________ ______ __ ____ ___ __ . _ ___ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __| / /\ | | || \| \ /\ \ / |\ || / \| | | | || | \ v v / | __| \__ /__\ | | ||__/| |/__\ v | \||| __|-| | |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| \ \| v | \|__/ \| | || \_|| | | __________________________/...hour two...\........|...|.......|....| LIVE! IIWF Coliseum, Portland, Oregon 27 December 1997 [Fade through to interior shots of the IIWF Coliseum, fireworks erupting around the ring entrance area and high above the rigging in the rafters of the jam-packed arena. The shot cuts rapidly between various sections of the crowd, fans waving at the cameras, holding aloft their signs and showing off their merchandise. Eventually, the shot comes to rest on Tim Dross, who raises a microphone to his mouth as the smoke clears around ringside and the fans begin to settle once more.] TD: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time it is my great pleasure to introduce to you one of the hottest stars in the IIWF, the man who has accomplished the remarkable feat of winning not one, but _two_ matches in a row to become the number-one contender to the IIWF Intercontinental Title held by "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley!  [Big pop from the fans!] Would you please join me in welcoming the Scottish sensation himself, DUNCAN MACBETH! [Curiously, the familiar sound of "Scotland The Brave" does not ring out from the P.A. as usual. Instead it is replaced by a single strumming guitar, accompanying a raucous verse of "We'll be singing/When we're winning/We'll be singing...", which then gives way to the thunderous, anthemic chorus of... # I GET KNOCKED DOWN BUT I GET UP AGAIN YOU'RE NEVER GOING TO KEEP ME DOWN # "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba blasts from the P.A., shaking the rafters of the Coliseum, but is almost drowned out itself by the huge pop that erupts from the crowd as Duncan Macbeth, emerging from the entrance, takes a moment to look around the huge arena, a broad smile lighting up his features as he soaks in the response from the fans.  Macbeth is dressed in jeans, motorcycle boots, his black Lion Rampant jacket, and a white T-shirt with a big red arrow pointing to his waistline with the caption, "WATCH THIS SPACE".  A red Macbeth tartan scarf hangs around his neck, the sight of which causes his many supporters in the stands to start waving their own plaid scarves, and soon the Coliseum is a sea of flowing crimson, dotted with signs that read "Macbeth: The True Champ", "One More Week, Quigley", and, strangely, "Macbeth 3:16".  The big Scot takes his time on the way to the ring, slapping as many hands as humanly possible before stepping through the ropes and moving over to Dross, gripping the broadcaster's hand in a hearty greeting.] TD: Well, Duncan, it's been quite a long time since we've had the pleasure of an interview with you.  I trust you had a good holiday up in the Canadian Rockies? DM: Aye, Dross, tha' Tim Turner kens how t' throw a magic party!  Great wee cabin, great company, great eatin'... though by th' looks o' yuir waistline there, Mr. Dross, I'd say yuir Christmas dinner was better than mine, wha'! [The crowd pops with laughter as Macbeth reaches out and rubs Dross' stomach, the veteran broadcaster visibly turning red as he quickly tries to button his blazer, and can't.  A chant of "SHOW YOUR GUT" starts up, causing Dross even more embarrassment.]  TD: Heh heh... yes, I must admit I was making rather merry myself last Thursday.  But last Saturday, you received something of an early Christmas present, when you defeated the "Real Deal" Luke Steele and the "Brat" Bradley Reed, to once again set a date for you to meet the Intercontinental Champion, Chris Quigley, just one week from tonight. DM: Aye.  I told Chris Quigley, Steve Manning, an' th' whole o' th' IIWF tha' I wasn't through wi' tha' pathetic excuse fer a champion, an' last Saturday, I backed tha' statement up fer all th' world t' see. [Big pop from the fans.] TD: You certainly did.  We haven't been treated to the kind of wrestling clinic that both you and Steele put on last week in a very long time.  I happen to be of the opinion that you are one of the most underrated technical wrestlers here in the IIWF - most people seem to view you as just another roughhouse brawler. [Macbeth's jade eyes light up as he chuckles to himself, as if he's heard this one before.] DM: I ken wha' ye're sayin', Dross.  Most people of... limited intelligence seem t' have trouble seein' past th' accent, an' th' country manners, an' the kilt an' all.  Sometimes th' ignorance o' me opponents ends up bein' me biggest advantage goin' in t' a match. Believe me, Dross, there's no' a wrestler in th' IIWF who enjoys bein' underestimated more than Duncan Macbeth. TD: I think it's fair to say that Chris Quigley isn't taking you as lightly as he did before Ring Wars IV. [One Macbeth supporter in the crowd chimes in with "Damn straight!", starting another pop, but Macbeth just shakes his head.] DM: Perhaps 'e did, Dross, but ye ken who didn't take me lightly?  Steve Manning, Jr., tha's who.  An' tha's why Manning did wha' 'e did at Ring Wars.  'E's a daft wee bollix, 'e is, but 'e's got some smarts, t' be sure. [Macbeth takes the mic from Dross, and stares into the ringside camera, a look of pure derision crossing his face.]  DM: 'Cause Steve Manning, Jr., Chris Quigley's number one fan, took one look at Duncan Macbeth, an' e' knew 'is hero was _doomed_.  'E KNEW it. [Another loud pop from the crowd.]  DM: Somebody had t' save Quigley's arse, and 'is title, 'cause 'e sure as hell wasn't capable o' savin' himself, lyin' at me feet all bloody an' broken like th' whipped dog tha' 'e was.  Sometimes I wonder who really ought t' be wearin' tha' title -- Quigley, or Manning? [Another fan from the crowd shouts out "YOU, DUNCAN!", and another cheer rises from the fans, bringing another big smile to the face of the Scot, who points to the fan and nods.] TD: Well, I know for a fact that all the fans of the IIWF can't wait to watch you and Chris Quigley square off again next week, in what has to be one of the most highly anticipated matches of the year.  But in the midst of all the support you've received since your appearance at Ring Wars, you've also been on the receiving end of some criticism as well, from none other than Serge Annis and Joe Petrow. [Macbeth visibly sighs, and then his expression hardens as he takes the mic from Dross once again.] DM: Aye, Serge Annis...  I loved how 'e brought up th' subject o' th' Battle Royal in Calgary, Dross.  As I recall, Annis entered th' ring nineteenth out o' twenty men, after tha' match had been on fer well o'er an hour.  I entered tenth, an' only one man had been eliminated at tha' time, meanin' I had t' fight me way past eighteen men t' win tha' match. I also recall tha' th' last man t' be eliminated was -- big surprise -- Serge Annis, nineteenth out o' twenty, who was still fresh as a daisy an' only had t' eliminate one tired, battered, simple Scotsman t' win it all.  Sae don't ye ever try t' tell me tha' I didn't deserve tha' title shot, Annis.  Ye could hae easily been th' one fightin' Quigley at Ring Wars IV -- all ye had t' do was beat me, but ye could no' do it.  Learn t' live wi' THA", tosser.  [Macbeth takes a moment to brush his long ruddy-blond hair out of his eyes, and scratches his head as he paces the ring, taking a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing.] DM: Now, we've got Joe Petrow, Crazy Joe 'imself, comin' back 'ere like 'e's th' second comin' o' Christ after 'e ducked out th' back door a few months back, tryin' t' convince everyone tha' e' "made me".  Tha's almost as good as when 'e was tryin' t' convince everyone 'e was th' Heavyweight champ, prancin' about wi' tha' worthless U.S. Tag Team belt. Jus' more daft ravings from th' IIWF's own village idiot. Ye want t' ken wha' "made me", Petrow?  I'll tell ye, since ye weren't actually here t' see it while ye've been sulkin' in yuir sake all this time.  I was made from nine months o' blood, sweat, an' tears, sluggin' it out wi' th' best that th' IIWF had t' offer, week after week after bleedin' week. [Pop!] Aye, I was a nobody scrub.  I've been there many a time, but I wasn't goin' t' stay tha' way fer long -- an' I didn't.    I was made from takin' the best shots o' some o' th' toughest bastards tha' e'er strapped on boots in this fed - Verhoeven, Byron, Starks, Creed, Hardin -- an' walkin' away t' tell th' tale every bleedin' time.  [Pop!] I was made by facin' every single challenge put t' me since th' day I set foot in th' IIWF, by no' backin' down t' anyone, an' ESPECIALLY by no' packin' me tights, me boots, an' me toy truck, an' _pissin' off_ when things weren't goin' me way. [The crowd pops again, although some of the Sychopaths in the crowd jeer loudly.] However, I'm strayin' from th' point 'ere.  I've no wish t' start a war o' words wi' ye, Petrow, or any other sort o' war fer tha' matter, sae I'll leave ye wi' this.  Ye want Quigley, ye're welcome to 'im -- but no' until after I'm done with 'im, wha'.  Get in MY way, Crazy Joe, an' ye'll find out wha' more an' more wrestlers in th' IIWF are learnin' -- tha' Duncan Macbeth's no' easily broken.  Verhoeven could no' do it, Hardin could no' do it, an' I doubt YE could.  Sae bell th' cat at yuir own risk... [Macbeth smirks] ...'cause I'm no' goin' ANYWHERE, fer a lang, lang time! [Red tartan swatches wave all around the Coliseum as the fans lustily cheer Macbeth's "pledge of allegiance", and Dross lets this go on for a moment or two before he puts the next question to the smiling Scot.] TD: Finally, Duncan, do you have anything to say to Intercontinental Champion Chris Quigley, before you meet once again next week in this long-awaited rematch for the title? DM: Aye, Dross, I've got _volumes_. [Macbeth turns to the ringside camera again, and his features harden into a stone cold scowl, his jade eyes glinting with disdain.]  But I've only got one thing t' tell 'im righ' now.  If ye're watchin', Quigley, listen up, 'cause here's what ye're goin' t' have t' do t' beat me next week. Bring Manning. [Big pop from the crowd!] Bring Annis. [Another pop!] Slap tha' useless prat McArthur around some more, so tha' Crazy Joe will stick 'is nose in as well. [The crowd cheers wildly as Macbeth puts this bold challenge to the Intercontinental Champion.] Basically, Quigley, ye're goin' t' have t' bring as many people as ye can t' th' ring next week, t' try t' stop me from pinnin' yuir shoulders t' th' mat.  'Cause if ye don't, we all ken wha's goin' t' happen. Ye're goin' t' be lyin' at me feet once again, jus' like at Ring Wars IV. [Pop!] An' I'm goin' t' pin ye once again, jus' like at Ring Wars IV. [Pop!] An' unless someone comes along t' SAVE ye once again -- jus' like at Ring Wars IV -- next week, I'm goin' t' walk away from tha' match as the new IIWF Intercontinental Champion.  Sae ye better make sure someone'll be there tha' can do somethin about it... [Macbeth grins into the camera, the very picture of self-confidence.] ...cause there's NOTHIN' tha' YE can do about it! [The crowd explodes in a thunderous pop, and "Tubthumping" surges throughout the Coliseum once again, as Macbeth shakes Dross' hand and flips his 270-pound frame over the top rope, dropping to the arena floor below.  The crowd breaks into a chant of "I-C CHAMP!  I-C CHAMP!  I-C CHAMP!" as the brawny young Scot makes his way up the aisle to the exit, and many of the ringside fans bonce in time with the driving beat of Macbeth's new music, waving their tartans and reaching out to slap Macbeth's hand as he passes by.  Dross watches Macbeth leave from the ring, marvelling at the show of support for the Glenfinnan native, then climbs through the ropes and rejoins Steve Roberts at the announcers' table.] TD: Well, Steve Roberts, these fans are certainly rallying in support of this brawny young Scot as he finally heads towards the rematch he's been waiting two months for -- and it will happen right here next week: Duncan Macbeth versus Chris Quigley for the Intercontinental Championship. SR: A new champ comin' right up. You want fries with that? TD: Welcome back, folks, to the second hour of this very special Championship Saturday Night! We've already seen two of the IIWF's titles on the line so far -- and we have two more huge championship matches coming up in this hour. The Intercontinental Champion, Chris Quigley, is scheduled to face Derek Mota, the toughest little, uh... SR: Bastard, Dross. Just say it. Toughest little bastard. TD: Indeed, Derek Mota is certainly tougher than old boot leather, and it is my understanding that, despite his ankle being in plaster as a result of the brutal attack on him by Steve Manning last week, he intends to wrestle here tonight. Unbelievable. SR: I don't think Mota's going into this match to try and take the title, Dross. I think he's going in to soften up Quigley for his pal, Macbeth. You ever been kicked in the face by a leg in plaster, Dross? TD: Thankfully not, Steve Roberts. SR: Tonight, I think we'll get ample demonstration of what kind of damage that can do. It's going to be like hockey -- we're going to get a "face off", and it's gonna be Quigley's. TD: That remains to be seen, Steve Roberts. One thing's for certain, we are also going to see a tremendous triangle match pitting the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, Brody Thunder, against the man he will face in three weeks' time at Snow Brawl, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski, and Kowalski's nemesis, Serge Annis. Kowalski and Annis wrestled to a draw here last week, and thus both of them are to challenge Thunder tonight in an elimination match. We could see Brody Thunder eliminated first, Steve Roberts -- and we would have a new champion! SR: It's a dangerous match for the champ, Dross. Make no mistake, I'm no Thunder fan, but he's either got nerves of steel or a brain of wood for signing this match. Three weeks before a pay-per-view, he volunteers to step into the ring against two of the most dangerous individuals the IIWF has ever seen. TD: It's going to be a huge match, right here tonight, no question about it. Also coming up in this hour, we'll see the Deathbringer take on the Meatman, and "Sychosys" Joe Petrow makes his return to active duty here in the IIWF with a match against a man who has been his nemesis for several years, Mark Destructo. SR: These two have hated each others' guts since they were in some bush league together back in the dark ages, Dross. TD: Indeed they have. As Petrow himself said, back in 1995, this match could have headlined a show anywhere in the world. Nearly three years on, and times have changed: Petrow's star has been in the ascension, and Destructo's seems on the brink of being extinguished. If anybody can bring Destructo back to his former glories, it's Joe Petrow. What a match that's going to be. SR: Grab a beer, grab a woman... and settle down, morons. TD: Let's get to our next encounter. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| Deathbringer vs. The Meatman |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: JV [Cut to the IIWF ring as Sparkplug Lee prepares himself for yet another IIWF Saturday Night matchup! Sparkplug straightens his limited edition "Guys and Dolls" tie and beings whistling "The Oldest Established Permanent Floating Crap Game In NY" from the now classic musical. Seeing that it is time to announce the wrestlers, Sparkplug smiles and takes the mic.] SL: And now let's get ready to rock, rumble and roll! SR: Just introduce the wrestlers. TD: I can't believe Victoria got Larry a Chuck Norris poster! SR: You shoulda seen what Becky got me, Dross! TD: "Shoulda seen"? Didn't you pay attention in grammar school, Steve Roberts? SR: 'Course I did, Drossy -- I was paying attention to the girls! TD: Ah. You were studying anatomy. SL: And now the first competitor... he hails from Emeryville, California and weighs in at 274 pounds... here is Jimmy "The Meatman" Steele! [The crowd begins to chant "Meat...meat...meat...meat" as a meat delivery truck backs into the head of the aisle! The crowd knows what's coming, of course, as they hear the warning beeps, the back doors swing open and mist swirls out of the back of the truck. From behind large racks of meat emerges -- The Meatman! He grabs a frozen joint and makes his way to the ring, ready for anything.] SR: Dross, I honestly don't see what these morons see in this wacko. He's a little better than... [Suddenly the lights go off, and an aura of blackness and mystery overtake the IIWF arena. Fans flick on their lighters as "Scythe, Rage And Rose" by Dark Tranquility plays over the PA System. Deathbringer appears in the aisleway accompanied by the Blind Guardian... illuminated by a deep blue glow.] SL: Hailing from The Dark Side weighing in at 324 pounds and accompanied by the Blind Guardian... THIS IS DEATHBRINGER! [Once in the ring, Deathbringer rasies his hands and... the lights come back on, accompanied with the explosion of a volley of fireworks high in the rafters of the Coliseum! Huge pop from the crowd for Deathbringer!] SR: Big deal. TD: Say that to his face. And, oh my -- the Meatman just tried to hit Deathbringer with that frozen joint! SR: That's an interesting way to start a match! Come on, Meatguy! [The ref separates both wrestlers and has them lock up cleanly. It's Deathbringer off to an early fast start with a kick to the midsection followed up with a side suplex! Feeding from the fast start, Deathbringer KO's The Meatman with an elbow smash then he runs into the ropes...] TD: What's the man from the dark side going to do here? [A miss with a kick! The Meatman tries to take advantage of the situation but for naught, the mighty Deathbringer grabs The Meatman like a rag doll and CHOKESLAM! The Meatman is seeing stars already!] SR: Stick a fork in him, he's done! Get out the Heinz 57! TD: Are you forgetting the Meatman's secret weapon? SR: What use is it if he can't get at it? Come on, Meatguy! [Back in the ring Deathbringer goes for a flying fist drop but NO! The Meatman is not done yet! He counters the move with a fist right in Deathbringer's bread basket! One slight problem though...the big man wasn't even phased by the counter! Deathbringer comes back with a roundhouse right of his own and then nails Meatman with an inverted atomic drop! The Meatman is really hurting now... but seems more determined to continue than when the match started!] SR: Get out the A-1! Get out the ketchup! TD: You're rooting for Deathbringer? SR: Nah. Just messing with your mind, Dross. You know I loves the Meatguy! "Meat...meat...meat!" [The L'il Soundbiters behind the broadcast table pick up the chant, and soon the crowd is chanting along: "Meat...meat...meat...meat!" Deathbringer goes for a headbutt -- but it's blocked by The Meatman! Big pop!] TD: Still some life left in that youngster! [It's The Meatman with an armdrag takedown which is countered by a lariat from the man from the dark side! The Meatman counters that with a duck-down move! Frustration is evident on the face of the Meatman, while Deathbringer's masked visage betrays nothing but determination. The Meatman heads bravely towards Deathbringer yet again...] SR: A see-saw battle, though I'd say Deathbringer has had the advantage so far. TD: I actually agree with you, Steve Roberts. SR: On the other hand... [Deathbringer gets the first move after the lock up, flinging The Meatman into the ropes! The Meatman bounces off the ropes -- and runs into the ref! The ref is out cold! The Meatman scurries out of the ring...] SR: What's he up to? TD: His secret weapon, he's looking for his his meat cleaver! But The Blind Guardian sees him and heads his way... [The Meatman reaches his butcher's apron and unwraps his meat cleaver! Some of the fans nearest his position see what he is doing and start going crazy!] TD: The Meatman doesn't see The Blind Guardian heading his way... SR: And he's got the meat cleaver! Now this I could get into, Dross! Carnage! Mayhem! I love it! TD: And The Blind Guardian is sneaking up behind The Meatman... SR: Not for long, he sees him! [Sure enough, The Meatman whirls and spins to face The Blind Guardian, who has a chair! The Blind Guardian is not fast enough and gets the blunt end of the meat cleaver! Down goes the Blind Guardian! And The Meatman slides UNDER the ring... to come up on Deathbringer's opposite side. The man from the dark side is looking the other way...] TD: Oh my, looks like the Meatman is going to Pearl Harbor Deathbringer! SR: Plant that cleaver in his skull, Meatguy! TD: Good grief. [The Meatman nails Deathbringer, not once but three times and down goes Deathbringer! The Blind Guardian has shaken off the attack and launches into the ring with the steel chair! The Guardian slams the chair over the head of the Meatman and down he goes!] SR: Payback! [At this point the ref stirs. The Blind Guardian is in a battlerage now attacking The Meatman with the chair, repeatedly. The Meatman draws strength from somewhere, and levels The Blind Guardian! Deathbringer sits up in the middle of the ring, to a huge pop, and stands up! Deathbringer grabs the chair that The Blind Guardian dropped and The Meatman stands with his meatcleaver toe to toe with Deathbringer and his steal chair! The Meatman raises his meat cleaver to attack Deathbringer, The Blind Guardian is back up with another chair...and tries to hit The Meatman BUT The Meatman ducks at the last second! The Blind Guardian hits Deathbringer with the chair! The Meatman follows through with an quick dropkick sending the big man out of the ring! The Meatman then hits The Blind Guardian with his meat cleaver again! The Meatman does not take advantage of the hurt Guardian, but rather chooses to pursue Deathbringer... outside of the ring. The Guardian stirs the ref... who awakes as sees both men out of the ring. The ref begins to count both men out: 1 - 2 - 3...] TD: They're still going at it outside the ring and Deathbringer just snatched the meat cleaver from The Meatman! He's going for the chokeslam again! OH MY! He nailed The Meatman! But can he get in the ring quick enough to avoid the countout? [Deathbringer regains his senses -- 5 - 6 - 7 -- and heads to the ring -- the count now reaches eight. Within reach -- 9 -- Deathbringer's hands are on the ropes and... the count reaches ten! He's not fast enough! The groggy ref signals for the bell: Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: This contest is declared a double countout! [Enraged, The Blind Guardian starts to go after the Meatman and Deathbringer follows... not before the JJS piles into the scene restoring order and clearing the way for the next contest of the event. Pan back to Dross and Roberts.] TD: A double countout as Deathbringer could not reach the ring fast enough! SR: His own manager! His own manager hit him with the steel chair! TD: An accident, I'm sure, Steve Roberts! SR: Maybe, Dross, but you have to love the Meatguy. Cleavers, racks of meat -- and he whips up some pretty mean spare ribs, too, baby dolls. TD: I didn't get anything from either Becky or Victoria. SR: Hey, if it's women you want, Dross, I've got this tape... you play it and the women become your slave! Plus, they can't stay away from you! TD: Let's forget it and go to the next match. SR: Oh well, your loss, Dross. TD: I very much doubt it. Okay, folks, up next we have the long-awaited confrontation between the returning "Sychosys" Joe Petrow and Mark Destructo, a man who has apparently struggled to find his feet here in the IIWF. A former multiple World Champion and a veteran of more than ten years, Destructo's credentials are indubitable -- and perhaps a match against his old nemesis Joe Petrow is all he needs to bring him into his own. Let's get up to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| "Sychosys" Joe Petrow vs. Mark Destructo |_||_| \_/\_/ |_|.................................................... WRITER: SK [Sparkplug Lee climbs into the ring, and pulls out the lineup card for the next match.  He raises his microphone hand to speak, and turns a bright shade of red when he realises that he's forgotten the ring mic. As the crowd laughs mercilessly, Lee scrambles back to the timekeeper's table, grabs the mic, and frantically climbs back into the ring to begin the announcements.] SR: [over headset] Poor Sparky.  Looks like he's still recovering, Dross. TD: [over headset] Recovering?  From what? SR: [over headset] Christmas cheer, by the looks of him.  That holiday egg nog's some powerful stuff, baby dolls. SL: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall.  Introducing first, hailing from Atlanta, Georga and weighing in at 370 pounds, here is... MARK DESTRUCTO! [The sound of cash registers fills the Coliseum as "Money" by Pink Floyd booms from the P.A., and the massive form of Mark Destructo appears in the aisle to a lukewarm pop from the crowd.  Destructo is clad in black weightlifting trunks with "D.C.I" written in silver on the front, and the brawny Georgian seems to take no notice of the crowd whatsoever as he makes his way purposefully to the ring and climbs through the ropes, raising his thick tree-trunk arms to the sky as the Sychopaths at ringside greet him with a lusty chorus of boos and referee Dave D'Amato moves to check Destructo over.] TD: This ought to be an interesting match, Steve Roberts.  From what I understand, Mark Destructo and Joe Petrow have history between them going back almost three years in several different promotions, and we may see the culmination of their personal vendetta right here on IIWF Saturday Night. SR: It's always an interesting match when Crazy Joe shows up, Dross. Hell, he doesn't even need an opponent -- Joe Petrow is a walking battle royal all by himself. SL: And his opponent, currently residing in Tokyo, Japan and weighing in at 227 pounds, please welcome... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [The crowd pops wildly for the returning IIWF superstar, but long moments go by without an appearance from Petrow in the aisle, and the cheering soon gives way to confused buzzing, as the fans stretch towards the entrance, hoping for a glimpse of Petrow.] SR: Where the hell is he?  Maybe he's having trouble getting out of his straitjacket... TD: I seriously doubt that, Steve, but... wait a second, the video wall just lit up! [The lights of the Coliseum dim, and the massive video wall over the entrance flickers to life, showing the smiling, slightly deranged image of Joe Petrow.  Destructo looks on from the ring, has massive arms folded, glaring at the video screen.] SY: Mark Destructo!  I know you're expecting a beating from the most     quasi-centripetal man in all of wrestling, but I gotta be honest,     getting in the ring with a one-dimensional dinosaur like you just     ain't my bag, y'know.  So I'm sending my other main man down to     face you.  Hey, Dark Savior! [From the right side of the picture, _another_ Joe Petrow enters the shot.  He's dressed all in black, and looks very tired.] SR: [over headset] Nice effects.  This is just like that movie, "Multiplicity".  You see that flick, Dross? TD: [over headset] I gave that one a miss, Steve. SY: Dark Savior, what are you doing here?  Get out there and kick     Destructo's ass! DS: Man, Sychosys, I ain't never won a damn match in my life!  I ain't     gonna do better against Mark Destructo! SY: Well, _somebody's_ gotta fight him! DS: What about that other guy? SY: HIM?  You're kidding!  You think he'd actually go out there? DS: He's chomping at the bit! SY: Well, all right, if you say so...  Destructo, prepare to fight... SY & DS: THE HEARTBREAK KID! [Confused pop from the crowd, as the video screen suddenly goes dead and spotlights sweep the crowd, coming to rest on the entrance to the aisle. Destructo paces in the ring, clearly annoyed at Petrow's stalling, and his expression is absolutely murderous as his anger visibly builds.] TD: The "Heartbreak Kid"?  Surely he doesn't mean... SR: Nah.  If those guys in New York ever found out, Spreadbury'd end up with two broken legs faster than you could say "sports entertainment".  I'd lay odds he's talking about... [Roberts gets cut off, as "Strut" by Sheena Easton pulses out of the P.A. and a figure emerges from the entrance.  The person is an absolutely stunning woman, slinking down the aisle in a red-sequined, form-hugging evening gown, drawing a chorus of wolf-whistles from the ringside fans.] TD: That woman... I know her, Steve! SR: Dross... you dog, you!  How'd you manage to get your leg over a sweet piece of na-na like that before me? TD: No, no... that's Blaze Taylor!  She used to be the manager of... oh my goodness, of course... [The voluptuous Taylor pauses in the aisle, and gestures back to the entrance, becoming a second person to come down the aisle.  The crowd's confused buzzing suddenly gives way to an overwhelming pop, as Joe Petrow, clad in pant-length black tights with hot pink trim, a leather jacket with "Heartbreak Kid" emblazoned on the back, and stylish horn-rimmed glasses, enters the arena and begins strutting down the aisle, blowing kisses and winking to every female at ringside, young and old alike, and meets up with Taylor in the middle of the aisle, offering his arm to her.] SR: Good grief. TD: That's my line, Steve. SR: What else can I say, Dross?  The "Heartbreak Kid"? He's really scrambled his eggs this time, baby dolls. TD: Well, he's certainly doing a good job of getting under Destructo's skin.  As I recall, that little lady actually _pinned_ Mark Destructo in a sanctioned match few years ago, while she was also acting as Joe Petrow's manager!  Petrow is pulling all the skeletons out of Destructo's closet in front of this Coliseum crowd tonight! SR: He'd better be careful, or Destructo just might pull Petrow's skeleton out of his ass for him. [In the ring, Destructo is going absolutely wild, bouncing off the ropes and tearing at his hair, screaming epithets at at Petrow and Taylor, who saunter smugly along to the ring.  Halfway to the ring, Taylor laughs at the manic Destructo, and turns to whisper something to Petrow, but Petrow stuns the crowd by answering Taylor with a swift kick to the midsection, doubling the woman over!  Shocked pop!  As the open-mouthed fans and the equally-confused Destructo look on, Petrow gathers the woman up, hoists her into the air, and...] TD: Bullet Train To Hell!  What has gotten into Joe Petrow?  He's just knocked that poor woman cold! SR: Hey... at least we know they're not an item.  Looks like you've still got a chance with her, good buddy. [Petrow glares down at the unconscious form of Blaze taylor, and strips off his "Heartbreak Kid" leather jacket, revealing a black T-shirt underneath that reads "Sychosys. Period.", drawing a big pop from the nearby fans.  Petrow throws the jacket over the prone form of the stunned woman, and makes a hand gesture to her that in no way resembles the "4M" sign.] SR: Yep.  You're in like Flynn, Dross. [Petrow then whirls, charges the ring, and dives under the bottom rope, scrambling across the mat and grabbing the right leg of Mark Destructo, and sinks his teeth into Destructo's foot!  The massive Georgian lets out a bellow of pain as D'Amato signals the start of the match, and frantically tries to shake Petrow off of his foot, but Petrow is like a terrier, biting down harder on Destructo's toes with each shake!  Big pop!  D'Amato attempts to break this up, but Destructo beats him to it with a big stomp with his free boot to the side of Petrow's head, and Petrow relinquishes the bite, rolling away from the big man.  Destructo is white with anger, and charges at Petrow, but the nimble expatriate neatly sidesteps the move!  Destructo hits the ropes and comes back quick, but Petrow is quicker, and leaps up and delivers a Sycho Kick to Destructo's forehead on the rebound!  Huge pop from the crowd as the huge Destructo crashes to the mat!] TD: What an incredible beginning to this match, Steve Roberts!  Joe Petrow is outweighed here by over one hundred and thirty pounds, but he is taking the fight right to Mark Destructo! SR: And he's got to keep up this kind of attack, Dross - stick and move, hit and run, 'cause it'll only take one shot from Destructo, and they'll be soaking Joe off the canvas with a sponge. [Petrow struts over to Destructo and rests a boot on top of the downed Georgian, flexing his arms for the crowd as D'Amato drops for a count - 1 - Destructo grabs the posing Petrow by the trunks and pulls him roughly to the mat!  The enraged Destructo leaps upon Petrow and begins laying into him with devastating lefts and rights, the hopelessly outweighed Petrow defenseless agains the punishing onslaught.  D'Amato calls for the break, and Destructo jerks the dazed Petrow to his feet, seething with anger, and whips him into the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a huge powerslam!  Destructo goes for a quick pin himself, and D'Amato moves in for the count - 1 - 2 - kickout!  Big pop!] TD: You have to wonder just what Petrow was thinking there, Steve. Petrow can't afford to grandstand against a powerhouse like Destructo, and now the momentum has shifted into Destructo's favour! SR: Petrow doesn't think, Dross, he just _is_.  And what he is... is crazy as a loon. [As Destructo pulls Petrow to his feet, "Mr. Majestyk" Maurice MacArthur makes his way down to ringside, looking on in despair as Destructo heaves Petrow up again and drives him hard into the mat with a high-impact piledriver!  Destructo goes for another pin, but notices the JJS member at ringside, and breaks into a chilling smile as he instead yanks Petrow up by the hair, turns him around, and sets him up for a belly-to-back suplex.  But before he can execute the move, Petrow suddenly twists his head around, and bites Destructo again, this time on the nose!  Big pop!] TD: Oh, this is just ridiculous!  Why does a man like Joe Petrow need to resort to these underhanded tactics? SR: Joe's obviously been watching the tape from Tyson vs. Holyfield, Dross.  I don't blame him -- do you know what kind of corn those two made for that fight? [Destructo flails about madly, and manages to get Petrow off with a rake to the eyes, but the big man reels back, a pair of nasty red welts creasing each side of his nose.  Petrow rubs at his eyes, and the incensed Destructo charges, hoping to catch Petrow with a clothesline, but the speedy Petrow slips the lariat and catches Destructo with a knife-edge chop to the throat!  Pop!  Petrow lashes out again with another chop, and another, and begins to back the big man into a corner with the fury of his attack!  Destructo lashes out desperately with a sweeping right hand, but Petrow ducks and sends a boot into destructo's midsection, doubling him over, then suddenly strikes with a swinging neckbeaker!  Big pop!] TD: Petrow has managed to reassert himself somewhat, Steve.  He seems to be centering his attack on Mark Destructo's neck -- the scouting report on this man is that he has had problems in the past with injuries to that part of his body, and Petrow is doing his best to capitalize on that possible weakness. SR: Yeah, he's a real pain in the... aww, I just can't go there... [Petrow manages to pull the huge Destructo to his feet and whip him into the ropes, and incredibly, attempts a gorilla press on the 370 pounder! Destructo's momentum helps Petrow out a bit, and the Sychopaths cheer wildly as Petrow ducks under Destructo's frame and presses him up! Petrow screams like a banshee with the effort as he manages to hold the massive wrestler over his head for a little less than a second before he gives out, and Destructo collapses on top of him!  Disappointed pop from the Sychopaths as D'Amato drops for the count - 1 - 2 - Petrow kicks out!] TD: This is unbelieveable, Steve Roberts!  Joe Petrow, one of the smallest men in the IIWF, goes for a gorilla press, of all things, on 370 pound Mark Destructo!  That is absolutely... SR: Crazy, Dross.  Stark, raving bonkers.  Ain't it great? [It is mark destructo who is first to his feet, Joe Petrow having absorbed the brunt of the impact after his ill-fated gorilla press attempt.  Destructo draws himself up to his full height, draws a finger across his neck to signify "It's over!", and pulls Petrow to his feet, setting him up in a piledriver position.] TD: This looks like the setup for the Destructo Backbreaker, a devastating submission move from a powerbomb position.  Petrow may have lost the match with that insane press attempt, Steve. SR: Maybe not, Dross!  Look! [Destructo heaves Petrow high into the air for the powerbomb, attempting to seat Petrow on top of his massive shoulders to sink in the backbreaker, but somehow, Petrow rolls out of the move, and lands on his feet behind Destructo!  The crowd pops wildly as Petrow drives a boot into Destructo's midsection, grabs him in a facelock, grits his teeth from the strain, and pulls Destructo up with all his might!] TD: Petrow with the Bullet Train To Hell on Mark Destructo!  Where did he find the strength for that? SR: Beats me, Dross, but he ain't going for the pin!  What the hell is wrong with him? [Petrow finds a ringside camera and takes a second to say "Hey, Chrissie!  Here comes the "Quig-mission!  This one's for you!"  before he pulls Destructo up into a seated position, straddles his head with both legs from behind, reaches down for Destructo's right leg, and pulls up with all his might!  The modified stump-puller exerts tremendous pressure on Destructo's weakened neck muscles, and although he valiantly fights against the pain and strain, it is only mere moments before he taps out!  Ding! Ding! Ding!] SL: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, as a result of a submission... "SYCHOSYS" JOE PETROW! [Sheena Easton's "Strut" throbs from the P.A. once again, as MacArthur jumps for joy on the outside, and climbs into the ring to celebrate with his friend and partner, who is indulging in a posedown to the delight of the Sychopaths, who mimic his every move on the outside.  Destructo sits up, rubbing at his neck, and just shakes his head in frustration as he slips under the bottom rope and quietly makes his way out of the Coliseum, leaving Petrow and MacArthur in the ring, flexing and strutting for the fans.] TD: Well, that definitely has to be chalked up as an upset for Joe Petrow, Steve.  Granted, Petrow's an enormous talent, but with the amount of weight he was giving away in that match, Mark Destructo had to be counted as the favourite.  A disappointing defeat for that veteran. SR: Size ain't everything, Dross, no matter what LaRue tries to tell you.  Joe was one step ahead of Destructo that whole match, and that's what made the difference. TD: Joe Petrow also took the opportunity to send a message to Chris Quigley, dubbing his new submission hold "The Quig-mission".  SR: Not a bad name, Joe, but a little dull.  How about "Beg Me For Mercy And Then Cry About It For Weeks Afterwards You Whining Little Bitch"? TD: [sighs] I'm not sure that's much of an improvement, Steve. SR: Hey, it works for me. TD: Well, that's going to take us to yet another title defense by "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley.  You have got to be impressed by the manner that he has consistently defended this title. SR: Huh?  Jesus, Dross -- you scared the hell out of me.  I thought you said we had a match coming up.  Everyone knows I'm taking the night off. TD: Steve Roberts, we've approached the end of the card.  Two title defenses left in another big, big IIWF Saturday Night. SR: End of the card?  Good God.  I's havin' those blackouts again Dross.  TD: Let's get to the ring. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley vs. Derek Mota ....................................................................... WRITER: JJ [Sparkplug Lee gives a thumbs up to a fan with a sign reading "Santa Is the ICON" and then takes the mic.] SL: The following contest is set for one fall and is for the IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP! Introducing first, weighing 224 pounds and hailing from Toronto, Canada... he is the former IIWF Cruiserweight Champion... DEREK MOTA!! [Big Pop from the fans as "The Great Southern Trendkill" begins.  The aisle remains unfilled momentarily... then Mota emerges... Derek Mota, his right foot encased in a plaster cast, hobbling his way down to the ring with the assistance of a pair of crutches. Mota struggles, obviously laboring as he reaches ringside, discarding the crutches -- and as the fan reaction continues to swell, Mota props himself up to the apron.] TD: You have got to admire the guts, the intestinal fortitude of this young superstar, Steve Roberts.  Viciously attacked by Steve Manning, a broken ankle -- staring some two months of rehabilitation in the face... and yet he requests this opportunity to meet Chris Quigley. SR: He's an idiot, Dross.  I still like the guy -- even if he is starting to worry about these morons too much -- but there's no reason he needs to be out here tonight.  Mota's gotta have one of those guaranteed contracts like me and Ronnie Paris.  Whether we play or not... we gets the Benjamins. [Mota painfully makes his way into the ring...walking gingerly to the ropes to begin to limber up.] SL: And his opponent... he weighs 238 pounds and hails from Corner Brook, Newfoundland... he is the IIWF Intercontinental Champion... "QHICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY!! [Big Heel Pop as "For Those About To Rock" begins... and Quigley is seen at the top of the aisle.  Quigley smirks at the crowd reaction... which grows more and more antagonistic as he slowly walks to the ring. Quigley shakes his head at Mota as he approaches ringside, almost in disbelief that he would dane to challenge him given his condition. Quigley climbs to the apron... having words with Mota who comes to the side of the ring to jaw with the Champion... Big Heel POP!] TD: It's Manning!  Manning from the backside!  Manning from the backside!  Good God! [Manning appears from nowhere into the ring, sweeping Mota's leg and knocking him to the canvas!  Manning begins battering Mota's head into the ground as Quigley hops into the ring, Quigley moving to a midbuckle and making the "I love you" symbol to the wildly booing fans as Manning continues to pound away at Derek Mota. Referee Dave D'Amato signals for the bell, Ding! Ding! Ding! and the match is officially underway, D'Amato endeavoring to move Mota to the outside as Quigley hops to the canvas..and begins choking Mota out! The heel pop continues as Chris Quigley chokes the fallen Derek Mota right on the canvas... Mota flailing away until the official turns to see the blatant illegal activity, causing Quigley to break the hold.] TD: Oh, this Chris Quigley has changed, Steve Roberts.  And you can blame it all on Steve Manning's influence, I believe.  This is a deeply disturbed young man -- and he is a truly destructive influence on the life of the IC Champ. SR: Dross, you never get any smarter.  Chris Quigley is a gutless, cowardly punk.  This is the guy we've always seen... backjumping... sneering... plastic loving ponyboy. [Quigley deliberately picks Mota to his feet... Mota attempting to fight the "Quickstrike" off... but Derek is simply outgunned with only one leg... Quigley smacks Mota repeatedly to the face... then whips him farside...] TD: And Mota falls to the mat.  Oh... this is bad.  This is very, very bad. [Mota stumbles and falls, Quigley wasting no time in moving to a midbuckle and dropping a lethal elbow to the throat... Quigley then stomping away to the injured Mota leg... Quigley delivering purposeful, sharp stomps to Derek Mota's broken ankle as the fans continue to boo wildly.] TD: Chris Quigley is vicious... he is destroying Derek Mota right here in the middle of the ring -- I don't know if we will ever see the same Derek Mota again after tonight.  [Quigley picks up Mota again... and then drives him down with a side russian leg sweep.  Quigley reveling in the "boos" as Manning makes a mock attempt to lead the crowd in a chant of "Quick-Strike-Er... Quick-strike-er". Quigley cups his hand to his ear... giving a thumbs up in feigned ignorance of the complete disgust in which this IIWF Coliseum crowd currently views him.  Quigley grabs the legs... steps over... turns Mota and sits down....] TD: That's it... Quickstriker... Quickstriker... [Derek Mota taps the mat... and Steve Manning triumphantly enters the ring carrying a steel chair.] SL: Your winner... as a result of a submission... and STILL... IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION... "QUICKSTRIKE" CHRIS QUIGLEY!! [Heel Pop as Manning grabs D'Amato's arm, raising it to the sky... as Quigley refuses to break the hold!  Chris Quigley refuses to break the Quickstriker as Derek Mota now struggles in obvious, intense pain.  Referee D'Amato attempts to break the hold... but is blocked off by D'Amato... Quigley continuing to cinch down on the hold... as the crowd then queals...] TD: Duncan Macbeth!  Duncan Macbeth!  Here comes Duncan Macbeth! [Macbeth dives into the ring, tackling Quigley and beginning to pummel him with a volley of lefts and rights... the crowd is in a wild face pop for the Scotsman as Macbeth continues his assault on Quigley... ...and then is nailed to the back of the head with that steel chair by Steve Manning!...] TD: Good God!  Good God!  SR: They set him up, Dross!  Quigley and Manning set Duncan Macbeth up!  [Quigley has a huge smile on his face as Manning hands him the steel chair... and then Quigley_plants_Macbeth squarely across the birdge of the nose with the steel chair!  Macbeth's forehead runs crimson as Quigley then drops to the mat... and puts the Quickstriker on Duncan Macbeth!] TD: This is terrible!  Derek Mota is out... Duncan Macbeth is busted open... and Chris Quigley has that Quickstriker locked on!  What's gonna happen next week when these two men meet in the middle of the ring! Good God! SR: Quigley's made the turn, Dross.  Chris Quigley has made that full turn -- oh, my are we gonna have some fun now! [IIWF officials stream from the back... convincing Chris Quigley to break the hold.  Quigley grabs his belt... returning to the midbuckle to salute the fans who now shower the ring with debris as the IIWF officials tend to both Mota and Macbeth.] TD: It is a big, big night for Chris Quigley -- one more title defense -- and a vicious attack on both Derek Mota and Duncan Macbeth, each man feeling that Quickstriker... and each man having to be helped from the ring. SR: I still say Quigley walks out, Dross.  A chairshot does not a man make... and I'm telling you right now... Chris Quigley is just starting to show that his true colors are yellow and yellower.  TD: Listen to the incredible noise building up from this crowd as we approach our main event for the evening! I'm sure that every man, woman and child in the IIWF Coliseum tonight, all the folks watching on their television sets at home, each and every wrestling fan across the globe -- they're all feeling the tension, the anticipation of these moments, as we eagrely await what must surely be considered one of the most important and electrifying matches in wrestling history. Serge Annis. Steve Kowalski. Brody Thunder, the number one wrestler in the world. Three of the biggest superstars to ever raise hell in professional sports; three men driven by a fierce hatred of one another; three men in an all out war for the greatest athletic prize on the planet: the IIWF World Heavyweight championship! [The heat from the completely packed out, completely sold out crowd is building to an incredible intensity; chants of "Skull - pump! Skull - pump" conflicting dissonantly with cries of "Go Psycho Serge!" and "Thun - der! Thun - der!". Electricity almost visibly crackles across the Coliseum as Sparkplug Lee ambles to the ring.] TD: What a fight we're gonna have on our hands in this three way dance! Serge Annis, rising as the true force from the ashes of the Genesis Generation, long considered a minor league bully, now on the brink of glory in the IIWF... capturing the World championship tonight would truly cement his growing legend. Steve Kowalski, the most violent and dangerous anti-hero in professional wrestling. Remarkably, he's one of the most popular figures in the world at this point - I hear he's even gonna be on the cover of the next Rolling Stone... SR: ...Amazing, they're finally gonna put someone of worth on the cover of that rag... TD: ...I believe, to the Fury, winning the world championship isn't even as important as proving to everybody that he's a better man than Brody Thunder. These two guys have a genuine hatred for one another that goes beyond mere championship rivalry... SR: ...That cowpoker is gonna get whooped worse than the time Daisy the Cow trampled him down with an excessive backwards thrust, and he wouldn't go near the barn for a week! Whoooo! The New Jersey Nightmare, the next IIWF World Heavyweight champion! Whoooo!.. TD: ...Thank you, Steve Roberts. And last of all, "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, the World champion, the toughest man on the planet; few would argue his status as the best wrestler in the world at this point. Better than Dan Kauffman. Better than Chris Quigley. Better than Caleb Temple. Better than Gunnar Gaines. Better even than Sabin Figaro. He's got it all on the line tonight against not only one, but the _two_ top contenders to his championship. It's gonna be the most difficult title defense of Brody Thunder's career, Steve Roberts. SR: Start the damn match already! I can't sit here like this wondering what's gonna happen any longer! TD: Right you are, Steve Roberts. Let's go down to the man on the mic, Sparkplug Lee, waiting patiently to make the official announcements. ________ ______ | || |\ \ /\ / /| __|.................................................. | || | \ v v / | __| WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP TRIANGLE MATCH: |_||_| \_/\_/ |_| "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder vs. Steve "the Fury" Kowalski vs. Serge Annis ....................................................................... WRITER: RD [The spotlight beams down over Sparkplug Lee in the centre of the ring, who smiles appreciatively at the "Sparkstermania" sign displayed prominently at ringside, right in front of a pair of "Paris fears Musashi" signs. The fans pop fervently, most of them already on their feet, incapable of holding back their enthusiasm for the main event action ahead.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest will be your main event for the evening! [crowd pop] Stipulated as a three way dance elimination match, the last man to remain standing will be proclaimed the IIWF World Heavyweight Champion! [The crowd continues to pop, almost drowning out Sparkplug's words, and fresh chants of "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" and "Thun - der! Thun - der!" break out.] RA: Introducing the first challenger: he hails from Ontario, Canada, and weighs in at 290 lbs; he has captured major wrestling titles across the globe, he is the Epitome of Evil... please give a big welcome for, Serge Annis! [The fans scream and cheer as the arena lights abruptly go out. There is a brilliant blinding flash as twin fountains of sparks shoot up at the entranceway. Red lights begin to flicker eerily across the Coliseum as a bell tolls ominously. A murky machine gun guitar riff rumbles through the loudspeakers, and finally, the towering figure of Serge Annis steps out into the aisle to a huge pop! Annis is the picture of solid intensity, refusing to heed the reaction of the crowd as he stoically makes his way down to the ring. A coke bottle flies out of the heaving masses and strike Annis sharply between the shoulder blades, but he barely seems to flinch.] TD: This man has already battered Steve Kowalski to the hardcore limits on more than one occasion; one wonders how well Serge will fare against the World champion. SR: He's a psychopath, he's one hardcore mutha[BLEEP], he eats most of the federation for breakfast... but he ain't no Steve Kowalski, Dross man. And that means he ain't got what it takes to rule supreme in the Double Eye. TD: Well, Serge Annis has been on the most impressive wave of his IIWF career ever since Ring Wars IV; maybe it's his turn to shine as the king of the wrestling world. [Serge Annis heads up the ring steps, and with slow deliberation, climbs between the ropes. All the while, his expression of intensity never wavers, as he stretches his arms out in a cross, and huge jets of flame shoot up from each of the four corner ring posts! Huge pop! The flames die down, and Serge hunkers down in his corner, staring blackly ahead.] RA: And the second challenger! [the decibels of crowd noise already increase, almost drowning out Sparkplug's words.] Hailing from Newark, New Jersey, and weighing in at 268 lbs; he is the New Jersey Nightmare; he is the Next Big Thing... please give a big welcome for, Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! ["Don't Fear the Reaper" by the Blue Oyster Cult rocks out over the loudspeakers, and the roof tears off the Coliseum in a huge, huge pop! Steve Kowalski steps out into the entranceway, tilts a can of Mooselips to his lips and begins to swig! The pop grows increasingly louder as Kowalski rapidly chug-a-lugs the beer down his throat, draining the entire can, and then crunching it flat against his forehead! Big pop! Kowalski throws the squashed up can over his shoulder and runs down the aisle with a fierce fire raging in his eyes, cheers exploding around him, ignoring the hands outstretched to touch him.] TD: Listen to the cheers from this crowd, as mad, bad, violent Steve Kowalski rushes the ring! What an ovation! Unbelievable! SR: The fans know it. The "Soundbite" knows it. This here is THE man in the IIWF, and tonight he's gonna prove it before all the world! Bring on the juice, Big Daddy! [The Fury arrives at ringside, and takes special care to point out the "Steve Kowalski - Mad, bad and dangerous to know" sign held up at ringside, before climbing into the ring. Kowalski strides right up to Serge Annis, still hunkered down in his corner, and the crowd collectively draw in their breath, as violence seems imminent...] TD: Oh my goodness! Kowalski looks like he's gonna start this match early! [Annis remains motionless... Kowalski hauls back and... slaps him right across the cheek! Pop from the crowd!] SR: Bitch slap! Bitch slap! TD: What an insult! [Annis towers out of his corner, but his focused expression remains unchanged, and as yet, he makes no move in retaliation. Kowalski smirks and backs up into his own corner.] RA: And introducing the champion! [the noise steadily begins to increase once again.] Hailing from the town too tough to die, Tombstone, Arizona, and weighing in at 267 lbs; he's the toughest hombre to ever raise hell in the IIWF; he is the #1 ranked wrestler in the universe; he is THE IIWF World heavyweight champion... please give a big welcome for, "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder! [The strains of the "Theme from High Plains Drifter" echo over the loudspeakers, and the crowd responds with a tremendous, Coliseum shaking pop! Brody Thunder, the magnificent IIWF belt slung over his shoulder, appears framed in the entranceway. The lighting effects cast Thunder's figure in a silhouette, as he draws steadily ona stogie clampled tightly between his teeth. After several puffs, Brody begins to make his way down the aisle, walking with deliberate slowness, knowing that he doesn't have to hurry for any man. The fans cheer mightily, they reach out to touch him, but the champion is oblivious, staring through the smoke drifting about his head with a nasty scowl, up at his foes in the ring.] TD: World Heavyweight Champion. Ranked number one in the world. Brody Thunder's confidence has got to be at an all time high right about now. The question is, can any man, even of the elite calibre of Steve Kowalski and Serge Annis, ever hope to pin the Lone Wolf's shoulders to the mat? SR: He sure looks confident, the cowbangin', baldy slap headin', yokel redneck hillbillyin' sonofabitch. I'm already sick of all this overblown Brody Thunder hype. Every damn fifteen year old and his pet frog is jumping on the bandwagon. I can't wait to see that bald nonce o' his get cracked open by a few well placed shots from a chair weilding Steve Kowalski. [Brody Thunder climbs up the steps, into the ring, never once taking his eyes off his nemesis, Steve Kowalski. The fans are cheering fervently behind their respective favourites, as Thunder hands his golden strap to referee Dave D'Amato. Kowalski stares back at Thunder, slashing his hand across his throat in the universal symbol meaning "the end is nigh", then approaches the centre of the ring, rubbing his fists. Thunder steps right up to the Fury, stogie still clenched in his mouth, his face just centimetres away from Kowalski's own. Serge Annis approaches from the side and steps up to the pair, but they are seemingly oblivious to him for the moment... Thunder extracts the stogie from his mouth and blows a steady stream of smoke into Kowalski's face. Big Thunder pop from the crowd! With a spark of rage, Kowalski hauls back and busts the champion right in the head with a roundhouse right! All the Furies in the crowd explode into cheers. Abruptly, D'Amato calls for the bell as Thunder goes staggering backwards. Ding! Ding! Ding! Kowalski lunges in at the champion, rocking him backwards with a series of wild haymakers. Thunder covers up, catching many of the Fury's blows on his arms, but plenty of them still find their mark, digging under Thunder's guard and into his ribs...] TD: Kowalski is firing away, he has Brody Thunder against the ropes! Listen to the roar from these fans! SR: No wait! Here comes Serge Annis! [The towering figure of Annis, perhaps a little miffed at being dismissed during this personal war of attrition, lunges up from the flank, and, taking hold of both Kowalski's and Thunder's heads, audibly cracks them togethor with a huge double noggin knocker! Big psycho pop as the brawlers' heads whip back from the impact! Retaining his grip, Serge hauls around and slams Thunder's head into the nearest turnbuckle, sending the champion reeling into the centre of the ring! Serge hauls around again, this time slamming Kowalski's head into the corner, and sending _him_ staggering back in a daze! Serge Annis suddenly has his two opponents vulnerable, and charges in, blasting Thunder across the throat with a powerful clothesline and sending him in a three sixty up over the top rope! Kowalski lunges at the Epitome of Evil, but Serge lashes at him with a second clothesline, the impact sending the Fury toppling over the opposite ropes himself! Serge raises his arms to the heavens, soaking in the heat from the madly popping crowd, both of his opponents deposited to the arena floor!] TD: Serge Annis cleans house! Brody Thunder and Steve Kowalski thought they were in a one on one match, and payed dearly for their mistake! SR: Serge An... There he goes again! What a crazy sonofabitch! [Kowalski is staggering up off the arena floor, shaking his head and blinking his eyes, but Serge Annis is already flying over the top rope, crashing into him with a cross body and slamming him back into the concrete! Annis uprights himself across Kowalski's chest, and begins laying in the shots to the Fury's unprotected head!] SR: Serge Annis is just pummeling the snot out of Steve Kowalski down on the arena floor! The Fury can't get up! TD: Oh my goodness! Here comes Brody Thunder; he has a chair! [Huge pop as Thunder springs around the ring and deals out a tremendous shot across Annis' skull with the steel chair! Immediately, the Epitome of Evil's eyes cross and he slumps off of Steve Kowalski's body. The fans pop fervently, and Thunder shows no respite as he drives the hard edge of the chair into the ribs of Serge Annis. Annis clutches his ribs in agony and attempts to crawl away, but Thunder follows and drives the chair edge down across the back of his neck!] SR: Annis is hurt! Annis is hurt real bad! TD: But Kowalski is getting up off the concrete! Look out! [The crowd screams as Kowalski dives at Thunder from behind, cutting him down with a lacerating clothesline! Thunder drops the chair as he eats the concrete, but Kowalski immediately scoops him back up, pressing him up over head... then dropping him throat first across the steel crowd barrier! Huge shocked pop from the fans, and Thunder is writhing down on the arena floor, clutching his throat. Annis doesn't look in much better shape himself; having crawled over to the ring steps, he now slumps across them, clutching at the back of his neck.] TD: This is just complete and utter carnage, folks! We've barely seen any wrestling thus far, and these guys are just bashing each other's brains into mush outside of the ring! SR: This is just great! Three lunatics kicking the crap out of each other over the IIWF's big tin strap... If I was a sentimental man, I'd break down into tears of joy right about now! [The fans continue to pop raucously, as Kowalski drags Thunder up by the scruff of the neck, and slings him beneath the bottom ropes. Kowalski follows him into the ring, dropping an elbow across the throat of the champion, and then dragging him up to his feet once again. Kowalski hurls Thunder to the ropes, then ducks down on the rebound in preperation for a back body drop. Thunder manages to put on the breaks, however, and clinching his arms around the midsection of Steve Kowalski, hauls him up and blasts him into the mat with a gut wrench suplex! Huge Thunder pop from the crowd!] TD: What an awesome suplex! Thunder is the acknowledged suplex master in the IIWF, and he might well have just have bought himself the advantage! SR: Look! Serge Annis is stirring down on the ring steps! He took some blistering shots with that chair, but he's shaking off the cobwebs! Kowalski and Thunder had better not forget he's there this time. [Thunder stoops over Steve Kowalski, about to drag him to his feet, but the Fury sits up and cuffs him across the side of the head with a left hook! Both men claw their way up to their feet, punching away at one another furiously... Thunder unleashes a powerful overhand right that bloodies Kowalski's nose; however, the Fury barely blinks, and responds with two consecutive left hooks that rock Thunder backwards! Kowalski lunges in, blasting Thunder on the point of the chin with an uppercut, the resulting crack resonating across the Coliseum! Big Fury pop! Thunder shudders, spits out a stream of blood, then charges straight back in at Kowalski with a brutal headbutt, mashing the Fury's teeth against his lower lip. Big Thunder pop!] SR: This is awesome! These guys are just standing there, trading shots, blowin' up brain cells and splittin' skin with reckless abandon! TD: What a brawl this... Oh my goodness! Serge Annis! He's up on the top rope brandishing those steel ring steps above his head! [Some fans pop crazily, others scream out in horror, as Serge Annis launches off the top turnbuckle, the heavy metal poised above his head... bringing the steps crashing down across the skull of Steve Kowalski with tremendous velocity.] SR: Jesus F'n Christ! What a hardcore beatdown F'n shot that was! Kowalski crumpled to the mat like a sack of splintered bones! [Serge Annis uprights himself as Brody Thunder lunges at him, and then deals out a second tremendous shot with the steel ring steps, smashing the champion across the forehead and sending him careening down to the mat! Huge psycho pop! Annis raises the steps to the heavens, once again revelling in the crowd heat, and then sets them up against the corner. He drags up the groggy Steve Kowalski, blood now trickling down from the top of the Fury's head and over his face, as well as his nose and lower lip, and irish whips him to the corner. Kowalski goes flying dizzily straight into the cold steel of the steps, with an impact audible right across the Coliseum! Awed pop from the crowd!] TD: This is insane! [As Kowalski drunkenly rolls aside, Annis turns his attentions to Brody Thunder, who is clutching his throbbing skull down on the mat. Annis slaps Thunder stingingly across the face, then drags him up to his feet. Annis goes to whip Thunder into the steps, but the champion manages to dig his heels in, wrap his arms around Annis' head, and...] SR: Oh, man! Bulldogged his fat head right through the mat! TD: Brody Thunder just pulled that bulldog right outta nowhere, and Serge is apparently comatose! The champion could probably go for a pinfall at this point, but he's dragging Serge up... [Thunder drags Serge Annis over to the steel ring steps, still propped up in the corner, tucks the challenger's head under his arm, rocks backwards and... <> DDTs him right into the cold hard steel! Huge, huge Thunder pop!] TD: Unbelievable! These men are just wreaking havoc on each other in there, and Serge Annis... blasted right over the ring steps... he's busted wide open! SR: Oh yeah! We gots the juice, baby dolls. We gots the krovvy and da' cream! Boo-Ya tribe! [Thunder rolls Serge Annis towards the centre of the ring - blood spilling from the savage wound on his opponent's forehead, a little trickling from his own mouth - and goes for the cover: 1 - 2 - ] SR: Thr... No! Damn that was close! TD: Here comes Steve Kowalski! [Kowalski leaps up and dives atop the two men in a big splash, remaining poised atop of them for the double pin! Huge Fury pop! D'Amato counts: 1 - Thunder kicks out, dislodging the pin attempt. Kowalski staggers up to his feet, dragging Thunder up with him, and blasts the champion back down to the mat with a short arm clothesline! Kowalski turns, drags up Serge Annis, and drops him with the same manouvre! The pop from the Furies is reaching a fever pitch... Kowalski grapples Thunder up again, nearly shearing his head off with yet another short arm clothesline! Big Fury cheer from his fans! Kowalski turns back to Serge Annis, drags him up, hauls his arm back... but Serge drives his knee right into the crotch of Steve Kowalski! All of the men in the audience collectively wince in pain as Kowalski groans and doubles over.] SR: Don't be surprised if Steve Kowalski delivers his next interview in a strained falsetto. I feel his pain. TD: How many illegalities have passed unpunished in this match so far? Did this referee get his licence out of a cornflakes packet? SR: Hey, this is Dave D'Amato we're talking about here, a guy who comes from the Roughrider Roosevelt school of eye sight. Either that, or he's doing the wise thing: letting these lunatics get all of the anger out of their systems on each other, rather than beating up people out in the street. [Annis lunges in at the stooped over Steve Kowalski, positioning his head between his legs, heaving him up into the air... then driving him thunderously into the mat with a powerbomb! Big Annis pop! Thunder is staggering up to his feet, so Annis runs up and rocks his head back with a fast forearm, then pummels him with a series of lefts and rights. Annis grabs Thunder and sends him for the ride to the ropes, catching him on the rebound with a big boot to the face! The champion is floored under the impact, and Annis, blood dripping down his face, retrieves the steel ring steps. He stalks over to Steve Kowalski, who is struggling to get back up to his feet, and hurls the steps down across his back! There is a dull, meaty clang, and the crowd pops in shock, as the steps strike against Kowalski's flesh, then bounce and roll out of the ring. Kowalski sprawls out on the canvas once again, and Annis begins putting the boots to his head... But, he's rapidly surprised from behind by a big Thunder lariat! The fans are going crazy as Annis is blasted off of his feet. Thunder backs up into the corner, climbs up onto the second buckle, then leaps off with a flying elbow smash across the chest of the Epitome of Evil! Thunder rolls across his foe for the pin attempt...] TD: That's one... SR: Look at Steve Kowalski! He's up on the top turnbuckle! TD: That's two... SR: Jesus Christ! [Kowalski backflips off the top rope, arching through the air and careening into both Steve Kowalski and Serge Annis with a velocity charged moonsault! Super loud and awed pop from the fans, as the pin attempt is completely and utterly disrupted!] TD: Unbelievable, ladies and gentlemen! Simply unbelievable! SR: What a manoeuvre from Steve Kowalski! If I wasn't the great "Soundbite", I would be completely in awe of this man! TD: Listen to the roar from these fans, they can't believe it either! All three combatants are sprawled out and exhausted! They can't get up! [Brody Thunder, Steve Kowalski and Serge Annis are all lying in a heap down on the mat, blood and sweat trickling down their bodies, their chests heaving, dragging in great lungfuls of air. None of them seem nearly fit to continue, but each fan cheers for their particular favourite, willing him to continue the match. Slowly, Thunder starts to stir, Kowalski and Annis following suit respectively, and all three men begin to kick and punch at each other in a wild three way brawl! All three men are clawing up to their feet, taking wild swings at one another... Kowalski smashes a palm into the nose of Brody Thunder; Serge lashes out with a boot to Kowalski's midsection; Thunder blackens Annis' eye with a fast elbow smash... Annis sticks his thumb into Thunder's eye, but not before the champion has dug a hard uppercut into the ribs of Steve Kowalski, who is furiously hammering away at the side of Annis' head with axehandle shots. Thunder takes a step back and clutches at his stinging eye, and Kowalski finally manages to take Annis down with a pulverising double axe handle blow across the crown of his head. He runs to the ropes, bounds off, and comes careening towards the stunned Brody Thunder with a flying bodypress! Huge Fury pop as Kowalski brings Thunder crashing into the mat, and begins to rain fists down on his unprotected head!] TD: All three men going beyond intensity! All three men, fighting with every last drop of strength left in their bodies! Nobody is willing to give up the chance to win the World title! SR: Look at Kowalski, just bludgeoning the head of Brody Thunder against the canvas!.. Look out Fury, Serge is behind you! [Serge Annis staggers up behind Kowalski and wraps a big arm around his throat, dragging him away from Brody Thunder and wrenching away at his windpipe, trying to crush the life from his body. Thunder attempts to regain his footing, but reels dizzily against the ropes. Putting a hand to his forehead, it noticably comes away all bloody, his head apparently busted open from being repeatedly smashed into the mat. Annis continues to wrench away with his arms locked around Kowalski's throat, jerking him up and down in the air! Kowalski gags and gasps for breath, but begins ramming his elbow back into Serge Annis' mid-section. Annis doesn't even seem to feel the blows, so intent is he on putting Kowalski away. Thunder staggers up, and drives a boot into Kowalski's mid-section. Just as he does so, Kowalski has stuck a particularly hard elbow smash to the gut of Annis, and the double impact tears him free from the Epitome of Evil's grasp!] TD: What a painful predicament the Fury was in. He almost had the life choked right out of him by Serge Annis! SR: But now he's free and ready to kick ass! TD: Actually, he doesn't look in very good condition right now, Steve; he seems to be having trouble breathing... [As Kowalski reels over and clutches the ropes, choking in big lungfuls of air, Thunder lashes out with another kick, this time to Serge Annis' mid-section. As Annis doubles over in pain, Thunder hooks his arms, heaves him up overhead, through the air with a double underhook suplex, sending him right over the top rope! Huge Thunder pop as Annis crashes hard into the concrete floor!] SR: Man overboard! Man overboard! Haul in the plank, there's a fin in the ring! TD: What the hell are you talking about? [Thunder lunges in behind Kowalski, but the Fury whips around and blasts him in the midsection with a knee smash, then hauls back and cracks him on the jaw with a right cross! Thunder shakes off the pain, and responds with a powerful right hand to the side of Kowalski's head, knocking him back against the ropes! Thunder backs up across the ring, charges forward, and leaps at Kowalski, blasting him with a punishingly stiff clothesline, the impact sending the Fury into a three sixty right over the top rope!] TD: The World Champion cleans house! What a fight we're witnessing here tonight! SR: Brody Thunder was in a worse fight once. He was out in the field, messing with Farmer Maggot's cows... they don't call him the cowpoker for nothin'. Well, the resulting lynching, it wasn't a pretty sight. TD: You are a depraved man, Steve Roberts. [Annis is picking himself up off the arena floor, shaking the cobwebs from his skull... Brody Thunder is climbing through the ropes, running across the apron... he leaps off and careens into Serge Annis, blasting an elbow drop across the back of his skull! Huge, huge Thunder pop!] SR: What a crazy bump! Annis is laid out again! TD: Here comes Steve Kowalski from the other side of the ring... he's got the ring bell! Oh my goodness! [Thunder is up and putting the boots to the Epitome of Evil. Despite the huge pop growing from the crowd, he doesn't notice Kowalski looming up behind him all staggering and bloody... Kowalski hauls back with the ring bell and smashes it across the skull of Brody Thunder! <> Huge Fury pop! Thunder drops down to the floor like he was blasted with a shotgun. Kowalski is not done yet however, and he drags the head of Brody Thunder up off the arena floor, bringing it crashing against the ring bell for another punishing shot! <>] TD: This is just terrible! Brody Thunder is busted open even worse than he was before! He could get permanent skull fractures if Kowalski keeps this up! SR: It's not likely he's gonna notice, Timbo. Thunder is already brain damaged from the time Daisy the cow got tired of being "rustled" and hooved him in the head. TD: I have no idea what you're talking about. [The fans at ringside are popping in shock as they witness the blood spilling profusely from Thunder's bald dome, as Serge Annis staggers back up to his feet with the aid of the crowd barriers. Kowalski slings Thunder into the discarded ring steps, which he remains sprawled against, completely comatose. Kowalski approaches Thunder ominously, ring bell poised up high... He stands over the world champion's fallen carcass, a look of triumph glinting in his eyes... He brings the bell crashing down for a final time, this shot sandwiching Thunder's head between the steel of the steps and the metal of the bell. <> Huge shocked pop as Thunder jolts and rolls off the steps, blood spewing sickeningly from his head.] TD: This is disgusting! I can hardly bear to watch! SR: This is hardcore mutha[BLEEP]in' action like only the IIWF knows how to present, baby dolls! Wait! Annis on the attack once again! [A huge pop goes up from the crowd as Serge Annis finally manages to get his wits togethor, and towers up behind Steve Kowalski. He clinches his arms around the Fury's midsection, heaves him up into the air, and dumps him shoulders first into the concrete with a belly to back suplex! Huge pop for Serge! Annis is up on his feet, reaching down and clinching a big hand around Kowalski's throat. With a mighty heave, Annis sweeps the Fury up into the air, and staggering under the effort, carries him by the throat over to the Guatemalean announcer's table, where two olive skinned broadcasters jabber away excitedly...] SR: I know what's gonna happen next! TD: Oh my goodness! [Annis jerks Kowalski even higher up into the air, then brings him plunging down towards the table with supercharged power, chokeslamming him right through the wood in a hail of splinters! Huge psycho pop!] SR: Hardcore Serge! Hardcore Serge! [The Guatamalean announcers dive for cover, and almost immediately begin to wail and lament. Somewhere, in a far off corner of the globe, hundreds of Guatamaleans turn off their TV sets in disgust. Kowalski remains comatose amid the splintered wreckage of the table; likewise, Brody Thunder is stretched out and showing no signs of life -- but plenty of blood. Serge Annis, a huge pop spurring his momentum, drags up Kowalski and slings his bloody carcass beneath the bottom rope. He goes over to Brody Thunder, drags him across the arena floor, and rolls him into the ring behind Kowalski. Finally, Annis clambers up onto the apron and climbs back into the ring himself.] TD: Brody Thunder is finished! Steve Kowalski is finished! Serge Annis has gotta be considered the favourite to walk out with the world title right at this moment! [Serge Annis looks out over the crowd, blood streaming down his face and over his chest, but the stoic expression he wore when he entered the ring remains unmoved. He surveys his bloodied and battered opponents, motionless down on the canvas, and stoops down over them... he clinches one hand, first around Steve Kowalski's throat, a second hand around the throat of Brody Thunder... The fans are popping intensely, apprehensively... Annis jerks and lifts, heaving his opponents clean up into the air... then slams them back down into the mat with bone breaking impact! Huge pop for Serge Annis!] TD: Double chokeslam! Double chokeslam! It's all over, folks, you're looking at the new World Heavyweight Champion! What an awesome battle this has been! [Annis makes the cover, first on Brody Thunder... D'Amato slides down to make the count, and the crowd chants it out in unison: One... Two... Thre... Brody Thunder kicks out! The crowd leap to their feet, and a huge earth shaking pop rocks the Coliseum!] SR: Holy [BLEEP]! The cowpoker is still in the match! He's still the world champion! I can't believe any man can take this much punishment and still remain alive! TD: I'm speechless, Steve Roberts. Simply speechless. [Thunder rolls aside, curling up and clutching his bloodied and aching skull, perhaps trying to muster up enough stamina to get back in the fight, as Annis gets up to his feet, his stoic expression momentarilly cracking in disbelief. However, Steve Kowalski is still laid out before him, and Serge wastes no time in making the cover on his second opponent. Once again, D'Amato slides down to make the count, and the fans chant it out in unision: One... Two... Thr... Steve Kowalski kicks out! An ear splitting decibel of cheers shakes the very foundations of the Coliseum!] SR: Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Steve Kowalski you damn crazy bastard! TD: What unforgettable scenes we are witnessing here tonight! Listen to the roar from these fans! I can hardly hear myself speak! What intensity from these three men, each one of them deserving a world title after this, in my opinion. [Annis gets back up to his feet, and this time, he is unable to control the open look of pure disbelief on his face. The ear splitting crowd noise still continues unabated across the Coliseum, but remarkably, it actually increases a few notches as... as... Steve Kowalski staggers up to his feet! Brody Thunder staggers up to his feet! The fans are standing on their chairs, hollering for all they are worth!] TD: [voice going hoarse with the excitement] They're up! They're up! They're on their feet! SR: This is... this is just unbelievable! [Serge Annis continues to look on in disbelief. A fire is beginning to rage in the eyes of both Steve Kowalski and Brody Thunder. They turn to look at each other, perhaps finding in that moment a brief illumination of the kinship of each other's minds, the hidden respect they hold for each other, and clasp hands... charging towards Serge Annis and bowling him right off his feet with a thunderous double clothesline! Huge, huge pop for the two warriors! Thunder is straight on Serge Annis, dragging him up and placing his head between his legs, hoisting him up into the air for a powerbomb, Steve Kowalski combining with the champion, grabbing Serge's head on the downward plunge, providing that extra bit of impetus on the force of the manouvre... both men driving the Epitome of Evil into the canvas with tremendous velocity and power! Another huge pop rocks the Coliseum, and Serge Annis looks completely out of it!] TD: What a pulverising bomb that was! Serge Annis is destroyed! It looks like his brave bid for the title is finally over! SR: I'm having difficulty believing that Kowalski and Thunder could actually work togethor in any kind of capacity! [Both Steve Kowalski and Brody Thunder raise their fists to the heavens, revelling in the adoration of the fans, triumphant over the battered carcass before them... Abruptly, the pop turns to one of shock as Thunder whips around and blasts Kowalski down to the mat with a lacerating clothesline!] TD: Thunder betrays Kowalski! Unbelievable! SR: Well what the hell did you expect? Only one guy can come out of this thing the winner, I'm just surprised that Kowalski wasn't the aggressor. [Any comaraderie that had built between Kowalski and Thunder over the last few moments is completely destroyed, both men understanding that it is simply in their nature to wage war against one another, and that it can never be any other way. Thunder takes the time to have a breather on the ropes, blood and sweat streaming down the length of his body, barely able to continue after the punishing pace of the bout. Serge Annis is still completely motionless on the mat, remaining in the position in which the powerbomb has left him, and Steve Kowalski is in not much better shape, clutching his skull, trying to muster the strength to continue.] TD: How much more can these men possible withstand? This is insane! SR: Brody Thunder is coming off the ropes! He looks determined; he's heading right for Steve Kowalski! [Thunder staggers over to his mortal enemy, blood and sweating dripping from his face and spattering the mat. He grabs hold of Kowalski, and drags him up to his feet. The crowd collectively draws in its breath as Thunder drapes his foe's arm over his shoulder, grabs hold of his trunks, and hoists him up into the air for his patented Widowmaker suplex/DDT combination... As Kowalski is heaved up, his legs clip referee Dave D'Amato, who was standing a little too close to the action, sending him reeling down to the canvas... unheeding, Thunder drops and drives Kowalski's head into the mat! Thunderous, thunderous pop from the crowd!] TD: He hit the Widowmaker! Brody Thunder has got it! He's going for the cover... SR: There's no referee! D'Amato isn't there to make the count! [Many of the fans simply stand and stare, the tension too much for them, others pop racously, as Brody Thunder is laid out across the motionless carcass of Steve Kowalski, going for the pin... seconds pass as D'Amato strives to shake the cobwebs from his head... finally, he musters his wits and slides over to make the count. The crowd chants it out: One... Two... Thr... Kowalski kicks out! Humongous awed pop from the fans!] SR: Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Kowalski survived the Widowmaker! This man can't be beat! TD: This is... it's completely unbelievable! Thunder would have had the pinfall if D'Amato hadn't been struck down! SR: We don't know that for sure... Officially, the three count was not made, and that's all that counts! [Many of the fans cheer fervently, others begin to jeer discordantly and hurl paper cups at the ring. Brody Thunder appears to have passed out across the carcass of Steve Kowalski, and the Fury is struggling to push the champion off of himself and get to his feet. Another tremendous pop rocks across the Coliseum as Serge Annis stirs, and picks himself up off the mat!] TD: Here comes Annis! I almost forgot about him in all the excitement! He's got Brody Thunder!.. [Annis reaches down and pulls Brody Thunder away from Steve Kowalski, and hurls him bodilly into the turnbuckles! The ring shudders under the impact, and Steve Kowalski is up, rushing the corner, dragging Brody Thunder out of it... He places the champion's head between his legs, hooks his arms behind his back... the crowd begins to scream...] SR: Skullpump! Skullpump! [Kowalski hoists Brody Thunder up into the air, rocking backwards... Serge Annis combines for the spike... Thunder's skull is driven into the mat with punishing force! The fans are going crazy with mixed reactions...] TD: Steve Kowalski is going for the pin! Hold on a second... hold on a damn second! Who the... I don't believe my eyes! SR: It's... It's... It's... [The fans are in an uproar, as a familiar bald and chiselled black man dives beneath the bottom rope and into the ring...] SR: It's Mad Dog Watkins! TD: Mad Dog Watkins is here! Unbelievable! [Watkins rushes up behind Serge Annis, whips him around, grapples him, hauls him up into the air...] SR: Spinebuster Slam! Watkins nails Annis with the Spinebuster Slam! [Steve Kowalski is completely unheeding, however, as he goes for the cover on Brody Thunder... D'Amato is equally unheeding as he registers the cover: One... Two... Three!] TD: Brody Thunder is eliminated! Brody Thunder has lost the World's Heavyweight Championship! Brody Thunder is out! SR: [sputtering] But... But... Mad Dog Watkins! [The crowd continues unabated in perhaps the loudest mixed pop that has ever been heard in the IIWF Coliseum. Mad Dog Watkins slips back out of the ring and heads up the aisle, leaving the motionless carcass of Serge Annis behind him... Steve Kowalski rolls off Brody Thunder, and quickly drops atop of Serge Annis for the second pin. D'Amato registers the count: One... Two... Three! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: He's got it! We have a new World Heavyweight Champion! Steve Kowalski is the new Heavyweight Champion! SR: This is crazy! I don't believe it! Steve Kowalski, you're a goddamn legend! [The roar from the crowd is electrifying and visceral, as Steve Kowalski, blood streaming down his face, staggers up to his feet with his fists raised to the heavens! Dave D'Amato hands him the magnificent World title belt, and Kowalski holds it aloft in triumph, before stumbling down to his knees in exhaustion! Dave D'Amato helps the new champion to his feet, and he pumps the title belt into the air once again, chants of "Skull - pump! Skull - pump!" resounding across the breadth of the Coliseum.] TD: Folks -- we are way over time here... what unbelievable scenes. Brody Thunder has been dethroned by Steve "the Fury" Kowalski in one of the most incredible matches ever seen here on IIWF Saturday Night. What a way to end 1997 -- we have a new IIWF World Heavyweight Champion, and it is Steve "the Fury" Kowalski! We will bring you all the latest on this world shattering turn of events this coming Tuesday -- what does this do to Snow Brawl on January 17? We are right out of time... for "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, this is Tim Dross, saying: so long, everybody! [The fans now attempt to push their way over the crowd barriers in an effort to swamp the ring and be near the new World Heavyweight Champion, while security surround the exhausted Brody Thunder at ringside, and Kowalski stands on the second turnbuckle, his newly-won title belt thrust into the air. Fade.] +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= I * I * W * F =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-+ | President: Daniel Spreadbury | Vice-President: Jim Jividen | | univ0322@sable.ox.ac.uk | brokeback@webtv.net | | iiwf@sisko.demon.co.uk | | +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- http://www.sisko.demon.co.uk -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+