaller than them!

GM: Jack and James are taking on Shock and Awe later tonight, who are
not small men.

[Lynch grabs Hoefner by the right arm, pulling him to his feet and
whipping him into the far side ropes. As Hoefner rebounds off of the
ropes, Lynch lowers his head …]

BW: Hoefner catches Travis in the jaw with the boot!  And he tosses
Lynch to the mat with authority!

GM: Tosses? He grabbed his hair and pulled him to the mat.

[The referee orders Hoefner to lay off of the hair.  He shrugs his
shoulders, ignoring the official as he waits for Lynch to rise, rushing
in to rake his fingernails down the back!]

GM:  Ohh!  Come on, ref!

[He spins Lynch around, firing him into the ropes again.]

GM:  Back dro- SUNSET FLIP!!

[The crowd roars at the sight of Lynch trying to pull Hoefner down to
the mat with the pinning move...

...but then jeers as Hoefner drills Lynch between the eyes with a right
hand!]

GM:  Ohh!  What a shot!

BW:  He might have gotten the nose with that shot. I wonder how loudly
these ladies would be screaming if the Adonis’ nose was broken.

[Scooping Lynch up, he shoves him back into the corner before firing off
a quick knife edge chop.  He nods at the jeering fans before connecting
with a second one... and then a third.]

GM:  A trio of hard chops in the corner by Mark Hoefner!

BW:  The youngster is lighting up the Stench brother.

GM:  Lynch.

BW:  Not according to Dick Bass.

GM:  He’s wrong. Hoefner now spitting in his hand...

[Hoefner winds up again, ready to throw another chop...

...but Lynch surges forward, hooking his left hand around the skull of
his opponent to a huge cheer!]

GM:  CLAW!

[The crowd roars as he forces Hoefner backwards out of the corner.]

GM:  Travis hooks in the Iron Claw and he's got it on tight!

[Hoefner somehow turns around, stumbling backwards in the corner where
the referee forces Lynch to break the hold.]

BW: Come on referee - get that dirty dog off of Hoefner. 

GM:  He's in the ropes so he certainly needs to break it.

[Breaking the hold, Lynch grabs the arm to fling Hoefner powerfully
across the ring where he SLAMS chestfirst into the buckles with
authority, stumbling out and turning around as Lynch does a full spin...

...and CRACKS Hoefner in the temple, knocking him flat!]

GM:  DISCUS PUNCH!  DISCUS PUNCH!  HE GOT ALL OF THAT!!

BW: Lynch with the closed fist!

[Lynch dives across Hoefner as the official drops down to count.]

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THREEE!!!!

[The bell rings as a victorious Travis Lynch climbs to his feet,
allowing the official to raise his arm in triumph.]

BW:  Another clenched fist leads to a win for one of the Stench Brothers
and I tell you, Gordo, someday we'll get a referee who isn't biased
towards the Stenches and we'll get a disqualification for that clenched
fist!

GM:  Will you ever let it rest?

BW:  Not until that glorious day occurs.

GM:  Fans, let's go backstage where I understand Jason Dane has caught
up with a former World Champion!

[We cut to the backstage interview area, where we see Jason Dane
standing by with Tommy Fierro. The man who was once the youngest World
Champion in wrestling history is dressed in a white satin ring jacket
and black wrestling tights. He looks slightly slimmer from his debut,
although he's still got a healthy spare tire on him. The fans give a
respectful cheer for the Southern legend, which he acknowledges with a
nod of the head.]

JD: Tommy Fierro! You made your return to the ring at Memorial Day
Mayhem, but many of our fans want to know...where have you been?

[The good ol' Southern boy chuckles.]

TF: Well...sometimes, my body likes to remind me that I ain't a young
man anymore. I can't just bounce back from injuries like I used to, so
after that battle royale at The Main Event, I took some time off to
nurse some old war wounds...

[He puts his hands on his hips and looks down, shaking his head.]

TF: ...but I don't think anything's ever hurt me as bad as that blow my
ego took on Memorial Day!

[There's a pained expression on Tommy's face, the embarassment still
fresh in his mind.]

TF: Seein' ol' Hammy Graham 'cross the ring again lit a fire under me
like you wouldn't believe, Jason Dane! I felt like I was 19 all over
again! _Twenty years_ ago, I won the world title from that man. _Twenty
years!_ And there we were, inside a ring again, twenty years later...it
was like he never left!

[The look on Tommy's face is one of disbelief. It's almost as if he's
still dazed from Graham's punches.]

TF: I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe it!
I...Couldn't...Believe...IT!

[He takes off his ring jacket and whips it down on the floor.]

TF: And I'm man to admit it, he whupped me! He jaw jacked me! He spanked
me good! I wasn't prepared for that man to still be carryin' thunder and
lightnin' in those fists, but all it took was one shot to the chops and
I was on dream street! He made me look foolish! He...

[A serious look appears on Tommy's face.]

TF: ...he made me look OLD.

[Tommy puts a hand over his mouth and shakes his head back and forth as
various fans shout words of encouragement to him.]

TF: But...I ain't goin' out like that...Nuh uh! Some people might think
that I've been through too battles and fought through too many wars to
be what I was, but Tommy Fierro ain't ready to fade quietly into the
night!

[He puts his dukes up!]

TF: He's ready to burn bigger and brighter than ever before!

[Some long-time Fierro fans whoop it up in the crowd at his firey
proclamation.]

TF: I still got plenty of fights left in me! I still got the fire and I
still got the desire! So mark it down on your calendars! 2011! Tommy
Fierro's gonna' climb to the top of the mountain one more time, baby!
Tommy Fierro's gonna' turn back the clock! Tommy Fierro's gonna' shock
the world!

[With that, Fierro walks off with a fist raised high into the air.]

JD: Tommy Fierro, back with a renewed focus! He'll be in action...next!

[We fade from Jason Dane to a blackened screen.  Suddenly, the sounds of
ZZ Top's "La Grange" begin to play as we hear Mark Stegglet playing the
role of pitchman over the music.]

"The rock and wrestling connection lives once more as the American
Wrestling Alliance presents... WRESTLEROCK!"

[The Wrestlerock logo appears on the blackened screen and then fades as
we start to see footage of our favorite AWA superstars.]

"It'll be a tremendous night of AWA action on America's birthday - the
fourth of July - when we head down to Durham, North Carolina for a big
OUTDOOR event!"

[A shot of Juan Vasquez diving off the top rope with a splash.  Robert
Donovan chokeslamming a helpless foe.  Supernova slingshotting over the
ropes to the floor.]

"Come for a huge wrestling event and stay for a special post-show
concert by rock and roll legends... Z!  Z!  TAHHHHHP!"

[The music continues to blast over shots of AWA action from the past.]

"The Durham Bulls Athletic Park will be ROCKIN' for one of the biggest
nights of AWA action of the year!  Tickets are available now at the
stadium box office as well as Ticketmaster.com!"

[More AWA action - Eric Preston flying off the top with a crossbody, The
Rockstar Express connecting with a double dropkick, Alex Martinez
Firebombin' a fool down to the mat.]

"So, call your local ticket outlet now and tell 'em that the AWA's
comin' to town and YOU WANNA ROCK!"

[Fade to black.

...and then fade to Phil Watson.]

PW:  The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit.  Introducing first...already in the ring at this
time...fighting out of Athens, Ohio... Viktor Samson!

[Mild jeers for the stone-faced second-generation grappler. The opening
to "Right Now" by Van Halen then begins to play, drawing a cheer from
the crowd.]

PW:  And his opponent... standing 5'11 and weighing in at 245
pounds...from Atlanta, Georgia... he was the youngest World Champion in
professional wrestling history... TOOOOOMMMMMY! FIERRO!

[The cheers grow louder as Fierro emerges from the back, wearing black
tights with "FIERRO" written in gold lettering on the back and black
boots. It's clear the former world champ's seen better days, his face
now looking weathered and his long, blonde hair slightly thinning. He's
also got a bit of a gut, but the crowd still loves him, nevertheless. He
jogs down the aisle, slapping hands as he makes his way down to the
ring.]

BW: Great, just when we get rid of City Jack, another over-the-hill
fatty takes his place.

GM: If you noticed, Fierro was announced at 245 lbs, slightly less than
his AWA debut. He's been working hard at getting back into championship
condition.

BW: So Hamilton Graham busted up his mouth and he couldn't stuff donuts
down his gullet for a few days...that don't mean I'm gonna' pat him on
the back!

[The bell sounds as Samson and Fierro grab each other in a
collar-and-elbow tie-up. Samson gains the advantage, putting Fierro into
a side headlock, but Fierro shoves him off, firing him into the ropes.
The former world champion ducks down as Samson leaps over and bounces
off the far ropes...and into a dropkick from Fierro!]

BW: Big dropkick from Fierro takes Samson down!

GM: I gotta' admit I'm shocked, Gordo. The last time Fierro got that far
off the ground, he was reaching for a box of oreos in the cupboard on
his tippy-toes!

BW: Oh, will you stop it!

[Pumping a fist, Fierro pulls up Samson, only to receive a headbutt to
the gut for his troubles. A European uppercut sends him stumbling back.
Another uppercut knocks Fierro into the corner. Samson approaches Fierro
and starts to work over the grizzled veteran with kicks to the gut.
However, as he stops his assault, Fierro suddenly springs to life,
grabbing Samson and tossing HIM into the corner, laying into him with a
big knife-edge chop!]

BW: Whew doggie...I think they heard that one all the way back in
Georgia!

GM: And speaking of Atlanta, we'll be in Tommy Fierro's hometown over
Labor Day weekend for the Stampede Cup and I'm sure Tommy will be
shooting to appear on that show as well, Bucky.

BW:  Another hard chop by Fierro!

GM:  Fierro and Samson's father, the infamous Laszlo Samson had quite a
few ring wars back in the day. It looks like there's no love lost
between Fierro and the Samson family!

BW: Heck, knowing him,  Fierro'll be around to fight Viktor's kids!

[Fierro whips Samson out of the corner, slamming him hard into the
turnbuckles. As Samson stumbles out, Fierro lifts him up...]

GM: Inverted atomic drop from Fierro!

[...and runs into the ropes...]

GM: And a big clothesline takes Viktor Samson off his feet!

[A fired up Fierro balls up his fists and screams "YEAH!" to the crowd,
as he stalks Samson. As the youngest gets to his feet, Fierro boots him
in the gut and takes a step back, before running back in and taking the
second generation wrestler down with a swinging neckbreaker!]

GM: There's the swinging neckbreaker! That's usually the set-up for...

BW: The most ridiculously reckless move in wrestling!

GM: It is not!

[Climbing to the top turnbuckle, Fierro pumps his fist to the crowd,
before diving off, smashing down onto Viktor Samson's chest with a
massive kneedrop!]

GM: The top-rope kneedrop! Fierro got it all! One! Two! Three!

BW: You ain't half the man your daddy was, Viktor!

[Fierro rises to his feet, as the referee raises his arm in victory.]

PW: Here is your winner... TOMMY FIERRO!

[Big cheer for Fierro who points to the crowd, patting his chest.]

BW:  You see that?!  He's having a heart attack!  Call somebody!

GM:  You're really too much, Bucky.

BW:  He's not?  I just assumed - bein' Jurassic and all.

GM:  Very funny.  Fans, Tommy Fierro is a hero to the people of the
South and has been for many years.  And now, we're going backstage to a
man whose family has ALSO been heroes to the people of the Southern
United States for a long, long time.  Let's hear from Tyler Lee!

[We cut to backstage where, in front of an AWA backdrop, we find Mark
Stegglet standing next to "The Louisville Slugger" Tyler Lee. who wears
a black shirt, blue jeans and has his trusty Louisville Slugger bat
slung over his shoulder.]

MS: Tyler Lee, we all saw what went down at Memorial Day Mayhem... after
The Russians came out and attacked Supernova following his match with
Sultan Azam Sharif, and then you came out to help... Jim Watkins made
his presence known as he cleared everyone away, only for The Russians to
strike, beat him down and lay the Russian flag over him. I can only
imagine you have a lot to say about that.
 
TL: You'd be right about that, Mark, and let me say that, when I say
what I'm about to say that I'm not upset with you... I just have plenty
to get off my chest.
 
[With that, he turns to the camera, his voice rising.]
 
TL: What happened to Jim Watkins was the most disgusting thing I ever
saw! Those Russians proved they were nothing more than gutless, yellow
bellied cowards!
 
Velikov, you're lucky that I didn't get more time to get my hands on you
in the Rumble, because I would have made sure you wouldn't left the
Rumble match in one piece! But the next time I get my hands on you, you
better believe that I'm gonna bust up that face of yours and send you
running back behind the Iron Curtain where you came!
 
Sudakov, you left no doubt in my mind that you don't have the guts to
stand up to anyone and that you have no problem stooping to new lows...
you've only proven I'm right about everything I've said, that I've never
met a Russian I liked or that I could trust... and for your role in what
happened to Watkins, I promise you you're gonna end up just like
Velikov!
 
And as far as Ivan Kostovich goes, I'm calling you a coward, because all
you wanna do is jump people from behind and then hide behind that
retirement excuse! I don't care if you ever plan on wrestling again or
not... because I will catch up with you, then I'm gonna take this
Louisville Slugger right here...
 
[He pulls it forward as he says this.]
 
TL: ...and then I'm gonna stick it right where the sun don't shine!
 
If you had any courage, Kostovich, you would have gotten out of
retirement and accepted my challenge... but now, I'm gonna see to it
that I drag that yellow rear of yours into the ring whether you like it
or not... big boy!
 
[With that, Tyler Lee storms off.]
 
MS: Whoa... some strong words from Tyler Lee, who certainly wants his
hands on all The Russians!  Now, let's go back down to ringside for the
debut of another new tag team here in the AWA - sure to heat up the
competitive tag team division!  Take it away, Phil Watson!

[We go to the ring where Phil Watson stands by to announce the
competitors for the next match.]

PW: The next match is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute time
limit. Introducing first, at a total combined weight of 478 pounds...
Matt Ginn and Kyle Houlder!

[Ginn raises a fist in the air, while Houlder trash talks and mimes
backhanding the fans.]

PW: And their opponents...

["Go U Northwestern," as performed by the Northwestern University
Marching Band, starts to play over the arena speakers, as a scowling,
stoutly-built, olive-skinned man emerges from the entranceway. He is
dressed in a purple singlet with white trim, with an image of a
wildcat's head on the left thigh, black knee pads and black boots. The
crowd does not quite know how to react.

He is followed by a similarly-attired man, only his singlet has the
letters "NU" on the right thigh and the letters "AA" on the left thigh,
same olive skin. The second man is slightly taller and trimmer, with a
meticulously-groomed goatee and a fuller head of hair than the former's
buzz cut, but the resemblance between the two is more than passing. He
is smiling and pumps a fist in the air in an attempt to work up the
crowd.]

PW: They hail from Chicago, Illinois, at a total combined weight of 547
pounds, Nick and Alex Anton...

THE ANTONS!!!

GM: Nick and Alex Anton, brothers and alumni of Northwestern University,
coming out to what I have been told is the Northwestern fight song.
These recent graduates of the Combat Corner-

BW:  More?!  What the heck is Michaelson DOING down there?

GM:  He's turning out the future of the AWA, Bucky!  And these two are
former collegiate athletes and accomplished amateur wrestlers each in
their own right and now they want to see how much they can achieve in
the professional wrestling ring!

BW: I don't know, Gordo, they look like two men holding on to past
glory. They're going to have to grow up real quick to do well in the
AWA.

[The scowling brother has his eyes locked on the ring as he makes his
way down the entrance ramp, occasionally slapping the hand of a fan on
the near side of the aisle. The other Anton, however, is trying to slap
hands and high-five as many fans as he can. When he reaches the ring, he
steps through the ropes and heads towards their corner, pointing a
warning finger and jawing with his opponents as he does so.  His brother
walks along the apron towards the corner and climbs onto the middle
rope. He rests his hands on his brother's shoulders, who raises his arms
in the air, pointing to the sky, as the music fades to a stop.]

GM: I believe that's Alex in the ring, starting for his team against
Kyle Houlder. The younger of the Anton brothers, Alex is also a former
All-American.

BW: Lots of former All-Americans have passed through the Combat Corner;
not all of them have stayed.

GM: They lock up! And...

"SLAAAP!!!"
"OOOHHH!!!"

GM: Houlder just painted Anton across the face!

BW: He's one man who has little respect for the Antons' achievement.

[The referee has very little time to admonish Houlder before he has to
rush over to the Antons's corner to stop an irate Nick from entering the
ring. Alex, however, is smiling and waving his brother back.]

GM: Alex Anton doesn't seem bothered by the slap, as he smiles and
invites Houlder to lock up again; Houlder trash-talking as he always
does... Go-behind takedown by Anton! And this time it's Alex's turn
paintbrushing the back of Houlder's head...

BW: And Houlder is livid!

[Anton steps back allowing Houlder to spring back to his feet. Houlder
charges... Right into Anton's arms, as he lifts Houlder up and drops him
back first across his knee. Houlder comically bounces about on the mat
in pain, before rolling towards his corner and reaching for a tag.]

GM: Matt Ginn in for his team, trying to get the animated Kyle Houlder
out of the way.

BW: Ginn has the height advantage, but we'll see if Anton breaks out any
of that amateur technique...

[They lock up, with Anton breaking away and positioning himself behind
Ginn. He looks like he is going to pick him up for a belly to back
suplex, but an elbow by Ginn to the side of his head forces the break.
Ginn's turn with the go-behind, into a takedown, before floating over
and locking in the front face lock. He pulls Anton to his feet and looks
to be going for the vertical suplex, but Anton blocks. Anton with a
double leg takedown, forcing Ginn onto his back...]

BW: And a kick to the face by Ginn puts a stop to that technical
display!

GM: Matt Ginn to his feet... He catches Anton from behind!

BW: I think he's going for the abdominal stretch, Gordo, an effective
move in the hands of someone with Ginn's height...

GM: He's having trouble locking it in, though, as Anton tries to shift
his body away from Ginn... And now Anton has his arms wrapped around
Ginn's waist... What power!

[Alex Anton picks Ginn up and slaps him down with a back suplex.]

GM: Both men heading to their corners and it's Ginn first with a tag to
Houlder... And here comes Nick Anton!

[Both men charge towards each other and just start trading punches in
the middle of the ring. Houlder gets the better of the exchange and
Irish whips Anton into the ropes. Anton ducks a clothesline and rebounds
with a...]

GM: Spear! Spear! Anton hit the spear!

BW: A double leg tackle takedown that I have just been told the Antons
refer to as the Wildcat Attack. And now he is mauling Houlder with those
punches.

[Houlder tries to cover up his face as referee Marty Meekly tries to
pull Anton off and warn him about the closed fists. Anton tries to shrug
him off...

"OHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

[But walks right into a low blow by Houlder, which the referee misses. 
Doubled over, Anton finds himself open to a flurry of punches and
forearm uppercuts, as Houlder brawls his way up, first to his knees and
then to his feet.]

GM: Some opportunistic cheating there by Kyle Houlder...

BW: Nick Anton wasn't exactly fighting fair either, Gordo!

GM: Houlder with an Irish whip... Clothesline! Follows it up with an
elbow drop!

BW: He's letting Anton know just how much he thinks of him and his
brother. Welcome to the AWA, boys!

[Houlder, having yelled at Anton, proceeds to drag him back off the mat
and onto his feet. He turns Anton around in front of him and positions
him for the reverse DDT.]

GM: This could be the end, Bucky, a loss for the Antons on their de-No!
Anton slips out... Hammerlock! Picks Houlder up and drops him on his
arm!

[Anton drags Houlder up by the arm and pulls him towards his corner,
where he tags in his brother. Alex heads to the top and drops a double
axe handle across the already hurting arm of Kyle Houlder. Houlder tries
to shake out the pain, but turns right into an exploder suplex!]

GM: Ohhh!  Some kind of a throw there!  Cover! One... Ginn comes in to
break the pin!

BW: And here comes Nick!

[The referee tries to separate Matt Ginn and Nick Anton as they brawl
towards Ginn's corner. Alex, meanwhile, picks Kyle Houlder up and slams
him back down with a gutwrench suplex.]

GM: Another cover!  ONE!!  TWO!!  But that's all as Houlder kicks out in
time!

[Alex Anton punches the mat as he springs to his feet. He makes a
breaking motion with his hands, pointing to Houlder, who is struggling
to get back on his feet. Anton grabs him, but Houlder escapes, courtesy
of an eye rake.]

GM: Small package! One! Anton kicks out!

BW: Houlder wasted no time getting his partner in there! And now it is a
two-on-one and it's all Nick Anton can do to stay out of the ring.

[Nick is, indeed, slapping the top turnbuckle pad frustratedly, as
Houlder and Ginn lay in on his brother with kicks and stomps. Somehow,
the crowd starts clapping in time. Nick tries to enter the ring, but is
stopped by referee Marty Meekly. Unfortunately, that means Houlder and
Ginn are free to continue their doubleteam. They pull Alex Anton to his
feet and whip him into the ropes, barely missing the referee...]

GM: Alex Anton with a MASSIVE double clothesline, taking out both his
opponents. And there's the tag!

[Nick Anton is immediately in the ring, knocking the recovering Kyle
Houlder down with a flying shoulder tackle. Houlder rolls out of the
ring. Matt Ginn gets back to his feet and sees Alex Anton slumped
against his corner. Ginn motions for Alex to get up.]

BW: He's not the legal man, genius!

[Alex, smiling, lets him know as much, wagging an index finger in front
of him and pointing behind Ginn. Confused, Ginn turns around...]

GM: SHOULDER TACKLE! OFF THE TOP ROPE! Nick Anton covers! ONE! TWO!

"DING! DING! DING!"

PW: Here are your winners... Nick and Alex... THE ANTONS!!!

[Stepping disdainfully over Ginn's laid out body, Nick walks over to his
brother and gives him a hand up. The brothers hug, before the referee
holds their hands up in victory.  They celebrate their debut win for a
moment before exiting to the floor where Jason Dane is waiting.]

JD: Gentlemen, a victorious debut for the two of you. Tell me, is the
AWA shaping up to be what you expected?

AA: Nothing is as we expected, Jason! You see, all my brother's and my
achievements in college? Didn't mean a thing when we were being
stretched out and put through the drills by Todd Michaelson and the
other trainers in the Combat Corner! And after all that training, Jason?
We were still in awe as we stepped through the entranceway!  Ginn and
Houlder put up quite a fight, and all we know is the opponents we'll be
facing from here on are only going to get tougher, bigger, stronger,
faster! So you want to talk expectations, Jason? EXPECT only THE BEST
from the Antons!

NA: JASON! What Alex is saying is that we Antons thrive on challenges! 
So I want you to keep laying those obstacles in front of us and we'll
keep on running full speed at them and knocking them down. Until the day
you put in front of us a wall too hard to break through and too high to
overcome, I hope you don't mind your walls outfitted with some
Anton-sized holes, AWA!

JD: Thank you, guys, and good to have you on board!  And now, let's go
back up to the ring for more action!

[One quick crossfade later and Phil Watson appears, mic in hand.]

PW:  Ladies and gentlemen, already in the ring, standing six feet, four
inches, weighing in at two hundred and seventy-two pounds...this is Lee
Harrigan!

[The crowd lets Mr. Harrigan know that they're none too fond of the
Topeka, Kansas native, and he looks pretty much indifferent. Harrigan
flexes mockingly at the crowd once or twice before walking over to a
corner and leaning back, waiting.]

PW:  ...and his opponent!

[Pro-Pain's "One Man Army" starts to play, bringing the crowd to its'
feet!]

PW:  He stands seven feet, two inches tall and weighs in at over three
hundred pounds...hailing from Pensacola, Florida...

ROBERT... DONOVAN!

[The big man is wasting little time, quickly stalking down the aisle,
dressed to fight.  He steps up onto the apron -- and is intercepted by
Lee Harrigan!]

BW:  Hah!  The big lug got caught stepping over the top rope, and now
he's --

[Lee Harrigan is abruptly, and forcefully, introduced to the crown of
Donovan's skull, as the big man throws a solid headbutt, sending
Harrigan staggering back as Donovan steps over the top rope, slowly
approaching the dazed Kansas native.]

GM:  One has to think Donovan is in a pretty lousy mood right now. 
Eliminated by the former National Champion Stevie Scott in the Rumble --
a Rumble in which he had a lot of momentum and a solid chance of
winning.

BW:  Please.  No way did he have enough gas left in the tank to finish
the job -- Stevie Scott just saved him the embarrassment of sucking wind
in the middle of the ring later that night.

[Donovan finally reaches Harrigan, who staggered all the way into the
far side ropes -- and Harrigan throws a couple of solid punches into the
body of the big man...]

BW:  Harrigan taking it to Donovan!

[...who doesn't appear to mind much, as he lunches forward and plants a
knee in Harrigan's gut that doubles him over.]

GM:  You were saying?

BW:  Um...

[Donovan reaches down and hooks a gutwrench...]

BW:  I was saying we're about to see a gutwrench power bomb!

GM:  Ahh.

[...hoisting Harrigan in the air, holding him up for a long moment as
Harrigan flails around, knowing what's about to come but being
thoroughly unable to escape it.]

"THUUUUUUUUUUUD!"

GM:  ONE... TWO... THREE!!!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

GM:  Donovan just made short work of Lee Harrigan!  He just hoisted up a
two hundred and seventy-two pound man like he weighed virtually nothing,
and I'm not sure I've seen him land that move with that impact in his
stay here in the AWA.

BW:  I think he might be slightly upset, Gordo.

GM:  I think you hit the nail on the head, Bucky -- however, we won't
have to guess long, as the big man is gesturing for a microphone.

BW:  Someone friendly with the big oaf should come out here and make
sure he doesn't say anything stupid.  He ran his mouth off at Memorial
Day Mayhem, and it got him humiliated in front of a whole heck of a lot
of people -- if he runs it here tonight, he would wind up way worse than
embarrassed!

[Donovan, however, is undeterred.]

RD:  Just to get this outta the way -- I accept, you spineless pile o'
garbage!

[Crowd pop!]

RD:  Been wantin' my hands on somebody -- anybody -- from that circus o'
freaks for months now.  I got knocked outta the Rumble before I had my
shot at most of 'em, but the one I did get my hands wound up on his rear
on the floor, an' I promise you that if I hadn't let my guard down when
I knew that weasel Scott was up to somethin', a lot more of the Unholy
Alliance would've felt the same thing Polemos did.

[Donovan lowers the mic briefly, taking a deep breath.]

RD:  Like I said, been wantin' my hands on that whole group for awhile
now, and now not only do I get offered a chance at just that, the clowns
running that show decided to offer up the crown jewel of the
organization.  People might think that Childes or Layton is what makes
the Unholy Alliance tick, but everybody's seen the friction there -- no,
I guarantee the glue holdin' them together right now is Nenshou an' that
title that Percy Childes soils every time he lays hands on it.

[Donovan pauses.]

RD:  Now, I may not be any smarter'n I look, but I ain't quite dumb
enough to think that they'd make this offer unless they got a plan. I
thought maybe if I approach the Championship Committee, they might gimme
some kinda match that would help keep outside interference to a minimum,
maybe gimme a fair shot.

[Donovan chuckles.]

RD:  Thought that might be true, then I remembered that we're dealin'
with bad people here.  I get Nenshou in a cage...

[The crowd murmurs briefly at the thought.]

RD:  ...an' guarantee they got somebody stashed underneath the ring,
just waitin' to make sure that Nenshou's the one that comes out on top. 
Falls count anywhere, somebody planted in the crowd, just waitin' to do
Childes' bidding.  Ain't no such thing as a fair shake when dealin' with
people like the Unholy Alliance...

[Donovan reaches up, rubbing his chin briefly.]

RD:  ...so, to hell with a fair shake.  Childes, when I face Nenshou for
the Longhorn Heritage title, I want you out there.  I want you an' the
rest of your crew out there, watchin'.  Waitin'.

I want 'em out there...so they, an' you, can watch me knock Nenshou from
pillar to post!  I want you all out there, so you can see me strip the
price right out of the Unholy Alliance, an' walk out that door the
Longhorn Heritage champ, the way it shoulda been all along.

[Donovan goes to drop the mic, then stops.]

RD:  I won't lie...there's one other reason I want all of ya out there. 
I wanna know for sure if there's still folks in that locker room who
give a damn about what's right.  I wanna know for sure if there's still
people back there willin' to stand up against the worst o' the worst,
knowin' they might not walk away from that fight.  I wanna know...

[Pause.]

RD:  I wanna know if the united front is anything more'n people runnin'
their mouths, or if there's people willing to bleed for it!

So, Childes, bring everythin' and everyone you got, 'cause come hell or
high water, the next Longhorn Heritage champ is gonna be the neverwas
standin' in this ring right now, an' I'll be damned if I let you or
anybody else do anything to stop me!

[With that, Donovan drops the mic and storms out of the ring.]

GM:  Wow!  Now there's a man with intensity - a man with purpose!  That
man wants to be the next Longhorn Heritage Champion and... well, can
anyone stop him?

BW:  Nenshou can.

GM:  He can certainly try.  And on the 4th of July, that's exactly what
he'll need to do - he'll need to try and stop Robert Donovan from
becoming the very thing he first walked into the AWA to become - the
Longhorn Heritage Champion!  And speaking of big men with intensity and
purpose, let's talk about Alex Martinez, Bucky.

BW:  Why bother?  The man is a physical wreck who keeps draggin' himself
to the ring to fight off the Dragon's paid associates and keeps getting
himself in a far worse way because of it.  Monosso wrecked him, the
Bombers did the same, Langseth nearly ended him, and now Jeff Matthews
has put the cherry on top!  If he wasn't a complete moron with a death
wish, he'd hang up those boots and try to retire with dignity.

GM:  You think Alex Martinez is gonna walk away from this fight?  I
don't have a clue who this Dragon is - I don't know if it's Jeff
Matthews or not - but I don't think he has a single clue what he's done
by firing up the Last American Badboy like he's done.  And I'm told that
Jason Dane is standing by with Jon Stegglet, who has graciously stepped
in to head the Championship Committee over the past couple weeks with
Jim Watkins laid up, to discuss this very topic.  Jason?

[Cut to backstage.  Jason Dane stands with a concerned looking Jon
Stegglet.]

JD:  Thanks, Gordon.  Mr. Stegglet, when last we saw you, you were
advising Alex Martinez to say out of the Rumble.  I understand that this
is the reason why you wanted some time tonight?

JS:  That's right.  This is not in my official capacity as Interim
Chairman of the Championship Committee - not right now.  This is me, Jon
Stegglet, as a man who has known Alex Martinez for a great many years
and considers him to be a close personal friend.  Jason, in a way, I
feel partly responsible for all this because I was the one who brokered
the deal to bring Alex here to the AWA to begin with.

[Dane nods.]

JS:  But again, that's not what this is about.  Let's cut to the chase
and bring Alex out here because there are a few things I'd like to say
to him.

JD:  Mr. Martinez, if you'd join us.

[A moment later, Alex Martinez steps into the scene.  To say he's in
rough shape would be an understatement.  His leather jacket gone,
Martinez wears a plain black T-shirt.  The bulky wrappings on his
shoulder make it stick out on one side.  A black brace over his blue
jeans covers his left knee, and his right hand is wrapped in heavy white
tape.  His mirrored sunglasses barely conceal a black eye.  His steps
are slow and deliberate as he steps towards Dane and Stegglet.  Dane
stands between the two.]

JS:  Alex, I'm glad you could come join us here tonight.  

[Stegglet extends a hand to his friend who doesn't even take his gaze
off him, not moving a muscle.]

AM: Don't take this wrong way, but I've got too much on my mind to be
exchangin' niceties.  Cut to the chase, Steggy.

[Stegglet nods, lowering his hand.]

JS:  Fair enough.  Alex, from the very first time you stepped into an
AWA ring to compete, you've been under siege.  James Monosso, the Blonde
Bombers, Royalty, and now Jeff Matthews...

AM:  Well, you don't have to tell me that.

[Stegglet nods.]

JS:  I know.  And looking at you now? 

[Stegglet stares at his friend.]

JS:  Alex, NO ONE has been around this business for the last fifteen
years doubts your toughness.  We've all seen you battle through things
that would stop any other man.  

But Alex... enough is enough.

[Stegglet shakes his head.]

JS:  The Championship Committee asked me to do this but like I said,
this isn't about them.  This is about us... you and me... we've known
each other since before you stepped into an EMWC ring for the first
time.  

And I'm asking you to take some time off.

[Martinez winces like he's been slapped.]

JS:  The Committee is prepared to offer you an extended leave of absence
- as long as you need to heal up.  But between the shoulder, the hand,
the knee - who knows what else - you simply can't keep this up, Alex. 
No one could.

[Martinez pulls his sunglasses off, and looks at Stegglet.  Jason Dane,
caught between them, looks visibly nervous.]

AM:  You're tellin' me you want me to walk away?  After all that's
happened, you want me to just step away? You want me to let this damned
Dragon win?

[Stegglet shakes his head.]

JS:  Not at all.  I fully expect that you WILL get your hands on the
Dragon whoever he - or she - is and you'll make them pay for everything
they've put you through...

...but not today.  Not tomorrow.  Not next week.  Heck, not even next
month, Alex.

[Stegglet continues, a little more emotion in his voice now.]

JS:  Look at yourself, Alex.  Go find a damned mirror and look at
yourself!  You can barely get around - you look like a shell of
yourself.  And to be honest, you're not thinking straight.  After
everything that went down with Langseth and Matthews at Mayhem, you
STILL tried to get in the ring for the Rumble!  What in the heck were
you thinking?!

AM:  I was thinkin' that it was time to get myself a title shot.

[Stegglet smiles at his friend's courage.]

JS:  You're a tough, stubborn son of a gun, my friend.  But maybe just
this once, it's time to do the SMART thing.  Take some time off...
refresh, recharge... heal up... THEN come back and put this Dragon down
once and for all.

[Martinez glares at his friend long and hard.]

AM:  Ya know somethin', Jon.

[Martinez looks at Stegglet, but then pauses, and exhales, the intensity
in his expression wavering.]

AM:  I think, maybe you're right.

[There's a stunned silence from both Dane and Stegglet.]

AM:  I came here, to the AWA, for a new start.  I came to get back to
the top, and to prove that I am the best.  But what have I got to show
for it?

I got distracted, and when my back was turned, the only friend I've made
here, Juan Vasquez, got pinned in a match he only took to help me out.

I thought I'd put down Monosso, but that crazy bastard is nuttier than
ever.  Did I do that? Did I wake somethin' up in him? Did I somehow
unleash that on the people?

And worst of all?  My pride blinded me.  I went after Marky Langseth,
and was so sure he was the Dragon that I let it blind me. And in the
end?  He beat me, and now, I hear Royalty is gonna have some celebration
tonight.

I gotta ask myself, have I done anythin' except make things darker? 
Have I contributed anythin' work braggin' about?  Maybe, everythin'
would be better if I just walked away.

[A stunned Jason Dane speaks up.]

JD:  Mr. Martinez, what are you saying?

[Martinez shakes his head.]

AM:  Look, the Dragon, whoever he is, has made it clear.  If I want all
this to stop, all I gotta do is walk away.  And here, you are, Stegglet,
tellin' me that its best if I walk away.  Never in my life have I been
the sort to pack it in when the heat got too hot.

But maybe now, its time to change my ways.

I've got nothin' to show for my time here except a lotta bruises.  I'm
busted up bad.  And the truth is, I've had my time in the sun.  I've
been to the mountain top people are always talkin' about.  I've been all
over the world and won gold in just about every place I've been.  Its
time to start askin' myself - is it still worth it?

Truth is? I just don't know anymore.

[Another pause from Martinez.]

AM:  You want me to walk away?  

Well, I'm going to.  

[A nod.]

AM:  And maybe, I'll just keep walkin'.

[With both Dane and Stegglet still stunned, Martinez does just that...
he walks away.  Stegglet shakes his head, visibly upset.]

JD:  Mr. Stegglet, you know him better than most.  What did we just see
here?

JS:  I'm not sure, Jason.  I wanted him to take time off... I really
did... but I never thought he'd take me up on it.  And now this?

JD: What does it mean?

[Stegglet looks down, shaking his head.]

JS:  I just don't know.

[Dane persists.]

JD:  Is he gone for good?

[Stegglet snaps his head up, a bit of anger in his eyes.]

JS:  Damn it, Jason!  I don't-

[He pauses, breathing deeply.]

JS:  Look, I don't know what to tell you, Jason.  I've never seen Alex
like this.  I don't know what happens next.  I've got- lemme see if I
can go talk to him or something...

[Stegglet exits as well, leaving Jason Dane behind.]

JD:  Have we seen the last of Alex Martinez?  All I can say is, fans,
we'll try to keep you posted but for now, we've got to take a quick
break.  We'll be right back with more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[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
ring where Phil Watson is ready to go.]

PW: Introducing first, already in the ring, from Beverly Hills,
California, weighing in at 265 pounds...TROY DEMANG!

[DeMang smirks and holds his arms out to a chorus of boos.]

PW: And his opponent...

["Bad To The Bone" by George Thorogood and the Destroyers kicks up over
the PA, quickly bringing the fans to their feet.  It doesn't take long
for the reason for their excitement 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: 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: And here he is, the exciting newcomer from the Combat Corner, Ricky
Armstrong.

BW: Yeah, he was real exciting in Tulsa when he got dumped from the
Rumble in about 11 seconds, daddy.

GM: It wasn't his best showing, but don't forget he was a last-second
replacement for an injured Sweet Daddy Williams.  There's the bell and
we are underway in Armstrong's second singles match here in the AWA.

[The two grapplers circle and go into a collar and elbow tie up, out of
which DeMang shoves Armstrong to the canvas.  DeMang celebrates by
flexing both biceps mocking the fallen fan favorite.]

GM: Nice display of power shown there by Troy DeMang and with both
competitors being from the Los Angeles area, Bucky, you have to wonder
if they have tangled before elsewhere.

BW: Don't know.  Don't care.  Neither one of 'em is relevant in the AWA.

[Back on his feet, Armstrong again goes for a collar and elbow, but this
time ducks underneath and applies a rear waistlock.]

GM: And young Ricky using his quickness there goes under and has
DeMang...back elbow by DeMang misses as Armstrong saw it coming and
ducked it!

[Quickly, Ricky shoves DeMang chest-first into the nearby ropes.  Troy
rebounds backward toward a waiting Armstrong, who executes a rolling
reverse cradle.  Pop!]

GM: Armstrong with the cradle and the bridge, count of one...two...but
DeMang able to power out of it just before the three count.  Both
competitors on their feet, and Ricky's quickness again coming into play
as he takes DeMang down with a deep armdrag into a kneeling armbar!  A
fine display of mat-based wrestling, Bucky.

BW: Doin' it against Troy DeMang ain't quite the same as doin' it
against a guy like Nenshou, though.

GM: True indeed, but nonetheless, young Mr. Armstrong is showing off
some impressive skills.  Both men now to a vertical base, DeMang looking
for an escape...he drops down and tosses Ricky over and out, but no! 
Ricky hangs into the armbar!

[DeMang slaps the mat in frustration before signaling to the referee
that Armstrong pulled his hair.  Seeing that go nowhere, DeMang again
works to his feet and into the ropes.]

GM: And now they're tied up in the ropes with the official trying to pry
them apart...

[Heel pop!]

GM: Oooh!  DeMang with a thumb to the eye!  A cheap tactic indeed.

BW: Turnabout's fair play, daddy!  Armstrong just pulled his hair!

GM: He did not!

[Taking advantage of the situation, DeMang delivers a HARD forearm smash
to the upper back of Armstrong, then a kneelift that sends the youngster
down to the mat.]

GM: DeMang taking control now, hits the ropes and
elbowdroooopppp...NOBODY HOME!  Armstrong rolls out of the way!  DeMang
back up...and a HIGH dropkick from Ricky Armstrong sends him right back
down to the mat!  Did you see the elevation on that dropkick, Bucky?

BW: The ring crew did a terrible job setting up tonight.  I thought the
ring looked like it had too much bounce in it earlier, but this...this
just confirms it.

[Armstrong is starting to get fired up now, slapping his head with both
hands and dropping into a wide stance.  The crowd starts to heat up as
well, getting behind the fiery youngster.]

GM: Ricky waiting for DeMang to get up...a wild haymaker misses the mark
as Troy spins right into a full nelson from Armstrong...

[And wasting no time once locking on the full nelson, Armstrong quickly
hoists DeMang into the air and over his head...

THUD!]

GM: OH MY STARS!  What a beautifully executed full nelson suplex by
Ricky Armstrong!

BW: That's called a dragon suplex, Myers!  Get with the times, daddy!

[Instead of holding the bridge, Armstrong hops back up and points to the
corner, drawing a big pop from the fans.]

GM: DeMang got planted with that move, whatever it's called, and now
Ricky's going to the top...it might be time for the move he calls the
Hollywood Hangover...and it is!  Flying splash off the top rope hits the
mark and that's got to be it!  One...two...three!  Young Ricky Armstrong
is victorious again in his second singles match in the AWA!

[Slightly favoring his ribs as he stands, Armstrong has his arm hoisted
into the air by the official as the fans cheer the talented youngster.]

PW: Here is your winner...RICKYYYY ARRRMSTROOOOOOONG!

[Ricky pumps his fist and points to the crowd, then gives them the
thumbs up.]

GM: Another impressive showing for the young man out of Hollywood,
California, and we are about to get a word with him now.

[Indeed, an excited Ricky Armstrong walks into the camera view at the
announce table.  He offers a handshake to Gordon Myers, who accepts, and
even to Bucky Wilde who also accepts but with much less enthusiasm.]

GM: Ricky, congratulations on your second win here in the AWA.

[Ricky nods and pumps his right fist.]

RA: Yeah, man, thanks a lot, Mr. Myers!  Feels good to get a win after
that less-than-stellar showing I had in the Memorial Day Rumble, you
know what I mean?

[He grins sheepishly.]

RA: Wasn't my best night and I ain't gonna make any excuses for it.  I
know I wasn't supposed to be in there and was just hanging around
backstage when Mr. Williams got hurt, so they asked me to fill in for
him.  I wasn't ready and I should've been.  Todd Michaelson taught me a
lot of things-

[Bucky interrupts.]

BW: That's your first problem.

[Ricky doesn't break stride in his comments.]

RA: Your personal problems with him aside, Mr. Wilde, one of the things
he taught me is to ALWAYS be ready to take advantage of your opportunity
when it presents itself.  I didn't keep that advice in mind and,
well...I'm pretty embarrassed by it.  What you saw there, that was NOT
the real Ricky Armstrong.  No, baby, the REAL Ricky Armstrong is
bringin' the noise, always with poise.

[He nods, getting more fired up by the second.]

RA: What you saw right there tonight, baby, that's just a little
taste...a small sample of what comin' down the pike courtesy of this
guy.  You know that old saying, right, Mr. Myers?

[To the side, Bucky snickers, no doubt over the possibilities of "old"
jokes.]

RA: Fool me once, shame on you; fool me twice, shame on me?

GM: Yes, I am quite familiar with that saying.

RA: Yeah.  Well, I've had a golden opportunity once already and I didn't
make good on it.

[Armstrong shakes his head.]

RA: It ain't gonna happen twice!

I'm not gonna bore you with all the worked too hard, too long cliche
stuff.  Everybody works hard in this business, and especially in the
AWA.  So I'm just gonna say this, and then I'll get out of here so the
show can go on.

[Ricky pauses, a determined look on his face as he points right at the
camera.]

RA: In the next several weeks, everyone's gonna find out what I mean
when I say it's go time.  And Mr. Myers?

[Going from determined, Ricky now grins ear to ear.]

RA: IT'S GO TIME!

[Clapping his hand together, Ricky points at the crowd and exits the
announce area.]

BW: If that means it's time for him go?  I'm all for go time.

GM: Quite an exciting youngster is this Ricky Armstrong, and I for one
look forward to seeing more of him in the coming months.

BW: That makes one of us.

GM:  And now, we're gonna go right back up to the ring for more action! 


[Gordon pauses, listening through his headset.]

GM:  My apologies, fans.  I'm told that Mark Stegglet is in the crowd
here in Little Rock with a special guest.  Mark?

[Cut to Mark Stegglet, out in an aisle of the stands. Of course, since
the cameras on them, the fans all start to wave while some act goofy as
Stegglet walks down a couple rows.]

MS: Mark Stegglet here, actually in the crowd as I stand next to a
relative of Johnny Sone, who's set to compete next...

[Stegglet stops as he approaches the seat of an older Asian man with
thinning, receding silver hair from under the tartan drivers cap atop he
head. We wears a basic white polo and worn-in khaki pants. As he gets
up, he smiles and offers a hand to Stegglet for a shake.]

MS: If my information is correct, you're actually the uncle of Johnny
Sone and brother of the late Goku Waru, Fudo Waru?

[The older man nods.]

FS: Yes, that's right, but please, the Waru name for me is... It's not
something I wish to bear now, out respect of my brother. I go by my
family name - the name Johnny goes by, Sone.

MS: Oh, sorry about that.

FS: No worries... It was the name built by my brother and a name I went
by when I was in the business, managing too. So it's okay.

MS: Well, it's good to see you here. Did you come to watch your nephew
tonight?

[Fudo nods.]

FS: Yes, absolutely! To my brother, Johnny was his greatest thing to
happen in his life - greater than the championships that he won in his
past and greater than the champions that he managed. So it's my honor to
be able to watch Johnny now, following in my brother's footsteps.

[Fudo gets a sheepish look on his somewhat wrinkled face.]

FS: I just wish that... that I had the means to see him in person
earlier. But, time how they are now and...

[Fudo trails off, knowing he's said more than needed. He covers with a
big smile, though.]

FS: But I'm happy to be here now, to see him tonight, Mark!

MS: Well, it's great that you made it and I hope you enjoy the rest of
the show. Let's go back down to the ring for the next match!

[Stegglet shakes Fudo's hand once again before the shot crossfades to
the ring where Phil Watson stands by.]

PW:  The following contest is set for one fall with a ten minute time
limit.  Introducing first... from Los Angeles, California... weighing in
at 217 pounds... 

JOHNNY SOOOOOOONNNNE!

[The electronic/pop sounds of Capsulte's "Jumper" plays as the Little
Rock fans give out some cheers for the young wrestler. Sone's dressed in
green and silver wrestling shorts with matching boots. He races down to
the ring 

GM: Johnny Sone, back on AWA TV after some time off.

BW: Yeah, and if doesn't do something soon, that might be permanent,
Gordo.

GM: He has been on a losing streak after scoring that big win against
Eric Preston earlier this year. But he still has a ton of potential,
having just turned twenty-one this past month.

BW: Potential is just that, potential. This kid jumped from the indies
to the big leagues and I, for one, don't think he can handle it yet.
Maybe some time in the Combat Corner would do him well.

[The sound of a bullwhip cracking echoes through the complex.]

PW:  And his opponent...

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

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

"DIRTY" DICK BASS!

[The crowd lets out a huge chrous of boos as "Dirty" Dick Bass passes
through the entrance.]

GM: These Little Rock fans certainly don't like to see Dick Bass here
tonight!

BW: Yeah, and I'm sure Bass doesn't care.

["Dirty" Dick Bass - dressed in his usual garb of black Stetson hat,
black trunks, knee pads, boots, and a leather vest - cracks his
bullwhip, Delilah, in the direction of some nearby fans booing him.]

GM: Now that's uncalled for! He almost hit those fans with that whip of
his!

BW: Then they should stop their sass, Gordo!  Though, I'm sure Bass
would still try to whip them anyway just for being there.

[Bass makes his way to the ring, a foul mood upon his handlebar
moustached face. After stepping through the ropes, he gives a menacing
look over in the direction of his opponent before cracking the whip once
again.]

GM: The referee now asking Bass for the whip, and... I don't think
that's a good idea.

BW: Doubt it - I think Bass only likes two things in this world: that
hat of his and his Delilah.

[Dick Bass kind of smiles at the ref, as if he's going to comply... but
instead spits down a foul looking pool of spit onto the ref's shoes
before threatening to backhand the ref with the now coiled whip.]

GM: The disrespect this man shows practically everyone is stunning! I
don't think I've ever seen such a man like him.

[Bass finally puts aside his whip and Stetson as Johnny Sone approaches
the center of the ring in time for the bell.]

"DING! DING! DING!"

GM: And here we go! It's the speed and agility of Johnny Sone go up
against the brute force of Dick Bass!

BW: It's also some kid taking on one of the meanest men in the game.
Bass put many men down for the three count in PCW - men bigger,
stronger, and more experienced that his kid. Sone's in over his head in
this one, Gordo.

[If he is, Sone doesn't know it as he's fired up and yells for Bass to
come out of the corner for the match. Bass, who's been wrapping his whip
around the ringpost, turns with a menacing glare.]

BW: Bad move, kid! Why provoke Dick Bass? Just attack him if his back's
turned.

GM: Johnny Sone has more honor than that, Bucky. He wants Bass to start
this match instead of tending to that whip Delilah!

[Bass points and gives some words the censors would worry about before
approaching Sone.]

GM: Sone and Bass circling each other now, both trying to get a feel for
other. 

[The two finally approach and meet in a collar and elbow tie-up, which
Bass quickly takes control. Backing Sone into the corner, Bass holds
Sone's head and delivers a shot to the jaw of the third-generation
wrestler.]

GM: Bass with a hard right to the face of Sone in the corner! And
another! And another! Bass is fired up tonight!

[Bass reads Sone the riot act before grabbing the younger wrestler by
the hair and smashing his face into the turnbuckle. Bass then grabs Sone
and drag his face across the top rope as the fans get on his case.
Before the ref can even admonish Bass, the Tampa native throws Sone
through the ropes onto the floor below.]

GM: Dick Bass showing why he earned the nickname "Dirty" right here,
ladies and gentlemen!

BW: I didn't see him do anything I didn't like.

GM: He raked Johnny Sone's eyes across the top rope!

BW: Easier to fight a guy that can't see, right? It's tactics!

GM: Oh, give me a break! This man's just doing it because he thinks he
can!

[Bass steps through the ropes and grabs Sone by the hair, flinging him
into the ringpost chest first.]

GM: Sone is definitely out of his element here, ringside with this wild
brawler.

BW: The kid got lippy and now he's paying the price, daddy! This should
learn him some respect next time around!

[Bass stomps away at Sone, viciously hitting boot after boot down to the
center of the chest.]

GM: Bass stomping down hard, right at the point of impact that Sone hit
the ringpost!

BW: Bass is wild, he's ruthless, he's a brute out there, but he's also a
very experienced wrestler. He knows what he's doing out there, that's
for sure.

[With the ref's count nearing ten, Bass rolls in Sone and follows in to
continue the assault with more stomps to the chest. Finally, Bass climbs
the near post to the middle turnbuckle and slams down his boot from up
high.]

GM: Bass finishing off those stomps with some height-assisted blunt
force trauma there!

BW: And look at the agony on the face of Johnny Sone! Bass' assault
could have done some serious damage with all the hits to the chest,
Gordo.

[Indeed, Sone gasps as he clutches at his chest before Bass drops down
for a cover.]

GM: First cover of the match! One! Two! No, Sone shoots the shoulder up!

[Just breaking the cover is enough to get the young man from Los Angeles
to wince in pain. Bass doesn't relent as he drags Sone up and pushes him
into the turnbuckle back-first, popping Sone with some taped right
hands.]

GM: Bass really laying into Sone now with those right hands to that
injured midsection.

BW: Simple and effective!

[Sone - maybe out of desperation or on just pure instinct - starts to
return the favor, shooting his arms out wildly.]

GM: And now Johnny Sone tries to answer back with some shots of his own!

BW: How smart is it to try to out-slug a guy like Dick Bass?

[Sone's flurry catches Bass on his chest and arms, but nothing to
seriously put a dent in Bass' control. Bass almost cracks a smile -
almost - before laying in one well placed punch to the jaw.]

GM: Oh! That one caught Johnny Sone square in the face!

BW: Right on the jaw, Gordo! He's on dream street now!

[Bass catches the wobbly Sone and hoists him high up only to send him
down with force on the top of the turnbuckle.]

GM: Huge flapjack sends Sone crashing chest first on the turnbuckle!

BW: That should be it, Gordo, if only for Sone's own well-being. If the
ref lets this continue, he could have something broken. I wouldn't put
breaking bones past Dick Bass!

GM: That might just happen now, Bass with the cover - One! Two! Three!

[The crowd cheers, though, as Sone JUST kicks out before the referee
could make the third count.]

GM: No! Only two, but so close!

[Dick Bass looks at the ref with a sneer and barks at him about the
count. The ref only keeps raising two fingers, shaking his head.  A
furious Bass takes to his feet, showing three fingers in response.]

BW: Bass SHOULD be angry - that count was slow! This minor league ref's
probably still angry about his shoes.

GM: Not that I buy the referee has a vendetta, but maybe you shouldn't
provoke the referee before your match, then?

BW: First, it was a spit-shine. And second, they're supposed to be above
petty things like that!

[As Bass gets more irate at the ref, the fans start to cheer as Johnny
Sone drags himself up - clutching his midsection.]

GM: Bass shouldn't forget about the ref and focus on the man he's
actually fighting! The man that's up on two feet and right behind him!

BW: Don't turn around - he won't attack you if you don't turn!

[Whether or not that's true, Bass does indeed turn around as Johnny Sone
whips himself around and delivers a heel first kick that catches the mug
of Dick Bass.]

GM: What a kick! Bass is down! Just like that, Johnny Sone's changed
this match with that spinning kick to the head!

BW: Should've listened, Bass!

GM: Sone with the cover! One! Two - no! Bass gets a shoulder up. Now
that was, I believe, Johnny Sone's only big hit of the match so far, but
what a game changer!

BW: That's what this kid needs to do more of - stop trying to brawl with
Bass and start leveraging your speed and your own offense to put him
down. He should know that going into the match, not four minutes into
it.

[Sone drags Dick Bass and sends him into the ropes only to take him down
with a drop toe hold.]

GM: Sone takes Bass down and now he's going up top! Listen to these
Little Rock fans! They're behind him - and his Uncle, Fudo, is here to
cheer him on!

[Sone takes a moment to looks around at the crowd while atop the
turnbuckle... and then down at Bass.. before flying off the top!]

GM: Sone leaps and hi- NO! Bass rolled out of the way! Sone tried for a
knee drop from the top but only caught the canvas! 

BW: Too much time and for that? Sone needed to put work Bass over more
before going for a high risk move.

[Bass forcibly drags up Sone, laying a boot into his midsection to
double him over.]

BW: I think we all know what's coming up next - the end of Johnny Sone!

["Dirty" Dick Bass lifts Sone up from the double underhook position and
then drops him down across his bent knee.]

GM: Bass Breaker! Such a devastating maneuver! Bass with the cover -
one! Two! Three!

"DING!  DING!  DING!"

BW: The ref can count to a thousand, there is NO getting up from that,
daddy!

[Bass shoves himself off of Sone and gives some words to the ref who
tries to raise his in victory. Bass goes to his corner to untangle his
Delilah and put on his prized Stetson.]

GM: A decisive victory for "Dirty" Dick Bass tonight, showing exactly
why he was such a force while in PCW.

BW: He plainly beat Johnny Sone at every step. Even the brief moment
Sone took control, it was almost never in doubt for Dick Bass tonight.

GM: And Dick Bass continues to be impressive, building off his strong
performance in the Rumble to right here tonight in Little Rock, Bucky. 
If Bass keeps this up, the Championship Committee is going to have to
consider getting him into the title picture, Bucky.

BW:  Just what Vasquez needs.  Another rough and tumble brawler who can
turn his lights out in a hurry.

GM:  Maybe it'll be Nenshou facing "Dirty" Dick!

BW:  Nah.  Percy's too smart to let that happen.

[Bass exits the ring, leaving the motionless Johnny Sone behind as he
heads back towards the locker room as 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 a wide shot of the ring that is already filled
with people.  

In the center of the ring sits an ornate chair, and on a nearby podium
sits a golden crown. The throne is flanked on either side by the AWA Tag
Team Champions Rough 'n Ready, looking the part of the Secret Service in
their RayBan sunglasses.  

Around the ring area, The First Family are seen chatting with The Blonde
Bombers, while Larry Doyle appears to be putting the moves on Eve. 
Count Adrian Bathwaite is dressed to the nines in a dark green jacket
that is adorned with formal golden-colored epilauts and a patchwork of
service ribbons on the right breast, while Sultan Azam Sharif rocks the
house royal-purple bisht with gold, green, and scarlet patterned trim,
much more form-fitting than his usual choice of clothing. The South
Philly Phighter has also made the trip for the event, wearing an
unwashed Tuxedo T-shirt and ripped jeans. Dressed in a Meiji-era suit
and bowtie ensemble, Louie Matsui is trying to drum up some new
business, but obviously hasn't done his homework, as Pieter Wilhem de
Klerk crosses his arms over his Khaki-colored army uniform, barely
hiding his contempt at the pesky Asian. And decked out in the corner in
a full court jester ensemble stands Zyppo D. Klown, frantically working
over two handfuls of long, colorful balloons.]

GM: Welcome back fans, and as you can see, the ring has filled with
wrestlers here to pay tribute at the so-called "Coronation" of Mark
Langseth.

BW: What a beautiful day this is, Gordo!  The AWA is without a soul no
longer, for now we will have a king to rule over us!

[The camera cuts to a close up of the golden crown, with the letters A,
W, and A spelled out in colored gemstones.]

GM: And there is the "crown" that will be presented to Mark Langseth
tonight.  Looks a bit more like a tiara to me...

BW: If that's a tiara, Gordo, then that's the most macho tiara you'll
find anywhere!  Joe Petrow has said that he has spent over $40,000 on
this crown, and if it's true that the red A is made of rubies, the white
W is made of diamonds, and the blue A is made of sapphires, then I
wouldn't doubt that price a bit!

[Cut back to the ringside steps, as we see the man in the pink tuxedo
from Memorial Day Mayhem making his way to the podium.]

GM: Once again we are graced by the presence of Mark Langseth's own
"personal ring announcer" Ken Graham, and it looks like he is about to
get this underway.

[The timekeeper rings the bell to get everyone's attention...no, it is
not Cameron O'Connor today...the bell ringing gives rises to more boos
than silence, as the smirking Ken Graham speaks:]

KG: Ladies and gentlemen.  It is now your pleasure for me to introduce a
man that needs no introduction!  The mere mention of his name is the
personification of so many things.  Honesty!  Integrity!  Determination!
 Intelligence!  And, of course, Greatness!  A man whom, if he only so
chose to rule the world, would eliminate the need for democracy, as he
would create a perfect Utopia!

It is now time to welcome the AWA's ONLY undefeated superstar, the ONLY
man in AWA history to defeat the giant Alex Martinez, and the ONLY man
whom Juan Vasquez fears more than the Devil himself, the Hall of Fame
Legend...

[Super dramatic pause]

KG: MAAAAAAAARRRRRRK LAAAAAAAAAAAAANGSETH!

[Stabbing Westward's "Save Yourself (Re-Recorded/Remastered)" roars over
the PA system, but to everyone's surprise, it is a little girl in braces
and pigtails, wearing a white dress and carrying a huge wicker basket,
who appears aside the red carpet, muffling the crowds boos.]

GM: Um...what is this?

BW: Ain't you ever been to a royal ceremony before?

[Soon we see that the the girl slowly is walking alongside the carpet
towards the ring, throwing red and white flower petals onto the red
carpet.  Finally making his appearance from behind the curtain is Mark
Langseth, dressed every bit is fine as the accompanying founder of
Royalty, Joe Petrow.  Langseth walks slowly down the red carpet, taking
in the imagined cheers from the crowd, while a frantic Petrow rushes
ahead, screaming at the girl "FASTER!  MORE PETALS!"

GM: I would say that this is getting ridiculous now, but this has
already been ridiculous for a long time.

BW: Better not let the King hear you say that.  That could be considered
blasphemy!

GM: Let me say this about Mark Langseth. He is a bona fide
Hall-of-Famer.  He debuted in the AWA in 2009, and he has not lost a
match since.  And, regardless of the methods used, he DID defeat Alex
Martinez last week.  But this man has been EXTREMELY selective in his
appearances in the AWA.  Had he wrestled with the frequency of other AWA
superstars, he may well have earned an AWA National title shot long ago.
 But he has insisted on playing by his own rules, so if he and Joe
Petrow feel that he has been slighted by this organization in any way,
then that is his own damned fault!

BW: You just don't get it Gordon. Over a lifetime of achievement and
sacrifice, this man has EARNED special consideration!  He IS special! 
If Juan Vasquez understood ANYTHING about respect, he would have BEGGED
Mr. Langseth for the honor of defending that championship against him as
soon as he got it!

GM: Past accomplishments are great, Bucky, but all that matters in the
AWA is what you accomplish in the AWA!

BW: And look at what he's accomplished!  Nobody's beaten him in three
years!

GM: It's hard to lose when you don't wrestle!

BW: He just wrestled last week!

GM: [deep sigh] Regardless, Mark Langseth has _finally_ stepped foot in
the ring, and is about to take his seat on that

[CLAP! CLAP! CLAP!]

GM: Will you sit down!?

BW: Will _you_ stand up!? This is HISTORY we're about to witness!

[Mark Langseth takes his seat on the throne, pride oozing out of every
pore in his body.  Joe Petrow stands at the podium, reaching inside and
pulling out a large parchment scroll, ignoring the deafening boos from
the crowd as he leans into the microphone to speak:]

JP: HEAR YE, HEAR YE!

[More boos at the thought of the corny faux-formal tribute that is about
to take place]

JP:  In light of yet ANOTHER miraculous accomplishment, we are gathered
here today, to formally recognize the man sitting before you, the
undefeated Hall of Fame legend Mark Langseth, and his ascension to the
throne, as the undisputed KING of the AWA!

Royal Proclamation #1 states...AND I QUOTE!

[The unnecessary clarification would prompt the crowd to boo louder, if
they only could...Petrow speaks slowly and with great stress on
enunciation:]

JP: WHEREAS Mark Langseth is the AWA's ONLY Hall of Fame Superstar!

WHEREAS Mark Langseth is the ONLY man in AWA history to remain
undefeated for three years!

WHEREAS in defeating Alex Martinez last week, Mark Langseth has
disproven all of that ugly troll's slanderous lies, and proved without a
shadow of a doubt to EVERYONE that Mark Langseth is a man beyond
reproach!

WHEREAS the current AWA National Champion is a coward of a fraud of a
shell of a man who REFUSES to put his title on the line against Royalty!

WHEREAS the so-called top contender to the AWA National Championship is
a low-brow, old-man beating common THUG who should be behind bars
instead of inside these ropes!

[Cut to a shot of Adrian Bathwaite and Azam Sharif, Sharif nodding in
feverish agreement and screaming "KHANGE KHODAH!", then back to Petrow]

JP: And WHEREAS the AWA needs a SAVIOR to see it through these dark
times, and to INSPIRE us all to a better tomorrow!

By the powers vested in me as the founder of Royalty, I hereby proclaim
the Hall of Fame legend Mark Langseth to be the undisputed KING of the
AWA!

[Joe Petrow picks up the crown, turns towards the seated Langseth, and
reverently places the crown atop Langseth's head, turning back to the
crowd to complete his proclamation:]

JP: ALL HAIL KING LANGSETH!!!

[An orchestra rendition of "The Great Gate of Kiev" plays as the
formally ordained King Mark Langseth stands and raises his arms to
acknowledge the cheers from the crowd that have yet to manifest itself
in reality.  From behind the throne, Rough and Ready retrieve a dazzling
blue and white sequined robe with "King Langseth" written on the back,
and quickly robe the newly-crowned King, who pirouettes in a slow 360
with arms outstretched to display his majesty.]

BW: Beautiful.  Absolutely beautiful.  Excuse me Gordo, I must pay my
respects to the King!

GM: Where are you going?

[But a pop is heard, and the camera cuts back to show Bucky Wilde
ripping his headphones off and leaving to enter the ring.  A line has
already formed with the people in the ring waiting to pay tribute. 
Currently, a perplexed Mark Langseth is on the receiving end of a
vigorous double-handshake from the jester, wearing a large balloon crown
of his own making, as Joe Petrow bites his finger in the background,
regretting extending an invitation to Zyppo D. Klown.]

GM: Well, it appears that Joe Petrow's Royal Coronation for Mark
Langseth has been a success, more or less, as the wrestlers proceed to
give their congratulations.

[An even more perplexed Mark Langseth is on the receiving end of a
verbal "tribute" from Sultan Azam Sharif, Petrow trying to
diplomatically move him along...]

GM: I notice that none of the participants are going so far as to give
what Royalty describes as the "proper" respect, though Royalty does not
seem to require that when the numbers are not in their favor...

[Thankfully for Petrow, the situation in the ring seems to have mellowed
out a bit, with Louie Matsui, Pieter Wilhem de Klerk, The South Philly
Phighter, The First Family, and The Blonde Bombers providing more
subdued tributes, and the reverent praise from paid shills Bucky Wilde
and Ken Graham have returned King Langseth to his regular heightened
state of hubris, as he waves one more time towards the adoring fans he
is seeing in his mind before heading to the ropes.]

GM: Oh my stars and...now Mark Langseth is getting carried away.
Literally!

[Indeed, a traveling throne, carried by four men of no importance, has
appeared at ringside, and the majestically crowned and robed Mark
Langseth takes his seat on his new form of transportation.  Another
headset pop is heard...]

GM: Nice of you to join again us Bucky!

BW: Gordo, I have to admit I've been a bit down these past few months,
knowing that a guy like Juan Vasquez was representing us, but I don't
have to be down any more!  Because now we have a KING to rule over us! 
A good king, a benevolent king, and a King that we can all be proud of! 
ALL HAIL KING LANGSETH!

[As the majestic "Great Gate of Kiev" continues to play, we see the rest
of Royalty and the remainder of the guests filing along behind the
throne as King Mark Langseth, still waving to his "adoring fans", is
carried towards the back of the aisle...

...as we fade to black.

A voiceover comes from the blackness.

"The following announcement has been paid for by Royalty."

[Cut to a backstage AWA backdrop, and an all-to-familiar manager...]

JP: Greetings humanoids, this is the Eternal World Champion and founder
of Royalty Joe Petrow, here to introduce the latest Royalty goods,
available on awashop dot com!

[Petrow snaps his fingers, and a cute blonde with a poofed up 80's style
hairdo walks into the shot wearing an oversized dark blue t-shirt]

JP: Let the world know that you are a loyal follower of King Langseth
with this all-new Royalty t-shirt!

[The smiling woman faces the camera, allowing us to get a good look at
the air-brushed visage of King Langseth, arrogantly sitting on a throne
with his royal robe and crown, flanked on either side by the tag-belt
wearing, Rayban glaring Rough 'n Ready members, a smiling Joe Petrow
behind them all, spreading his arms out to encompass his charge, and the
large old-English script word ROYALTY written underneath.]

JP: These shirts are made with 10% cotton, and are sold right here in
the good old U S of A!

[Petrow twirls his finger, imploring the woman to turn around, upon
which we see that the back of the shirt has three words, all with
old-English capitalization:

Hustle.

Royalty.

Respect.]

JP: These shirts come in American sizes of double, triple, and quadruple
XL for the low low price of $29.99!  And all proceeds go directly into
the pockets of Royalty! [quiet aside] alright, beat it toots!

[The lady's painted smile turns into a disgusted scowl as she stalks out
of the shot.  Petrow continues his shill, holding up a small thin box
with many pictures of Mark Langseth in action.]

JP: And coming soon on DVD, The Definitive AWA Mark Langseth Collection,
containing every winning moment of King Langseth's two decades of AWA
dominance, all overdubbed with special commentary by the King himself!

[Cut to a shot of match footage. A hard stomp to the shoulder forces
Martinez to roll to his stomach, wincing in pain and cradling the
injured arm.  Langseth stands above him, his feet by the head of his
downed rival.]

ML: That's it!  Crawl, crawl at my feet you worthless scum!  Apologize
to the greatest wrestler of all time, and your better in every way!  I
am King Langseth!  ALL HAIL KING LANGSETH!

[Cut back to a smiling Petrow, who finishes off the hard sell]

JP: So show your pride, your appreciation, and your dollars to Royalty
by visiting awashop dot com slash royalty today!  And ALL HAIL KING
LANGSETH!!

[Pause on Petrow's cheesy grin for an uncomfortable number of seconds
before fading out...

...and back to live action where Phil Watson is standing.]

PW:  This tag team contest is scheduled for one fall... introducing
first, to my left, at a total combined weight of 450 pounds... the team
of Jonathan Johnson and Stanley Stonebreaker!

[Two men, both with brown hair, one in red wrestling trunks and boots
and the other in black wrestling tights and white boots, raise their
hands to no crowd response.

And then, suddenly, two men come rushing out from the back... their
identities will be made known by Gordon and Bucky.]

GM: Rough N Ready heading down the aisle quickly!

BW: They aren't going to waste anytime!

[Phil Watson is quick to duck out of the ring before even introducing
the National tag team champs, who toss their belts aside as Dave Cooper
is first to duck between the ropes and rush the opposition with Eric
Matthew Somers close behind.]

GM: And look at this... Rough N Ready going right after Johnson and
Stonebreaker!

[Dave pummels Johnson, the man in the red trunks, in the corner, while
Stonebreaker tries to intervene, only to be clotheslined from behind by
Eric.]

BW: Rough N Ready already with a big win at Memorial Day Mayhem... this
is just recreational activity tonight, Gordo!

GM: Joe Petrow coming out from the back now where they've set Mark
Langseth up-

BW:  King Mark Langseth, Gordo.

GM:  I will NOT call him that.  They set him up near the back so he can
watch his allies in action... and look at the smile on Joe Petrow's
face.

[Indeed, Petrow has a huge grin as he watches Dave Cooper take Johnson
over with a belly to belly suplex as Somers drags Stonebreaker up and
delivers a gutwrench suplex.]

BW: Look at that display, Gordo! That's why they are the tag team
champions!

GM: The referee trying to get control but Somers and Cooper are paying
him no mind!

[Cooper sends Johnson into the ropes and connects with a roaring elbow
as Somers drags Stonebreaker up again, this time unleashing a monster
chokeslam.]

BW: Like I said, Gordo, this is recreational activity... just a chance
for Cooper and Somers to prove to a couple of wannabes what it means to
get in the ring with Royalty!

GN: Cooper and Somers with a double whip on Johnson... big double hip
toss! And now Somers rushes forward... he clotheslines Johnson right
over the ropes!

[Cooper has turned to Stonebreaker, whipping him into the ropes and
catching him with a spinebuster.]

BW: Cooper just made the motion to Somers.. time to finish the job!

GM: There hasn't been any tagging in and out... it's just Cooper and
Somers destroying the opposition!

BW: And doing a mighty fine job of it!

[Cooper goes to the second rope as Somers grabs Stonebreaker around the
neck.  He powers him into the air, smashing him down to the mat with a
thunderous uranage slam just as Cooper leaps off the buckles with a
crushing kneedrop to the skull.]

GM: ROUGH HOUSING!

BW: Count that pinfall!

GM: One... two... three! This one's over!

BW: Was there ever any doubt?

[Stonebreaker is motionless on the canvas as Johnson rolls in to check
him, but he's immediately grabbed by Somers in a chokehold.

And before Watson can make the announcement, Joe Petrow takes the mic
from him, then enters the ring.]

JP: Ladies and gentlemen, your winners are the greatest tag team in the
world today... at Memorial Day Mayhem, they proved once again why they
are truly Royalty... your AWA National Tag Team Champions... the big
man, Lord Eric Matthew Somers... and the man they call "The
Professional," Lord David Cooper... I give you... ROUGH N READY!

[Dave has been stomping away on Stonebreaker as Somers drags Johnson up
and nails him with a heart punch. Dave takes the mic from Petrow.]

DC: At Memorial Day Mayhem, we proved to the Rockstars just why you
don't cross our paths... and moments ago, we saw the greatest wrestler
in the world today take his rightful place as the king of wrestling...
and it has certainly been a truly great night for Royalty... but then I
talked to Joe and Mark for a bit and we just felt...there was something
missing.

[Eric kicks the downed Johnson, then does the same to Stonebreaker.]

DC: You see, the only way to follow a coronation and truly make this a
night to remember... is to see to it that a few people in the AWA show
some proper respect to the king! And while Joe, Mark, Eric and I can all
think of a few people who are at the top of that list, we figured these
two lambs they sent to our slaughter will do just fine.

[Cooper lowers the mic, gesturing to his partner.]

GM: Wait a minute... you don't tell me he's going to...

[Cooper's voice cuts off Gordon's.]

DC: So without further ado, I'll allow Mr. Petrow to make the proper
introduction.

[He then returns the mic to Petrow as Eric now wedges a boot into the
throat of Johnson as Dave turns his attentions to Stonebreaker, placing
his boot into Stonebreaker's throat.  Petrow raises the mic.]

JP:  And now... if our esteemed King would join us down in the ring to
make thie night TRULY Royal!

[A grinning Langseth rises, barking an order at the members of the
enhancement talent brigade carrying his throne.  They walk him back
towards the ring, lowering it slightly so he can step straight off the
throne and through the ropes into the ring.  He still has the crown on
his head and the new sparking robe on his back as he looks down at the
two men at his feet.]

JP:  Lord Cooper... if you please...

[Cooper smirks, nodding his head as he drags Stonebreaker towards a
waiting Mark Langseth...

...when suddenly the crowd ERUPTS!]

GM:  YEAH!  YEAH!  GET 'EM!!

[Jackson Haynes and Danny Morton come TEARING through the entrance
curtain, sprinting the distance of the aisle...

...while Joe Petrow screams and shouts for his men to get clear.  Mark
Langseth is the first to the floor, his crown falling off his head as he
bails out.  He frantically scrambles to retrieve it before hurdling the
barricade, leaping into the rabid crowd.  Petrow is right behind him,
clearing out of the ring as Dave Cooper and Eric Matthew Somers meet
Haynes and Morton in the middle of the ring, trading blows!]

GM:  The National Tag Team Champions and the Number One contenders are
throwin' down!

[The crowd is lit up on fire as Morton hammers Cooper back towards the
ropes...

...and takes him up and over to the floor with a running clothesline!  A
shocked Joe Petrow grabs Cooper by the arm, pulling him to his feet and
dragging him to the barricade where he shoves "The Professional" over
the railing into the crowd.]

GM:  Morton clears out Dave Cooper!

[And Haynes just throws rights and lefts, trying to batter Somers off
his feet.  But the big man returns fire, refusing to go out like that...

...until Danny Morton sprints across the ring, leaping up on the back of
Somers, toppling him into the ropes where both men take a moment to
hammer away at the big man.  Each man grabs an arm, flinging Somers
across the ring...]

GM:  YEAH!!

[The crowd ROARS as Violence Unlimited connects with a double running
shoulder tackle that knocks Somers clear off his feet where he rolls
under the ropes, fleeing the scene along with his partners-in-crime as
Haynes and Morton shout at him, challenging them to get back into the
ring.]

GM:  The champs are runnin' for it, Bucky!  Royalty is running away like
thieves in the night!

BW:  They ruined it, Gordo!  Those Violence Unlimited punks ruined
everything!

[The crowd goes wild as a fuming Jackson Haynes points a menacing finger
at the retreating members of Royalty. The wild-eyed brawler from
Tennessee picks up the microphone off the mat and screams at the
foursome from afar.]

JH: ROYALTY! The next time anyone's lips are gonna touch anyone's feet
around here is when I shove my boot down all your throats!

[The crowd pops big for Haynes' proclamation, as Royalty reacts
angrily.]

JH: You think we give a damn that you come out here, give yourself fancy
little names and put that poof, Langseth, on a throne?

[Haynes looks over his shoulder.]

JH: Danny! Show'em what we think 'bout "nobility" 'round here!

[A smirking Morton suddenly rushes forward, FLINGING himself through the
ropes and into the still-in-position throne that is being held up, the
impact of which knocks the throne over with the four enhancement talent
scattering as well!  HUUUUGE CHEER!]

GM:  MORTON KNOCKED DOWN THE THRONE!!

[A grinning Haynes points at the downed throne, then points out to the
protesting Royalty.  "The Hammer" slides out to the floor, picking up a
steel chair off the floor...

...and SMASHES it down over the throne, cracking the wooden seat!]

GM:  OHHH!

[Haynes continues to live up to his nickname, hammering the chair down
into the throne over and over, splintering it as Morton gets up and adds
in some kicks and stomps, doing the same thing as his partner.  Handing
off the chair to Professor Pain, Haynes raises the mic again.]

JH: This chair don't matter! The new names don't matter! That stupid
crown doesn't matter! The only thing that matters is those belts 'round
Rough N Ready's waists!

[An outraged scream of protest from Langseth brings a smile to that ugly
mug. Haynes even turns and kicks the back of the throne, puncturing a
hole through it!]

JH: You've had your coronation, boys! But now? I do believe that's it's
time...FOR A REVOLUTION!

[With that, Danny Morton chucks a piece of the arm down the aisle at
Royalty who are screaming in the direction of the Number One contenders
who are standing above a pile of splintered wood.]

GM:  Violence Unlimited has ended the coronation in... hehe... royal
fashion!

BW:  Oh, that's funny, Gordo!  Real funny!  You're a riot!  Royalty did
nothing wrong here tonight - NOTHING - to get these two psychotics out
here to ruin their night!  They ruined my night too!  

GM:  I'm sure they'll be sad to hear it.  Fans, what a night it's been
here in Little Rock - these fans are loving it!  And we're not done yet,
Bucky!  We've gotta take a quick break though - we'll be right back with
more Saturday Night Wrestling!

[Fade to black on a fuming Joe Petrow and Mark Langseth.

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 find our announcers seated at ringside.]

GM:  Welcome back, fans... as we said, Bucky, it's been a heck of a
night here in Little Rock.  We've taken a couple steps towards knowing
exactly what we'll be seeing in about a month at Wrestlerock.  We've
seen Alex Martinez apparently walk away from wrestling.  And just
moments ago, we saw Royalty run out of here with their royal tails
between their legs!

BW:  I'm just rolling with laughter over here, Gordo.  You're
hysterical.

GM:  Well, I'm just saying that-

[The crowd is immediately quieted down when a loud growl comes acoss the
PA system, and launches into Janet Jackson's "Black Cat".  Most in the
crowd are unsure what to make of this, but a few boo out of instinct.]

GM: This doesn't seem to be on my format sheet.  What do you make of
this, Bucky?

BW: Let's just say I have a hunch, and if I'm right it's gonna be cool!

[We aren't left to wonder for very long, as the curtains part and a
portly man waddles out holding what appears to be a championship belt. 
Now the crowd begins to put the pieces together, as a second man emerges
dressed in a red full length sequined robe.]

GM: Hold the phone, that's Rex Summers!  The same Rex Summers who's been
jumping out of crowds and attacking AWA wrestlers!

BW: And the same Rex Summers who happens to be the PCW World Heavyweght
Champ!  Yes!

[Summers struts to the ring with his manager, "The Maker Of Legends"
Buddy Morton, leading the way with the title held over his head like in
a boxing procession.  Rex smirks into the camera as he passes by, and
then steps up onto the ring apron to face the crowd.  Morton immediately
besets upon the referee standing in the ring, demanding he hold the PCW
title up while he retrieves the house microphone.]

GM: Oh dear lord, we're going to give this man airtime?

[The music continues as Buddy looks on at the AWA crowd, almost all of
whom are not happy to see him or his managerial charge.]

BM: Ladies... gentlemen... and whatever it is you AWA fans are...

Allow me to introduce to you, the man who's going to set this company on
it's ear.  The man who's physique makes the gods weep with envy.

THE REAL HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION OF THE WORLD...

"Red Hot" Rex Summers!

[And Summers steps between the ropes, his nickname spelled out on the
back of his robe as he walks up to Buddy and shakes hands with him.  Rex
takes the microphone.]

RS: Cut the music.  All of you lazy size 52's poured into size 32's,
shut up, listen up, and pay attention to what Rex Summers has to say.

I've been sitting at home on the sidelines ever since old man Lynch sold
out to this company.  Me, the Premier Championship Wrestling's man at
the top!  It speaks volumes to just how good I am, when that old fossil
Blackjack decides to sell and run with his tail between his legs as soon
as I become the symbol of his beloved PCW.

[Rex points to the PCW championship belt, which the referee is dutifully
holding up; Morton continues to give him an earful anyways: "It's
crooked, stand up straight!"]

RS: Now I'm not one to brag [noticeable increase in the boos] but as the
PCW World Champion, you'd think that AWA would do the smart thing and
bring the best asset in the company to Dallas.  So I wait.  And I wait. 
And no phone call.

But that's when it hit me.  Juan Vasquez, you call yourself a National
Champion?  You're a national disgrace.  You're just petrified of Rex
Summers coming into your town and proving that he superior to you in
every way, just like PCW was superior to AWA in every way.

GM: Well, then why did we purchase the PCW, Rex?

BW: Quiet, Gordo!  Let the man finish.

[Summers licks his lips before continuing.]

RS: It's all been a conspiracy, to keep Rex Summers away from the AWA so
Vasquez can parade around as the two bit champion he really is and call
himself a heavyweight.  So I took it upon myself to forge my own path to
the AWA... and by the way, there is _NO_ better way to make an
introduction than to pop one of the zits that are the Lynch boys.  My
only regret was that their daddy wasn't around or I would've taken him
out with the Heat Check too!

[LOUD BOOING!  Summers lets the hate wash over him, and smirks again.]

RS: So starting tonight, I'm the elephant in the room that can't be
avoided any longer, Vasquez.  I've got the greatest body in the history
of this business, I'm the tenth wonder of the world, and I'm the _REAL_
World's Champion.  AWA, you have been warned.

["Black Cat" starts up again, and Summers begins to disrobe.  Making a
show of it for the crowd, he slowly takes the robe off and indeed does
look like he was sculpted by Michaelangelo as he flexes.  The hatred
from the crowd doesn't seem to cool off however, as Joseph Puckett steps
into the ring and the bell sounds.]

GM: And after listening to those egotistical ramblings, let's see just
what Rex Summers can do.

BW: The short answer is whatever he wants, Gordo.  Whatever he wants.

[Buddy Morton rips the PCW belt from the referee's hands and departs the
ring.  As Puckett walks to the center of the ring, Summers comes flying
at him and hammers the poor sap with a balled-up fist right to the jaw. 
Down goes Puckett right away, holding his mouth.]

GM: Oh what a jerk, Joseph Puckett missed several months due to an
injury to his teeth and that's the first place Summers targets.  Is this
really the type of man PCW had as its final champion?

BW: Ssssh, he'll hear you.

[Rex wastes little time bringing Puckett back to his feet, and laces
into him with a knife edge chop or two before throwing him into the
ropes.  A hard elbow puts Puckett on his heels, and then a clothesline
puts him down again.  Stopping to gyrate for the benefit of the
audience, Summers is summarily booed by almost everyone in the crowd. 
On the floor, Buddy Morton tries to silence the crowd and then flips out
when they boo harder.]

BW: He's a showman, you see.  Something for the ladies, and then he'll
go back to putting this loser down.

GM: A hammering blow to the spine by Rex Summers, and into a chinlock. 
I'm sure if he'd quit this nonsense he'd probably be a fine athlete. 
Something tells me we'll really never know, though.

[The submission hold is just a way to bring his opponent back to his
feet, and Summers whips Puckett into the nearest corner back-first.  A
running clothesline into the turnbuckles allows him to take the
shell-shocked Puckett and hit a quick suplex from the corner, rolling on
top for a lazy pin attempt.]

GM: ONE!  TWO!  And Joseph Puckett manages to kick out!  Summers doesn't
look pleased in the slightest.

BW: Imagine the gall of that guy, trying to show up the real world's
champ!

GM: He's by no means a world champion, Bucky!  Not anymore, at least. 
And now Summers is back to his feet, mounting the second turnbuckle...
flying kneedrop square to the chest!

BW: Looks like Joey here might be missing some more ring time with a
collapsed lung.

[With a smug look Summers peels his opponent off the mat once more and
throws him into the ropes again.  But this time as he lowers his head
for a backdrop, Puckett lifts both arms over his head and brings them
down with a mighty sledgehammer blow across Summers' back!  A loud pop
for the Texas native, who struggles to get back into the match.]

GM: Joseph Puckett just caught the loudmouth unaware!  Go on young man,
see what you can do!

[The rally becomes shortlived as he backs up into the ropes and tries to
come back with a lariat, only to be caught with a beautiful looking
spinebuster slam.  Summers gets back up, a little slower, and holding
his lower back as he winces from the pain.  Morton is apoplectic on the
outside, shouting for Summers to "Finish him off!"]

GM: I'm beginning to wonder which of these two I detest more.

BW: Well you're probably just jealous of Rex's body, so I'll go with
Buddy.

GM: I would love it if you'd go with Buddy.

[Rex reaches down and grabs Puckett by the head, his face flush with
anger as he once again clubs him with a forearm to the head.  Then, with
a fluid motion he catches Joseph in a double underhook and drills him
into the canvas with the Heat Check DDT, at once knocking his opponent
completely and totally out.  Summers slithers across him for the pin
attempt, blowing a kiss at the camera as he does.]

GM: ONE!  TWO!  THREE!  Well, Summers wins his first AWA match.

PW: Here is your winner... "RED HOT" REX SUMMERS!!!

BW: And the sky's the limit, Gordo.  Juan Vasquez should start looking
over his shoulder, there's a new champ in town!

[Summers gets back to his feet and has his arm raised in victory by the
referee, but he jerks it away and opts to reclaim the PCW title, holding
it up over his head and then wipes the sweat from his forehead in the
direction of his beaten opponent.  A little more gyration as "Black Cat"
starts up anew, and then he leaves the ring.]

GM:  An impressive victory for Rex Summers in his debut and that Heat
Check DDT is just so impactful, Bucky.

BW:  We've seen a lot of people use a DDT over the years but I'm not
sure that anyone delivers it with as much gusto as Rex Summers does.

GM:  Well, at least now we've got him back in the ring competing rather
than jumping people from the audience.  And you can bet that the Lynch
brothers would be more than happy to meet Summers inside the squared
circle.  Fans, let's go back up to the ring for more action.

[Crossfade back to the ring.]

PW: The following contest is scheduled for one fall with a ten minute
time limit! Already in the ring, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania...
weighing 270 pounds!

JAMES REED!

[The curly haired strongman raises his arms in the air and hits a hard
double bicep pose, as the fans give him fleeting applause.]

GM: James Reed in action here, Bucky, and he certainly is built for
combat.

BW: Million dollar body, but he might have a ten cent mind, daddy, we'll
just have to see what he's got going on.

PW: His opponent... from Beale Street, in Memphis, Tennessee...

THE WEST MEMPHIS ASSASSIIIIIINNNNNNNN!!!!

GM:  WHAT?!

[The fans let out a mixed reaction for the storied name, as the West
Memphis Assassin simply walks down the aisle to the ring.  He wears
simple white trunks and boots with black kneepads, and a featureless
black mask. The masked man gives off no emotion as he simply slides into
the ring, and charges!

GM: The bell has sounded for this match- oh! The Assassin takes the big
man down with a chopblock, before James Reed could even get his
bearings! Bucky, did you know about this?

BW: I heard nothin', Gordo, and you know that my people are everywhere.
But I'll say this... historically, the man who wears the Assassin mask
is somebody with credentials, daddy, he ain't no five and dimer. He's
somebody who's _somebody_, ya dig?

GM: Not even a little bit.

[The Assassin wastes no time in punishing James Reed, stomping
repeatedly on the left knee and dragging him to the ropes. The masked
man puts the left leg of Reed on the bottom rope, stands on it with all
of his weight... then springs into the air and brings all of his weight
_down_ on the knee, eliciting a cry of pain from Reed!]

GM: A tactical assault on the knee by the Assassin, who brings his
weight down across that knee once more! 

BW: He ain't the West Memphis Brawler or the West Memphis Barfighter. An
assassin is precise and focused, you gotta be on point and almost
perfect to be an assassin.

GM: This masked man has come tonight with a vengeance, and he lays more
stomps in to the knee of James Reed, who is still tangled up in the
ropes. 

[The masked man goes into the nearest corner and climbs to the second
rope, just a few feet away from Reed who is still laid out... and he
casually leaps off and DRIVES the point of his elbow into the side of
Reed's face, causing the big man to squirm in pain and get himself from
out of the ropes in the process.]

BW: Reed's struggling to his feet Gordo, he's trying to fight through
that pain...


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM: But a kick right to the back of the knee drops him back to the mat! 
And a pointed stomp to the knee, now another, by this masked West
Memphis Assassin, who shows no signs of let up.

BW: My kinda guy, Gordo, a man with a plan!

[The Assassin walks up to the head of Reed, cocks his arm back and
drops... planting a fist right between the eyes of James Reed. The burly
Pittsburgh native slaps the mat in pain as the Assassin grabs him by the
left leg and draaaaaags him slowly to the corner, then slides out on his
belly and finishes the job...


"OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHHHH!!"


BW: Make a wish! HA!

GM: James Reed goes, well, sensitive area first into the ring post
courtesy of the West Memphis Assassin, who grabs that left leg he's been
working on...


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!"


BW: Right around the ringpost daddy, I love the mean streak!


"CLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANK!!"


GM: And again! Good gravy, what a vicious assault from the word go by
this masked man!

[As Michael Meekly administers the ten count, the Assassin rolls back in
to break the count, looking right at the official to make sure he stops,
and then rolls right back out to continue the assault.]

GM: A very heady move by the Assassin, breaking the count to make sure
he's got all the time he needs on the outside.

BW: And what I like about it, Gordo, is that he's usin' the rules to his
advantage, daddy, he knows how to operate within the rules. This ain't
his first rodeo, whoever it is.

[The masked man grabs both of Reed's legs, and bends one leg over the
other, into a four...then swings his right leg up and around, and leans
back into a ringpost figure four! The Arkansas crowd screams in unison
with Reed, whose cries nearly drown out the referee's count. Meekly
calls for the Assassin to break the hold, and after a long four the
masked man releases his leg and drops to the ground.]

GM: This is a dangerous, dangerous man Bucky. James Reed is a big strong
competitor, and he's gotten nothing close to an offensive maneuver in
this match. This Assassin got him on the ground and kept him there.

BW: I told ya, not the man's first barbeque. 

[The Assassin slides into the ring and watches as Reed tries to hobble
to his feet... and then buries a fist to the midsection to double him
over.]

GM: A well placed fist does the trick, and now the Assassin is trying to
hook him for a suplex... folding that inside leg...

[And with a grunt, the Assassin hoists James Reed into the air and then
slams him right back down, jamming his straight right leg into the mat
while simultaneously punishing the folded left leg. The crowd applauds
for the execution, but does not seem in a hurry to get behind the masked
man.]

GM: Crisply executed shinbreaker by the West Memphis Assassin, who still
has a hold of James Reed by his left leg... and now sweeps that right
leg out. 

BW: Uh oh, time to go to school, daddy, I know where this is going...

[And sure enough, the Assassin twists into a figure four leglock and
falls to the mat, supporting himself with his hands as James Reed
writhes in pain... and quickly submits to it!]

GM: A fine win for the West Memphis Assassin, dominating in fact. Bucky
your thoughts.

[The shot switches to a replay of the chop block that started the match,
and then to the Assassin punishing the leg of James Reed.]

BW: He starts the match off right with a chop block out of the gate,
catching James Reed napping, and it was all downhill from there, Gordo.
James Reed didn't have a one legged man's chance in a butt kickin'
contest, and here we see the figure four leglock for the win.

[The replay shows the Assassin leaning back into the figure four, and
Reed quickly submitting, as the shot goes back to live and to Jason
Dane, standing in the ring.]

JD: Mr. Assassin, a word if you will. You just had a highly successful
debut, and the fans here in Arkansas are buzzing about your identity, so
I'll ask you straight out.

We all know the last man to wear that mask.  Are you Jua-

[The masked man, who has spent the last few second looking at the ground
snaps his head up and grabs Jason's hand, so he can speak into the
microphone.]

WMA: The one thing I'll tell you... is that I'm NOT Juan Vasquez.

Amigo.

[With that, the masked man bats away the interviewer's hand and leaves
the ring, walking back up the aisle without giving the ring a second
look..]

GM:  What in the world is going on around here, Bucky?  We've just seen
the return of the West Memphis Assassin and... well, that mask is quite
infamous around these parts after Juan Vasquez and Adam Rogers used them
to great effect against Stevie Scott last...

[Gordon trails off.]

BW:  Gordo?

GM:  Stevie Scott.  It's gotta be... right?

BW:  Why would Stevie Scott be dressed as the West Memphis Assassin?!

GM:  Why wouldn't he?!  It's the perfect way to get back at Juan Vasquez
- something we know he can't resist trying to do.  And have we even seen
him here tonight?  And hasn't he been saying he's got a message for
Vasquez?  It all adds up!

BW:  You might be right, Gordo.  I never thought I'd say that... but you
may be right.

GM:  Whoever it is, I bet Juan Vasquez is absolutely LIVID in his locker
room right now.  But you have to give him credit for not coming out here
- staying focused on his Main Event later tonight.

BW:  Or maybe it was him under the mask.  Wouldn't be the first time.

GM:  It didn't sound like him under there.  Fans, yet another mystery
confronts us here in the AWA and now let's go back up to the ring for
more action!
Bucky, you are going to love this match!

BW: You serious, Gordo?

GM: Trust me Bucky, this is the match you've been waiting all night for.
Tomorrow, you're going to wake up and thank the stars that you're a
wrestling announcer.

[Already in the ring are a pair of tough looking, heavily muscled men.
One of them an African American man with his hair buzzed close to his
scalp. The other man sports a Mohawk and has a beard shaved into a chin
spike. Both men have incredible physiques, muscles on top of muscles,
with more muscles thrown in.]

PW:  The following tag team contest is set for one fall with a twenty
minute time limit!  Introducing first, they weigh in tonight at a total
combined weight of five hundred and thirty pounds, here is the team
of...

SHOCK AND AWE!!!

[The fans boo Shock and Awe, as the two muscular men gesture to the
crowd.]

BW: Okay, those are some big men Gordo, but I'm not exactly impressed
yet.

GM: Just wait for it Bucky.

PW: And coming to the ring now...

[The Black Keys' "Hard Row" blares over the loudspeakers, to a HUGE
reaction!]

BW: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!

PW: And now, their opponents... at a total combined weight of four
hundred and eighty-five pounds... from Dallas, Texas...

JAMES AND JACK... THE LYNCH BROTHERS!

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

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

Accompanying them is Travis Lynch, who is dressed in a pair of blue
jeans, a white short sleeve polo shirt and his traditional cowboy boots
made from vintage cognac smooth ostrich leather with turquoise crunch
goatskin highlights. For once, Travis ignores the screams from his
numerous female fans, as, like his brothers, he's all business tonight.]

BW: I can't believe you got me all excited for those stinkin', milk
drinkin' STENCH brothers!

GM: Listen to these fans, look at those boys! Can you honestly say
you're not as fired up as they are?

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

GM: And here we go. Earlier, you saw Jack giving his younger brother a
pep talk. I'd say the Lynch brothers have made quite a splash already in
the AWA, but I think know they're really trying to kick into the next
gear. These boys are hungry, and they want to make a real name for
themselves and do it out from under the shadow of their father, the
legendary Blackjack Lynch.

BW: They can try. But if these rotten kids keep stickin' their noses
where they don't belong, someone is gonna cut it off for 'em, I tell you
what. It might be Rex Summers, it might be Dick Bass, or it might just
be Anton Layton and his Unholy Alliance.

GM: Well, no doubt that these brothers have made themselves targets. 
The Unholy Alliance will get their chance to do exactly what you say at
Wrestlerock when they meet the Lynch boys in six man action.

"DING! DING! DING!"

[Jack enters the ring first, the tall, lanky Lynch coming to the center
of the ring. It's Awe, the man with the Mohawk, who comes to meet him in
the center of the ring.  The two come together in a collar and elbow tie
up, each man trying to muscle the other around. Jack gets the early
advantage, and shoves Awe down to the canvas.]

GM:  Whooooa my!  Jack Lynch just shoved down that big powerhouse!

BW:  How the heck did that happen?

[Awe pops back up, and the pair lock up again.  This time, before they
fully lock up, Awe kicks Jack in the stomach, doubling him over. Awe
shows his power by scooping Lynch up then and slamming him down hard on
the mat.]

GM:  Ohh!  Hard slam by Alexander Aw!  The man is 6'3, 260 pounds and
solid as a rock!

[Awe plays to the crowd, pointing at his temple.]

GM:  Yeah, yeah - you really outsmarted him, buddy.

BW: Maybe you're right, Gordo. They keep this up, and Shock and Awe are
going to make me a very happy man!

GM: But Awe is wasting too much time!

[Indeed he is. Jack rolls over into his corner, and tags in his brother
James, who leaps over the top turnbuckle. As the tag is made, Awe comes
charging forward, right into to a kick by James' bare foot!]

GM: Alexander Awe, proving, once and for all, that the brain is not a
muscle!

BW: Just you wait.  Soon enough, he'll show them Stenches what's what!

[James waits for Awe to recover and then leaps in the air, hitting him
with his bare feet with a picture perfect drop kick.]

BW: Can you imagine how awful that is?

GM: What are you talking about?

BW: Well, I hear that James goes everywhere barefoot. And you know them
Lynches don't bathe regularly. Can you imagine all the disgusting things
them bare feet have been walking through. And now Awe has been kicked in
the mouth by those biohazards, twice!

GM: Will you stop?

[James Lynch grabs hold of Awe's wrist and twists his arm in an arm
wringer, dragging the muscular Awe back into his corner. He tags in Jack
who sits up on the middle rope and brings an elbow down into Awe's
shoulder.]

GM: You know Bucky, its one thing to be tag partners. But these two kids
are brothers. They know each other as well as they know themselves. When
you're family, it goes beyond just being partners.

BW: You wanna talk about family? I heard that when Travis Lynch was
born, Blackjack Lynch wanted a boy and Doris Lynch wanted a girl and
they both came home from the hospital happy!

[Repeated kicks to the knees have put Awe down on the mat, leaving him
easy prey to a leaping legdrop from Jack Lynch to the upper body.]

GM:  High leaping legdrop and Lynch moves quickly into a side headlock,
cranking up the pressure on the large skull of Alexander Awe.  And you
have to think with all that pressure to the head, Jack Lynch is setting
up for his family's patented Iron Claw.

[Finally, Jack brings Awe up off the mat and sends him to the ropes,
leaping forward as Awe comes towards him.]

GM: High knee!  Right on the money!

[The blow knocks Awe flat as Lynch dives across him.]

GM:  And we have the first cover of the match! ONE... TWO.... NO! Awe
kicks out.

[Pulling Awe off the mat, Lynch hooks the side headlock again as a call
begins to roar out from the crowd.]

"IR-ON CLAW! IR-ON CLAW! IR-ON CLAW! IR-ON CLAW! IR-ON CLAW!"

GM: Listen to these fans!

BW: And look at that idiot on the outside!

[The camera cuts to a fired up Travis Lynch, who is pounding the canvas
in unison to the fans' chant.]

GM: Jack Lynch releases the headlock, I think he's going to oblige the
fans. He's got his fingers curled forward. Here it comes!

[But it never comes, as Awe is aware enough to duck under the taller
Jack's hand. He manages to spin a surprised Jack around and wraps his
arms around Jack's waist.]

GM:  Look out here!

[The powerhouse muscles Jack Lynch into the air, dumping him down on the
back of the head and neck before quickly going for a cover.]

GM: ONE.... TWO... Kickout!

[An enraged Awe gets to his feet first and begins stomping on the fallen
Jack Lynch. Lynch tries to roll out of the way but Awe is relentless,
the muscular man stomping away on Jack.]

GM:  Come on, referee!

BW:  What?!  He's using the flat of the boot!  There's nothing wrong
with this!

[An annoyed Awe stalks away from Lynch, slapping his partner's hand as
Jack does the same with his brother.]

GM: And here is our first look tonight at Solomon Shock.

[Both men quickly move to the middle of the ring where the 270 pound
Shock quickly hurls Lynch towards the ropes.  James bounces off, the
ever agile Lynch leaping into the air for a vertical press...

...that Shock snatches out of the sky, turning around with a roar before
he dumps Lynch down into an inverted atomic drop!]

GM:  Ohh!  That'll take some starch out of- 


"OHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd reacts to the running big boot to the mush of James Lynch,
knocking him flat.  Solomon Shock stands over him, shouting and slapping
his own muscular chest to the jeers of the crowd.]

GM:  Shock's really letting him have it verbally here.  These two big
powerhouses think very highly of themselves.

BW:  Why shouldn't they?  Just look at 'em!  You know what he should do
now, Gordo?  He should stomp those bare feet and bust 'em all up!

GM:  Not this again!

[James Lynch is clearly hurting as he's yanked to his feet by Shock,
hurled into the ropes...

...and flipped inside out with a powerful clothesline, toppling Lynch
over!]

GM:  Ohhh!  What a clothesline!

BW:  Shock should cover 'em, Gordo.  That clothesline was intense!

[Shock shakes his head as he pulls Lynch up with two hands full of hair,
trashtalking the crowd as he does so.  He grabs the arm, powering Lynch
hard into a neutral corner.  Lynch hits the buckles with high impact,
his arms flinging over the top rope to stay standing.  Shock backs off,
stomping his feet a couple of times before he charges across the
ring...]

BW: James Lynch is about to become a half naked, bare footed grease
stain!

[But before Bucky can see his dreams come true, James pulls himself to
the top turnbuckle while Shock hits it chest first.]

GM:  WHOA!  HOW DID HE-

[Showing remarkable balance, James stays poised on the top even as the
collision causes the ring ropes to reverberate. Shock stumbles backwards
and James leaps high into the air!]

GM: CROSS BODY! JAMES LYNCH WITH THE COVER! ONE! TWO!  THR-

"OHHHHHHHHHH!"

BW: AWE WITH THE SAVE!

[A hard kick to the head by Awe ends the pin attempt.  Alexander Awe
turns around, taunting the jeering crowd...

...and turns all the way back around, rushing across the ring with a
running forearm that sends Jack Lynch toppling off the apron to the
floor!]

GM:  Ohh!  Jack Lynch lands hard! I think he might be out. Travis is
over there, checking on him. And so is the official.

[Meekly leans over the top rope, asking after Jack's condition. He's not
unconscious, but he's clearly groggy. Travis stands protectively over
him, trying to revive him. Meanwhile, back in the ring, Shock and Awe
take advantage of the referee's distraction and begin double teaming
James Lynch.]

GM:  We've got an illegal doubleteam here... 

[Shock and Awe fire Lynch towards the ropes.]

GM:  Double whip... 

[As Lynch rebounds off, the two powerhouses hoist the Texan up into the
air, holding him up for a moment...

...and SNAP him back down to the mat with a thunderous standing double
spinebuster slam!]

"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

BW:  That's the sort of thing that will buy your chiropractor a summer
house!

[With Meekly still distracted, Shock slaps his hands together over his
head, making it sound as if a tag has taken place as Awe pulls James
Lynch off the canvas.  Meekly finally turns around but, having heard the
slap, is not aware that Awe is not the legal man in the ring.]

GM:  Come on, ref!  He's not legal!

BW:  Meekly doesn't know that!

[With James Lynch off the mat, Awe tosses him into the ropes, catching
him on the rebound in a military press!]

GM: He threw him into the ropes like he weighed nothing and now he lifts
him up high overhead! Look at the power in Alexander Awe!  What's he
going to do with James Lynch?

[As if to answer Gordon, Awe drops James Lynch down over his shoulder
and POWERS him into the canvas with a powerslam in one motion!]

BW: Awe Damn! 

GM:  Bucky!

BW:  That's what that's called! Cover! This is it, daddy!

GM:  ONE!!  TWO!!  THR-

[But somehow, James Lynch reaches for the sky, his shoulder coming off
the mat.]

GM: I don’t know how he did that. James Lynch showing the heart that his
family is famous for!

BW:  If Shock and Awe keep this up, THEY'RE gonna show us the heart that
his family is famous for - right out of his stinkin' chest Mola Ram
style, daddy!

GM:  Mola who?

[James is sent into the corner where Shock waits for him. Shock clubs
James in the back of the head with a forearm, leaving Lynch dazed.  Awe
tags out and Shock comes in but both men stay in the ring...]

GM:  Another doubleteam here... they send Lynch to the ropes...

[And wipe him out with a joined-hands double clothesline!]

GM:  Ohh!  Running double clothesline by Shock And Awe!  And Solomon
Shock makes a cover here - another two count!  I just don't know how
James Lynch keeps surviving this!

BW: Won't be long now! 

[Solomon Shock drags James Lynch to his feet, tossing him with ease over
his shoulders.]

BW:  You see how Shock has Lynch up on his shoulders. You know what's
coming up?

GM: I believe I do.  I've seen some of the tapes from the non-televised
events where these two have just dominated their opponents!

[With James hoisted up over Shock's shoulder, Shock charges from
turnbuckle to turnbuckle, smashing James into all four corners.]

BW: THE SHOCKER!! SAY GOODNIGHT, STENCH!

[Shock slings Lynch off his shoulders, throwing him down to the mat
where he applies a press, shouting "COUNT HIM, REF!"]

GM: Shock with the cover - I'm afraid its all academic from here. ONE...
TWO... NO!!  SHOCK JUST PULLED JAMES LYNCH OFF THE MAT!!

BW: I love it! Make him suffer more! Beat on him! Beat him until his
daddy starts to cry!

GM: That sort of thing can be costly, Bucky. If you've got the
opportunity to beat someone, you should always take it.

BW: Don't be such a baby, Gordo. Shock is just gonna have some fun now.

[Dragging Lynch to his feet and into the neutral corner, Shock slams his
head into the top turnbuckle repeatedly before throwing him out of the
corner and down to the middle of the ring.  Shock nods, smirking at the
jeering crowd as he steps over to the corner where he leans over the
ropes, shouting at Travis Lynch who is still at ringside.]

GM:  Leave Travis out of this!

BW:  Oh, you're like one of those puppy love little girls out here,
Gordo!  "Leave Travis out of this!"  

GM:  Oh, be quiet.

[Shock can be heard to be yelling "Get in here! I'll beat you too!"]

BW: Yes! Beat on all three of them! I love it!

GM: Jack Lynch is finally on his feet, but he still looks dazed, too
groggy to be of any help. Still, I wonder about this. They've got James
Lynch in a bad way, why is Shock wasting his time yelling a man not even
involved in the match?

BW: Isn't it obvious? Everyone hates these Lynches!

GM: The referee is admonishing Travis, telling him that he'll disqualify
his brothers if he gets involved. But just look at the intensity on
Travis' face! He's ready to step in.

[Meanwhile, a still wobbly James has made it to his feet. He crouches
down behind Shock and gives a nod to his brother Travis. Travis, taking
the cue, points towards his brother, and obligingly, Shock turns
around.]

GM: TACKLE! AND SHOCK GOES DOWN!!! 

[Big cheer!]

GM:  No doubt he learned that while playing football at North Texas! And
James Lynch showing how deceptively strong he is!

[James wastes no time in covering Shock.]

GM: ONE.... TWO.... KICKOUT!

BW: Shock is still in this fight!

[Both men make it to their feet, Travis goes to his corner, but Jack is
still on the ground, trying to shake the cobwebs out.  After a bit of
rallying from the crowd, both men manage to get to their feet.  Shock
slaps the hand of Awe who steps in and comes charging behind James, his
muscular body driving James chest first into the corner just narrowly
missing a tag from his brother, Jack, who is trying to get back up on
the apron as James falls backwards to the mat and Awe dives across him.]


GM: ONE... TWO....

BW: THREE! That's it!

GM: No! Meekly is only holding up two fingers. James got his foot on the
bottom rope! Good positioning by the referee to see that.

[Awe protests to the official for a moment who shakes his head in
refusal.  Alexander Awe angrily drags James to his feet and then wraps
his thick, muscular arms around James' waist, squeezing for all he's
worth.]

BW: That's it! Squeeze all the milk outta that little puke!

GM: That bearhug is devastating. I don't know how James can escape this.

[There's a sudden roar in the building. First caused by Travis slapping
the mat, trying to rally his brother. And then by the fans screaming
"LYNCH! LYNCH! LYNCH!" at the top of their lungs. And finally, by Jack
Lynch stomping his foot on the apron!]

GM: Jack Lynch has recovered!  And he's yelling for James to get out of
that bearhug.

BW: Too late. James Lynch has gone limp! Its all over Gordo! At last!

GM: Meekly is checking on James Lynch. He's got his arm up in the air.
It falls once! It falls twice! Listen to these fans trying to spur James
Lynch on!

[And it works, as the third time James' arm is lifted, it drops a few
inches, and then powers back into the air. The fans come unglued as fans
cheer at the top of their lungs. The light seems to be back on in James'
eyes as he leans back and claps his hands against Awe's ears, causing
the big man to let him go. Awe stumbles back towards his corner,
reaching for a tag.]

GM: James is pulling himself towards his corner.  Jack is reaching out,
straining to meet him.

BW: Hurry up, grab him!

GM: James leaps and dives! TAG!!! JACK LYNCH IS IN THE RING!!

BW: This can't be happening!

"TEN MINUTES HAVE EXPIRED!  TEN MINUTES REMAIN!"

[Jack charges forward, and takes out the massive Shock with a huge
lariat.  He quickly pulls up his opponent, sending him to the ropes...]

GM:  OHHH!  HIGH KNEE RIGHT IN THE MOUTH!!  He covers!  ONE... TWO!!
NO!! AWE BREAKS IT UP!!  He helps his partner back up and-

BW: And now they're both beating on Jack Lynch. This is wonderful.

GM: Meekly is trying to restore order, but he can't get Shock and Awe to
separate. They're both kicking Jack.

[A shout from outside the ring makes Awe turn around. There, on the top
turnbuckle, stands a wobbly James Lynch. Though Lynch is still
recovering, there's a wild look in his eyes, as he once again flies.]

GM: DROPKICK FROM THE TOP!! RIGHT ON TARGET!!

[The flying attack sends Awe down to the mat where he quickly rolls to
the floor.  The official steps in, pushing James back to his corner and
leaving Jack alone with Shock.]

GM:  Solomon Shock brings Jack Lynch up off the mat, sending him into
the ropes... clothesli- ducked!

[BIG CHEER!]

GM:  CLAW!  IRON CLAW!!!!! HE'S GOT THE CLAW HOOKED!!!

[Muscular arms flail, as Shock tries desperately to get free.]

GM: I'm telling you now, he's not going anywhere. Once Jack Lynch locks
on the claw, no man can escape. Just ask Ebola Zaire!

BW: No! You've got to fight! Come on!

[But Shock's knees buckle, and Jack leans forward, using his height and
leverage to drive Shock into the mat. Meekly quickly leaps into
position, hand slapping the mat.]

GM: ONE... TWO... THREE!!!

BW: They were robbed! Shock and Awe were robbed!

GM: How do you figure?

BW: I don't know, I just know they were!

GM: Give me a break.

[Travis joins Jack and James in the middle of the ring, as the referee
goes to raise their hands.]

PW: The winners of the bout... THE LYNCH BROTHERS!!

GM: Another great win for the Lynch brothers.

BW: And a sad, sad day for the rest of the world.

GM: Bucky, will you stop?

BW: Never, not until someone has gotten ridden of the Stench family for
good!

GM:  You're too much.  Fans, let's go to the Money Pit.

[We cut to a panning shot of the Barton Coliseum that comes to rest on
the set for The Money Pit as a voice rings out over the PA.]

"Ladies and gentlemen... TODD MICHAELSON!"

[The sounds of the O'Jays "For The Love Of Money" blasts out through the
arena as Todd Michaelson, dressed impeccably in a black suit, strides
out into view.  He smiles, waving at the cheering crowd as he produces a
mic.]

TM:  Thank you, Little Rock!

[Another cheer!]

TM:  This week on the Money Pit - it's reunion night!  My oldest and
dearest friend in the world, Jon Stegglet, has taken on the role of
interim Chairman of the Championship Committee until such time that Jim
Watkins can return to his duties.  And coming off Memorial Day Mayhem
and heading into Wrestlerock, there are some issues that need addressed.
 And I can't think of a better man to do it than my guest here
tonight... my best friend... JON STEGGLET!

[Jon Stegglet quickly emerges from the entrance curtain, moving to the
Money Pit where he shakes his friend's hand.]

TM:  Jon, first... any word on Jim Watkins' condition?

JS:  I'll let Big Jim address that himself a little later tonight. 
Suffice to say though, it was by his request that I take his duties on
for a little while for him.

TM:  Fair enough.  First, let's talk Wrestlerock - what do we have?

JS:  You've already heard some of it here tonight.  The Longhorn
Heritage Title match between Nenshou and Robert Donovan.  The six man
tag team match between the Lynch Brothers and the Unholy Alliance. 
We'll have more to announce in the days to come though.

[Michaelson nods.]

TM:  A lot of things went down at Memorial Day Mayhem, Jon.  The
incident with Jim Watkins being one of them.  There has been no
announcement of any fines or suspensions.

[Stegglet grimaces.]

JS:  Upon review with the AWA's legal team, the Championship Committee
has ruled that Jim Watkins put HIMSELF into the situation he was in...
and therefore, we will NOT be issuing any punishment for what happened
in that ring at Mayhem.

[The crowd boos as Stegglet nods.]

JS:  I understand.  I wish we could do something also but...

[He shrugs in a "it's out of my hands" gesture.]

TM:  Okay, Jon... you may not have been able to do anything about that. 
But there is no doubt that you can do something about James Monosso!

[Big cheer!]

TM:  That man violated Jim Watkins' suspension!  He was suspended and he
still interrupted the Rumble!  There MUST be something to be done about
that, Jon.  There MUST be!

[Stegglet nods.]

JS:  Memorial Day Mayhem was a landmark event for the AWA and there were
things that happened on that show that I'm not proud of... not at all.
And while I in no way endorse some of the things that happened, there's
not a lot I can do about them because they are all within the confines
of the AWA rules. Just because something is scummy and dirty and
lowdown, doesn't mean it's necessarily wrong. Morally, maybe, but not
legally. And certainly not actionable.

[The crowd begins to boo again.]

JS:  That said...

You're right, Todd.  Something MUST be done about James Monosso... and
something WILL be done about it!

[The crowd ROARS!]

JS:  I hope you're in front of a television somewhere, Monosso.  And you
too, Childes.  I hope you're watching and I hope you're paying attention
very, very closely.

Jim Watkins showed you mercy about a month ago.  Jim Watkins agreed to
not fire you and simply slapped you with a suspension.

And in response, you slapped Jim Watkins right across the face!  You
slapped the Championship Committee right across the face!  You slapped
the entire AWA - and all of these fans - right across the face!

[Big cheer!]

JS:  The AWA has let you get away with a lot over the past three
years... but that ends tonight.  You disobeyed a direct order from the
Championship Committee and for that... for that, you have to pay a
price.  A steep price.

After lengthy consultations with the Championship Committee, I have been
authorized to make the following announcement...

James Monosso...

[Dramatic pause.]

JS:  You have been SUSPENDED INDEFINITELY from the American Wrestling
Alliance!  No second chances!  No begging!  Nothing!

[HUGE CHEER!]

JS:  You're a cancer, Monosso - a cancer on this company and on this
sport!

And if Percy Childes DARES to come beg for you again, we'll rip your
contract into a million pieces and throw it in the breeze!  Do you
understand me, Monosso?  We will go through legal termination of your
contract and-

??: No, no, don't do that, wait just a minute. 

[The crowd, along with Todd Michaelson and Jon Stegglet, turn their
attention to off camera where after a moment, Eric Preston walks into
view, microphone in hand.  Everyone looks shocked at Preston's words as
he approaches, stepping onto the set of the Money Pit, wearing khaki
pants and a sleeveless AWA t-shirt. He gets right into the area of both
men and leans over the microphone that his friend and trainer is holding
in front of Jon Stegglet.]

EP: I think you need to reconsider your thought process, Mr. Stegglet,
just for a minute.

[Stegglet looks shocked but still fired up.]

JS:  Eric, I said there'd be no second chances for him.  None.  Period.

EP:  No, no, no. Jon. Listen to me, hear me out.

[Preston looks almost nervous, shaking his head as he speaks.]

EP:  I agree that he's a cancer, Mr. Stegglet, we're on the same page. 

And the way you get rid of a cancer?  You cut it out. 

[Preston nods, balling his right hand into a fist.]

EP:  If you suspend Monosso, I can't cut him out. I can't take him out
the way I need to, the way I have to. I didn't come all the way back
from when YOUR MEN wouldn't send me an itinerary, from when YOUR OFFICE
couldn't find me air time, I didn't scratch and claw all the way back
from the brink of being thrown out on my ass NOT to get another shot at
him.

[Preston gets right into Stegglet's face, looking him right in the eye
as he speaks.]

EP: I'm not asking you for a favor, I'm TELLING you: you've _GOT_ to
reinstate James Monosso and you've _GOT_ to sign a match, so I can get
rid of him. Period.

[The audience buzzes as both men stand nose to nose, each enraged in
their own way. Stegglet squints at Preston and backs away, taking a
moment to regain his composure and assess the situation.]

JS:  Eric, I appreciate your passion, son.  And you know that we all -
especially Todd here- think very highly of you and your future here.  I
know where you're coming from.  I know that you want some kind of
revenge - some kind of payback on Monosso.  I get that.

[Preston nods, starting to smile.]

JS:  But the answer is still no, Eric.  I can not - and I will not -
allow him to blatantly disregard the authority of the Championship
Committee!

[Preston grunts "DAMNIT!" and backs away, turning away from the other
two men to think. He spins back around and approaches Stegglet again.]

EP: Jon, he's done nothing but ignore the orders of everyone around here
and make you all look like fools, I get it. 

But suspending him isn't dealing with the problem, it's pushing it away.
Don't stick your fingers in your ears and pretend it never happened,
that's not doing anything.

That's not solving the problem, Jon, that's making it worse. That's
letting him win. Don't let him win, don't let him stick it to the sport
and to the fans, and then walk away victorious. Take the suspension off,
put him in the ring and let me do what I know you'd love to do: beat his
face in until his own mother wouldn't recognize him.

[The fans roar their approval as Preston nods at Stegglet, then turns
his head and glances at the people.]

EP: Give them what they want, Jon, give me what I want. 

[The Combat Corner graduate leans in and looks right into Stegglet's
eyes.]

EP: Give me Monosso.

[Stegglet looks right back at Preston and does not hesitate with his
answer.]

JS:  I know what you want, I know what they want.

The answer... is still... no!

[The crowd AHHHHHHs in disappointment, some even going so far as to boo.
Preston drops the microphone, deflated, and backs away, saying "OK, I
tried" off mic.]

GM: Eric Preston with an impassioned plea for Jon Stegglet to-



"WHAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"



BW: PRESTON!

[The crowd erupts in shock, along with Bucky, as Preston pivots and
_unleashes_ a right hand that drops one of the AWA's owners in one shot.
Todd Michaelson thinks fast and goes to block the charging Preston, who
grabs the microphone and points right at Stegglet.]

EP: Then suspend me too!  Suspend me too, Stegglet! 

I'll get him here or I'll get him somewhere else!  The alley, the
parking lot, hell, I'll even go to another promotion to do it!  But I
_will_ take Monosso down!  I'm not asking anymore, I'm not waiting any
longer!

[Preston spikes the microphone on the ground and angrily starts to
leave.  A livid Todd Michaelson grabs him by the arm, spinning his
protege around.]

TM: WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?! ARE YOU-

[Preston shoves Michaelson in the chest, breaking his grip, and stalking
away from him, leaving him stunned and silent - just like the crowd in
Little Rock, Arkansas.  Michaelson shakes his head, dropping to a knee
next to his downed best friend who is starting to stir, sitting up with
a hand on his jaw as we fade to black.

We're staring at the black screen when suddenly, the sounds of ZZ Top's
"La Grange" begin to play as we hear Mark Stegglet playing the role of
pitchman over the music.]

"The rock and wrestling connection lives once more as the American
Wrestling Alliance presents... WRESTLEROCK!"

[The Wrestlerock logo appears on the blackened screen and then fades as
we start to see footage of our favorite AWA superstars.]

"It'll be a tremendous night of AWA action on America's birthday - the
fourth of July - when we head down to Durham, North Carolina for a big
OUTDOOR event!"

[A shot of Juan Vasquez diving off the top rope with a splash.  Robert
Donovan chokeslamming a helpless foe.  Supernova slingshotting over the
ropes to the floor.]

"Come for a huge wrestling event and stay for a special post-show
concert by rock and roll legends... Z!  Z!  TAHHHHHP!"

[The music continues to blast over shots of AWA action from the past.]

"The Durham Bulls Athletic Park will be ROCKIN' for one of the biggest
nights of AWA action of the year!  Tickets are available now at the
stadium box office as well as Ticketmaster.com!"

[More AWA action - Eric Preston flying off the top with a crossbody, The
Rockstar Express connecting with a double dropkick, Alex Martinez
Firebombin' a fool down to the mat.]

"So, call your local ticket outlet now and tell 'em that the AWA's
comin' to town and YOU WANNA ROCK!"

[Fade to black.

A red "AWA Pictures Presents" logo fading in...then out as the quiet
strains of piano music play in the background.

The shot fades to a wrestling a wide shot of a wrestling ring missing
one set of ropes, as highly stylized and re-touched wrestlers are forced
out of the open portion of the ring in slow motion by a smaller group.

The piano music grows louder as a wind effect plays below it as the shot
cuts to the shot of a cgi reptilian creature, its eyes glowing red,
stalking a small boy.

The wind and music continue to grow as the shot cuts to a closeup of the
AWA title belt...then to quick shots of Sultan Shariff, Nenshou, The
Russians, James Monosso, Anton Layton, Calisto Dufresne...]

A voice shouts: AWA...TONIGHT...WE DINE IN HELL!

The music picks up, showing slow motion, stylized shots of Nenshou
spraying mist in the face of his opponents.  Of the Russians assaulting
opponents with their chain.  Of Monosso attacking a hapless wrestler.]

Voice: Be afraid.  Soon the AWA will be burned to the ground.

[Shot after shot of faces lying face down in the ring...face up and
getting pinned...getting struck...]

Voice: But not for long.  After a long hot summer...coming to an arena
near you...

Madness?  Blasphemy?

THIS...IS...AWA!

[The screen goes black except for a countdown clock in the middle of the
screen that is second-by-second ticking down.  It currently reads - 97
days, 22 hours, 46 minutes, 52 seconds - and is running down bit by bit.

Fade to black.

And then back to live action, a panning shot of the ring.]

GM:  Wow.  Fans, welcome back and when we said it was going to be an
exciting night here in Little Rock, I don't think we knew the half of
it, Bucky.

BW:  Eric Preston just decked an OWNER of this company!  He dared Jon
Stegglet to suspend him but... heck, Gordo, I don't know if I'd be
surprised if he FIRED this kid!

GM:  Unfortunately, that very well might happen.  I don't know what in
the world got into Eric Preston.  I have no idea what-

[Suddenly, the crowd begins to buzz as "Big" Jim Watkins comes storming
through the entrance curtain.  He's dressed in white wifebeater t-shirt,
blue jeans, and cowboy boots and has that two-by-four over his left
shoulder as he stalks towards the ring.]

GM:  Fans, Jim Watkins is comin' out here!  He's heading down the aisle
to the ring!  

BW:  He's got his head all bandaged up but he's carrying that board with
him!  Isn't this how he got into trouble to begin with?

[Watkins quickly reaches ringside, rolling under the bottom rope.  He
gets to his feet, snatching an offered mic from a ringside attendant.]

JW:  They say that I got myself into the "situation" at Mayhem.

[He nods.]

JW:  They say that dumb ol' Big Jim ran down to the ring like he was
some kind of hero and got his block knocked off... got his melon busted
open... and got beaten up like a punk.

[Watkins paces around the ring.]

JW:  Yeah, all that might be true.  And if it is?  I can live with that.

But what I can't live with?

I can't live with those pieces of Russian trash taking their rag of a
flag and burying my ass underneath it!

[Big cheer!]

JW:  I am an American.  I was born an American.  I have fought as an
American.  I will DIE as an American!

[More big cheers!]

JW:  For years, I have fought under the flag of the United States of
America.  If you go back and look at my history inside the ring, time
and time again I have come out here waving that flag, wearing the red,
white, and blue, and I fought.  I fought hard!  I bled!  I've bled all
over this ring defending this country from people like Kostovich... like
Velikov... like Sharif and Bathwaite...

[Watkins is turning red with rage.]

JW:  And just because I'm now the guy wearin' a suit, that don't mean I
ain't gonna keep on fightin'!

[Another big cheer!]

JW:  Jon Stegglet came out here a little while ago and said that I had
asked him to step in as interim Chairman of the Championship
Committee... and that is true.

But it ain't 'cause my melon's too busted up to work.  And it damn sure
ain't 'cause I'm too embarrassed to show my face around here now!

[Watkins holds up the board.]

JW:  It's 'cause I didn't feel right signing the checks for the guys who
I'm about to come out here and BUST UP!

[HUGE CHEER!]

JW:  I ain't done with the Foreign Legion.  You called down the thunder,
boys, and now you got it!  And until I'm done with y'all and I can put
this here equalizer back in the closet at home... I ain't gonna be
wearin' no suit!

I'm gonna be wearin' jeans, some big ol' boots, and a smile on my face
as I kick your foreign tails all around every damn building we step
into!

[Another big roar!  The camera pans over the cheering crowd that slowly
start a chant.]

"U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"

[Watkins nods at the cheers.]

JW:  That's right.  It's all about those stars and stripes and now it's
time to prove it.

You see, I didn't give away my suit to Stegglet right away.

[Watkins grins.]

JW:  I held onto that suit for one more night after Mayhem.  And while
wearin' it, I signed a contract that made a match official.

At Wrestlerock...

[Dramatic pause.]

JW:  THE TOWER OF DOOM!

[HUUUUUUGE ROAR!]

JW:  Three cages stacked on top of each other... three metal prisons of
HELL!  Two teams of five go in through the top of it one by one and
fight like hell to get down to the bottom to get out.

On one side of that Tower, we're gonna have Vladimir Velikov, Kolya
Sudakov, Sultan Azam Sharif...

[Watkins chuckles.]

JW:  Ivan Kostovich...

[HUGE CHEER!]

JW:  That's right.  That dumb ol' Commie is gonna drag his yella self
into the Tower.  And they can go get themselves one other man.

[Watkins nods.]

JW:  And on the other side?

Supernova...

[BIG CHEER!]

JW:  Corax... Tyler Lee...

[More cheers!]

JW:  A partner of their choice...

[Watkins pauses.]

JW:  Oh yeah... one other guy...

BIG!  JIM!  WATKINS!

[HUUUUUGE ROAR!]

JW:  THAT'S RIGHT, KOSTOVICH!!  THAT'S RIGHT, VELIKOV!!  I'm comin' for
ya!

[He slams the 2x4 into the turnbuckles!]

JW:  AND HELL!  IS COMING!  WITH MEEEEEEEE!

[Watkins exits the ring to the roars from the crowd, marching down the
steps to the ringside area...

...and unfolds a steel chair, sitting down at ringside!]

GM:  My stars!  Jim Watkins with a HUGE announcement!  A Tower Of Doom
at Wrestlerock?!

BW:  What?!  What?!  Watkins can't wrestle!  Kostovich can't wrestle!

GM:  But they're going to!  It'll be Supernova, Corax, Tyler Lee, Jim
Watkins, and a partner of their choosing going against Sultan Azam
Sharif, Vladimir Velikov, Kolya Sudakov, Ivan Kostovich, and a partner
of their choosing!  What a war that's gonna be, Bucky!

BW:  WHAT?!  WHAT?!

GM:  I think my partner is speechless!

BW:  I... wha... but he can't... why?!

GM:  And it looks like Big Jim is gonna take a seat out here alongside
us for the Main Event!  Jason Dane is standing by with three men who I
can't imagine are in a very good mood right now - the Russians!  Jason?

[We crossfade back to the locker room where Ivan Kostovich, Vladimir
Velikov, and Kolya Sudakov standing alongside Jason Dane, dressed for
battle.  Kostovich and Velikov?  They're laughing.]

JD:  Gordon, I'm here with the Russians but shockingly, they seem to be
in a GREAT mood after what we just heard!  Gentlemen, if I can get a
word...

[A breathless Kostovich stops laughing.]

IK:  Jim Watkins, you never cease to amaze me because you truly ARE
dumber than you look!  You DARE to walk into a steel prison with these
three men?  Do you expect to walk out of your own power?

[Kostovich chuckles.]

IK:  It WILL be a holiday on the 4th of July when we bury ALL of
America's heroes in the middle of that Tower.  

[Dane moves the mic to Velikov.]

VV:  Watkins has given us the greatest gift we could ask for.  He has
given us himself - under no protection from the AWA - as a 4th of July
present.  

[Velikov chuckles his throaty, gravelly laugh.]

VV:  Thank you, Jim Watkins.  Thank you oh so much.  We will take great
pleasure opening our present at Wrestlerock...

...and then burying it under the Russian flag again... and again... and
again!

[Kostovich steps back in.]

IK:  It should have been the greatest thrill of your life to be graced
with the touch of the Russian flag, Watkins... and instead you take
offense.

[Kostovich spits.]

IK:  And now, you live up to America's greatest quality... arrogance!

You choose to go to war with us?

[A smile and a nod.]

IK:  We fired the first shot at Mayhem.  But I warn you, Watkins... it
is nothing compared to what the final shot will look like.  

[With a gesture, Kostovich gets Sudakov and Velikov to follow him off
camera as we fade back to the ring.]

PW:  The following contest is your MAIN EVENT of the evening!  It is set
for one fall with a twenty minute time limit!

Introducing first...

[The Russian National Anthem kicks in.]

PW:  From Russia and accompanied to the ring by Ivan Kostovich... they
are the team of Vladimir Velikov and Kolya Sudakov...

THE RUSSIANS!!

[Kostovich walks into view first, dressed in a stylish suit as he
verbally abuses the ringside fans.  Velikov comes next, the heavy metal
Russian chain hanging over his broad shoulders.  And finally, Kolya
Sudakov brings up the rear, holding the Russian flag on a wooden
flagpole over his shoulder.]

GM:  Here they come, Bucky... the team that will do battle with a squad
of AWA fan favorites coming up at Wrestlerock... and look out here...

[Big Jim Watkins is on his feet as they arrive, pointing the equalizer
towards the approaching Russians who shout in his direction as they
climb into the ring.  Kostovich barks a few orders at Sudakov who steps
up in front of Watkins, waving the Russian flag back and forth as
Watkins seethes from out on the floor.]

PW:  And their opponents...

First, from Venice Beach, California... 

THIS!  IS!  SUUUUUUUUPERNOOOOOOVA!!!

[The crowd EXPLODES at the arrival of the winner of the Memorial Day
Rumble as he walks out of the entrance curtain.  Clad for battle,
Supernova throws his head back and lets loose a loud howl...

...and then breaks into a sprint, charging to the ring where he dives
headfirst under the bottom rope!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA IS IN!!

[And without hesitation, he attacks the Russians, throwing a right hand
at Velikov.  He turns, throwing a left chop across the chest of Sudakov,
forcing him to drop the Russian flag.  He spins again, dropping Velikov
with a right hand to the jaw!]

GM:  Supernova is taking on the Russians by himself!

[Grabbing Sudakov by the arm, Supernova flings him across the ring to
the corner.  He backs up to the opposite corner, throwing his head back
again...

...and GETS DRILLED in the back of the head with the Russian flagpole by
Ivan Kostovich!]

GM:  OHH!!  COME ON!!!

[The face-painted fan favorite falls to the canvas where an angry Kolya
Sudakov stomps his former friend into the canvas.  Getting back to his
feet, Vladimir Velikov moves to help his nephew, taking turns stomping
and kicking Supernova repeatedly.]

GM:  Where is Vasquez?!  Where is the National Champion?!

[Suddenly, the crowd ERUPTS as Juan Vasquez comes sprinting down the
aisle, the tracksuit half-ripped off as he tears towards the ring,
dropping the title belt just before diving under the bottom rope into
the ring.  Vasquez springs to his feet, catching the incoming Velikov
with a right hand to the jaw.  He grabs him by the back of the head...

...and HURLS him over the top rope to the floor!]

GM:  OHHH!  OVER THE TOP GOES VELIKOV!!

[Spinning around, Vasquez gets caught with a rushing forearm to the jaw
that sends him flailing back into the corner.  Once there, Kolya Sudakov
grabs the top rope, snapping off kicks to the ribcage of Vasquez over
and over.]

GM:  Kick after kick after kick after kick landing in the torso of the
National Champion!

[Grabbing Vasquez by the arm, Sudakov flings him to the opposite corner,
turning back to his own corner and slapping his muscular right arm as he
raises it above his head...]

GM:  He's calling for the Sickle!

BW:  If he hits it, it's over!

GM:  I don't even know if this match has STARTED yet, Bucky!  I never
heard a bell!  There's no referee in the ring!

BW:  I'm not sure the Russians care!  They want a body count tonight -
not a victory.

[Sudakov is ready, nodding his head, stomping the canvas, waiting for
the National Champion to stagger out of the buckles...

...but it's not a stagger we get as Vasquez charges out hard, sprinting
towards Sudakov who does the same thing with his arm outstretched!]

GM:  LOOK OUT!!

[At the last moment, Vasquez drops into a slide, avoiding the running
clothesline as he pops back up to his feet, steps up on the thigh of the
turning Sudakov...]


"CRAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"


GM:  HEAD KICK!!  HEAD KICK!!

[The step-up enzugiri has Sudakov dazed, stumbling across the ring as
Vasquez raises his right hand to the roar of the crowd, slapping his
open palm into it a few times...

...and then standing behind the dazed Sudakov, waiting for him to turn.]

GM:  Vasquez is ready!  Vasquez is set!

[But before Sudakov can turn around, a screaming Ivan Kostovich pops up
on the apron, shouting in the National Champion's direction, trying to
distract him...

...and gets YANKED down off the apron by Jim Watkins to the roar of the
crowd!]

GM:  BIG JIM PULLS DOWN KOSTOVICH!!

[BOOM!]

GM:  AND HE FLOORS HIM WITH A RIGHT HAND!!  OH MY!!!

[A grinning Vasquez nods with approval...

...and then gets drilled from behind with the Russian flagpole by
Vladimir Velikov!]

GM:  OHHH!  VELIKOV HITS VASQUEZ WITH THE FLAGPOLE!!

[A second blow to the kneeling Vasquez knocks him flat on his back as
Velikov continues to hammer away at him with the flagpole.  Supernova
crawls over to try and help the champion...

...but gets cracked over the skull with the flagpole again!]

GM:  Ohh!  Supernova gets hit with the flagpole in the head again!  Come
on!

BW:  Like you said, Gordo, this ain't no match!  The law don't go 'round
here!

[Velikov dishes out a few more shots to each man before standing over
them both, waving the Russian flag back and forth to the jeers of the
crowd.]


"U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"  "U-S-A!"


[The burly Russian turns furious at the sound of that chant, ordering
his nephew to join him in stomping Supernova and Vasquez into the mat...

...and then hands the flagpole to Sudakov, gesturing at the two men on
the canvas.]

GM:  Oh no... not again.

BW:  They had this coming, Gordo!  They've got it coming!

GM:  For what?!  How on Earth can you possibly say they've got this
coming to them!?

[Sudakov shakes his head as he stretches out the flag, looking to bury
Supernova and Vasquez underneath it...

...when a pissed-off Jim Watkins rolls under the ropes, equalizer in
hand!]

GM:  WATKINS!  WATKINS!!

[Winding up the piece of lumber, Watkins DRILLS Velikov across the back
with it, sending him stumbling through the ropes and out to the floor to
a HUUUUUGE roar!]

GM:  WATKINS CLEARS OUT VELIKOV!!

[From the floor, we can hear the barked Russian orders of Ivan Kostovich
as Sudakov spins around, flagpole in hand...

...and eats a right hand from Watkins!]

GM:  Big shot by Big Jim!  

[A second and third quickly follow, each seeming to do a little damage
to the former Mixed Martial Artist but not enough to fell him...

...until Supernova picks up the fallen equalizer and SMASHES it into the
back of Sudakov's knee!]

GM:  OHHH!  'NOVA TAKES DOWN SUDAKOV!!

[And with a fire lit under him, the Venice Beach native grabs the top
rope, slingshotting himself over the top rope onto a stunned Velikov,
staying down on the floor to hammer him with right hands!]

GM:  SUPERNOVA'S TAKIN' THE FIGHT TO VELIKOV!!

[Inside the ring, Juan Vasquez is on his feet and is helping Jim Watkins
drag Sudakov to his feet.  The duo takes turn hammering Sudakov with
right hands, knocking him all the way back to the ropes.  They back up,
grabbing the 2x4 between them...

...and rush forward, connecting with a board-assisted clothesline that
sends Sudakov falling over the ropes as well!]

GM:  OHHHH!  OUT GOES SUDAKOV!!

[And Jim Watkins wastes no time in rolling out to the floor, leaping
atop the downed Sudakov and slamming his face into the thinly-padded
floors.]

GM:  We've got fights raging all over the place!  Fans, we're almost out
of time!  We're almost-

[Vasquez is standing alone in the middle of the ring, the Russian flag
gripped in his hands.  He seems prepared to rip the flag in half.]

BW:  He can't do that!  Get the flag away from him!

GM:  Do it, Juan!  Tear that filthy rag apart!

[But before he can...]


"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!"
"OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"


[The crowd reacts as someone came rushing from the back, steel chair in
hand and CLUBBED Juan Vasquez over the head with it, the National Champion just barely getting an arm up to absorb some of the blow!]

GM:  It's the West Memphis Assassin!  And by God, he just DRILLED Juan
Vasquez over the head with that steel chair!  That vile, vile chairshot
just leveled the National Champion!

[The masked Assassin stands over the motionless Vasquez, throwing the
now-dented chair down on the mat.  He glares down at the National
Champion before spitting on his prone form.]

GM:  Oh, come on!  There's no cause for that!

BW:  He just clubbed him over the head with a steel chair and you're
worried about him spitting on the man!

[Reaching down, the Assassin hauls Vasquez up to his feet, revealing a
heavy stream of blood pouring out of the skull of the National Champion.
 The Assassin nods his head slowly, gesturing at the busted-open
Vasquez.  He leans close, shouting loud enough that our camera can pick
it up.]

"YOU THOUGHT IT WAS OVER?!  YOU THOUGHT YOU COULD TREAT ME LIKE THAT?!"

[The Assassin slowly lifts a heavily taped right thumb...

...and JAMS it into the side of the throat, pulling Vasquez back down to
the canvas!]

GM:  The Assassin's Spike!  He's got the Spike hooked in!  

BW:  Just like Vasquez did when he wore that mask!

GM:  The man's already unconscious!  What does this prove?!  It doesn't
prove a damn thing!  He's unconscious from the steel chair to the skull!

[After a few more moments, the Assassin breaks the hold, climbing to his
feet before the jeering Little Rock crowd.  He stands over the bloodied
and motionless Vasquez, planting a foot on his chest...

...and raising his right arm in triumph as the crowd hurls jeers in his
direction!]

GM:  The West Memphis Assassin has struck and struck HARD here tonight
in Little Rock, fans!  We're out of time!  We've gotta go!  But Juan
Vasquez, the National Champion, has been bloodied and beaten here in the
middle of the ring tonight!  And the question is - how much damage was
done?  How bad of condition is Juan Vasquez in?

BW:  I've got a better question for you, Gordo.

GM:  Which is?

BW:  Who IS that masked man?!

GM:  So long everybody!

[With the Assassin still standing over his prone victim, we fade to
black.]