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                                              Thursday 2 March 2006

[We fade up on a wide-angle shot of the interior of the Rose Quarter
arena, with the camera positioned high and to one side of the cavernous
space.  We see time-lapse photography of the RCW staging and ring being
constructed: the jumbotron is winched up into position; the lighting
rigs are constructed and hauled up to the roof of the arena; RCW banners
are unfurled from the highest mezzanine; a truck appears in the aisle
and pieces of the ringside furniture are erected; the ring is put up;
the ropes are strung up; the matting around the ringside area is laid;
eventually, the arena darkens, and the lighting rigs are tested.

Finally the images stop racing, and RCW lead announcer Don Ditka steps
into the frame, taking a seat in the mezzanine level of the arena, high
above the squared circle, which is bathed in bright floodlighting.]

DD: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to RCW On The Wire!  I'm Don
Ditka, and I'm coming to you live from high inside Portland's
world-famous Rose Quarter arena, where just seven days from tonight a
new era in hard-hitting wrestling entertainment will begin.

[Ditka looks over his shoulder at the ring far below, then turns back to
the camera.]

DD: It's quiet in the Rose Quarter now, but it'll be a different story
next Thursday night when the first broadcast of RCW RAMPAGE emanates
from right here in this storied building.  We've been here in the arena
today testing our live events equipment, and it's been a very
interesting day, that's for sure.  It's been the first day that most of
the future stars of Rip City Wrestling have had a chance to meet each
other, to try out the ring, to really start preparing in earnest for the
RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD tournament.

[Cut to a graphic showing the RCW RAMPAGE logo.]

DD: Tickets went on-sale for next week's event last Friday, and they've
been going fast.  We sent our cameras to the box office to meet with
some of RCW's new fans.

[Cut to talking heads footage, captioned "LAST FRIDAY."]

FAN #1: RCW is gonna be awesome, man.  I'm gonna be in the Garden to see
Trevor Lansing go all the way to the title.

FAN #2: No way, man!  Curtis is gonna grab the brass ring with both
hands!

[Cut to footage of a queue of warmly-dressed fans, snaking around the
outside of the Rose Quarter box office.  Ditka's voice-over:]

DD: Hundreds of fans waited in line outside the Rose Quarter last Friday
morning to be sure of getting ringside seats for next Thursday's RAMPAGE
show.

[Cut to another two fans.]

FAN #3: I can't wait to see Trevianski and Sodokov.  They're gonna kick
butt!

FAN #4: What you been smoking?  Nobody's gonna be able to stop Madrock
-- the man's a damn giant!

[Cut to a graphic of the Ticketmaster logo.  Again, Ditka's voice-over:]

DD: Tickets are going fast, but they're still available, either in
person or from www.ticketmaster.com.  Act now, before they're all sold
out!

[Cut back to Ditka in the top level of seating in the Rose Quarter.]

DD: Now, next week we're going to see four Fatal Four-Way matches, with
the winners of each match advancing to compete in singles matches on the
following RAMPAGE, before the winners of those two matches face off in a
bout to crown the first ever RCW Champion.  Let's talk about the first
of those four Fatal Four-Way matches.

[Cut to a graphic of Vinny Carmazzi, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, "Golden
Boy" Nolan Dorado and Jake Andrews.]

DD: Earlier today, "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado provided us with some
comments ahead of his participation in next week's match.  Let's hear
from him now.

[The scene dissolves to an exterior view of a web of steel girders
painted a rusty shade of red.  To those not familiar with Portland
landmarks, this is the Broadway Bridge and the camera appears to be on
the southeastern side of the historic structure that spans the
Willamette River.  The skies overhead are cloudy and gray while a brisk
wind leaves white caps on the water below.  In the background, the sound
of heavy traffic can be heard but the camera is focusing on a slender,
muscular figure leaning against the railing in a brown leather jacket
while beside him, a voluptuous blonde shivers as she ineffectually tries
to cover herself with a fur-trimmed coat.  The man is "Golden Boy" Nolan
Dorado and beside him is the distinctively unhappy Jodee Burwick whose
jeans look like they are painted on and seemingly just as effective at
keeping her warm as paint might be under these chilly conditions. 
Dorado seems oblivious to her discomfort as he turns to face the camera,
flashing a brilliant white smile and displaying the decorative gold caps
that sheathe the bottom of his incisors.  In the distance behind him on
the far side of the river can be seen the square gray bulk of the
Memorial Coliseum and the white ovoid of the Rose Garden as Dorado folds
his arms across his chest.]

ND: I have to tell you, Mister President, I'm a little disappointed. 
Saw your announcements tacked onto the end of On The Wire and while it
was hard enough to wade through all of the snoozefest coma-inducing
interviews that followed my own fantastic introduction, it was even
harder to believe the wastes of space, time and oxygen that you've
chosen to be my opponents!

[Dorado chuckles as beside him, Jodee shivers and tries to snuggle
closer not so much out of any sign of affection but as an attempt to
keep warm.  Focused on the camera, Dorado barely notices her.]

ND:  You scored some major points by calling this tournament "The Road
To The Gold" because after all, what would be more appropriate for the
inevitable crowning of the "Golden Boy" himself, right?

[The passing of a large truck interrupts Dorado's speech with a blast of
engine noise and the blonde wrestler's smile is momentarily displaced by
a snarl of annoyance.  But in a split second, the smile is back even if
the expression isn't particularly friendly.]

ND:  But putting me in the ring with a curtain jerker, a Texas redneck,
and an eyeliner-wearing Green Day wannabe?  Come on!

[Sighing heavily, Dorado shakes his head from side to side as the
patently insincere smile returns to his face.]

ND:  Ah, well... I guess even a top-quality talent such as myself has to
start somewhere so...

[He rolls his eyes skyward.]

ND:  ...let's see what we've got.  First... Vinny Carmazzi...

[Unnoticed behind him, Jodee's crimson-painted and bee-stung lips can be
seen quivering as Dorado's chest begins to shake.  Within a moment, he
bursts out laughing.]

ND:  HAHAHAHAHAAAAAAA!  Jesus, Mr. Spreadbury!  What unemployment line
did you drag that talentless shmuck off of?  I mean, I know that it can
be hard to recruit superior wrestlers sometimes but... Vinny Freaking
Carmazzi?  That poor sap has lost more matches than the rest of the
entire roster combined!  I mean... come on!!

[It takes him a few seconds but Dorado is finally able to restrain his
laughter.]

ND:  Then we've got Paul Driscoll, the so-called "Pistol".  Now while
I'll admit that he's got a decent pedigree, when you put him in the ring
against me, it's going to be quickly evident that he's only shooting
blanks.

[Dorado's monologue is interrupted as Jodee tugs on his sleeve.]

JB:  B-b-baby!  I'm freezing my cans off out here!  Can we go back to
the hotel now?

[As Ms. Burwick shifts, the front of her jacket opens wide enough to
reveal from the front of her blouse that this is indeed a woman who is
very, very cold.  That or very, very aroused but it's more likely that
she's cold.  Dorado shoots a glare of displeasure over his shoulder at
her before looking back to the camera.]

ND:  Just a second, honey.  I'm almost done.

[Jodee groans in exasperation and stomps out of view in a huff but
Dorado is oblivious as he continues.]

ND:  Leaving us with Jake Andrews.  Hey, Jake... the high school's that
way...

[Dorado points off-camera.]

ND:  ...why don't you go hang out with the prepubescent Blink 182 fans
and stop whining about your loser brother or how 2006 is going to
"belong to you," all right?

[The smile fades and is replaced by a grimace.]

ND:  It seems that I'm going to have to teach a few lessons before I get
taken seriously around here.  And the very first lesson is the most
important one.  It's about the Golden Rule...

[Dorado grins.]

ND:  ...and that's simple... the "Golden Boy"... rules!

[And with that, Dorado simply turns and walks out of view as the camera
zooms into a close-up of the Memorial Coliseum and the Rose Garden
across the river.  Cut back to Ditka.]

DD: As ever, Dorado isn't short on confidence.  We'll see exactly how
the "Golden Boy" is able to back up those words just one week from
tonight.  Fans, I'm intrigued by the contrast between Nolan Dorado and
this next young man, Vinny Carmazzi.  Carmazzi has travelled the
wrestling world for close to twelve years, and has never hit the big
time.  But I have a strong feeling that Carmazzi's luck may be about to
change.  Let's hear from this Jersey City native now.

[The camera fades in to an empty hallway inside the Rose Garden. All the
visible doors in this corridor are locked, with their small windows
darkened. The passageway itself is dim, as every other light has been
turned off in an effort to save electricity late at night. At this hour,
not even the security guards come around this way. They're all asleep at
their stations, as is probably the best way to get through the graveyard
shift. Not too long ago, this building was vacated by disappointed
basketball fans and Rose Garden employees. The home team, last place in
their division, didn't even look like they were trying against the team
from L.A. The jubilation following a Trail Blazer win usually remains in
the building well into the night, but the quiet observed now is almost a
force of habit. Successes have been few and far between in recent years.
In the playoffs, when the championship is at stake, the Blazers and
their fans deal with even more heartbreak. Some close calls back in '90
and '92, but not much before and nothing else since. The Blazers haven't
won a title in almost 30 years. The last time was in 1977.

The year Vinny Carmazzi was born.

And at 1:00 AM, on a very early Thursday morning, the newly-signed RCW
wrestler, wearing the same gray t-shirt, bandanna, and jeans as usual,
enters this stark passage from a door all the way down and on the end.
The alarms don't sound. The security guards don't come running. The
lights, the half that are on, continue their dull hum. It is as if Vinny
knew no attention would be paid to him. A knowledge that he probably
only gained by doing this before. Because he has. Between the
federations that called this area home, Vinny has experienced many
brutal beatings right here in thee Rose Garden. The scars have healed,
but the memories of these encounters and the knowledge he obtained from
them remain.

He also remembers which doors don't get locked, and what time the last
security guards fall off to sleep.

He also remembers the location of the indoor gym, and the turn of events
that allowed him to get a key.

But now is not the time for storytelling. Not when Vinny is potentially
3 matches away from achieving his life-long dream.]

VC: The closest I have ever been to becoming champion. Realized after 12
years in this sport what separates the nobodies from the legends. Timing
and execution.

[Vinny continues down the long, abandoned hallway.]

VC: Be in the right place at the right time. Do what you have to do once
you're there.

[The monologue doesn't slow Vinny's pace. It seems as if nothing could.]

VC:  My opponents have obvious advantages next Thursday. A prodigy who
grew up in the sport. An All-American in everything. A talent who has
more than he can handle. Crazy not to think one of them would move on.
All probably trying to guess who's next for them.

[He walks under a light making a particularly loud hum, and then back
into darkness.]

VC: Don't blame them for looking past me. Grew up poor and far away from
the spotlight. Average in everything. My limitations are clear. Don't
have any highlights to show. Crazy to think I would pick up the win.
Probably seen as the weak link. The easiest to take out. I can see what
they're thinking.

[The corners of his lips quiver a bit. The hint of something resembling
a smile is quickly suppressed.]

VC: But until now, they don't see what I'm doing.

[The stone-faced expression of Vinny Carmazzi returns, as if it had
never left.]

VC: My fourth workout in twenty-four hours. Been that way for a while.
Most of the last 12 years. A schedule nobody can imagine to achieve
results nobody can imagine. Dead of night is nothing new. Don't sleep
much anyway.

[Even in low light, the deep and well-defined rings beneath Vinny's eyes
emphasize the point.]

VC: The other three are probably in bed right now, probably not alone.
But I'm here alone, at this time of night doing what I have to do to win
on Thursday. Became my routine long ago. Thoughts keep me awake.
Fortunate the nights I can even get to sleep. But it never lasts long.
As if the waking dreams think I'm betraying them by having ones at
night.

[He shakes his head slightly, resigned to his insomnia.]

VC: The hopes wake me up. Hours before the alarm clock. Waste of time
trying to go back to sleep. Just get up and go. Do something to prepare.
Take the next step towards becoming champion. Which puts me in the
depths of the Rose Garden at one in the morning. Eager for a workout.
Eager to make one of my opponents tap out.

[He passes under another darkened light and approaches the door that
separates him from his destination.]

VC: Eager to get within two matches of the RCW Championship. And then
one. And then what I've trained my whole life for. Sacrificed for. I've
done what the others wouldn't. I'll continue to do what the others
won't. Whatever it takes. The dreams I've had forever and finally the
chance to accomplish them.

[He places the key in the door and turns the lock. It clicks.]

VC: So close it almost seems real. But it won't be if I don't get past
Thursday. If I lose or someone else wins first, the best opportunity I
ever had disappears.

[He enters the darkened gym and closes the door behind him. He can still
be heard, albeit faintly.]

VC: Won't let that happen.

[Cut back to Ditka.]

DD: My oh my, Vinny Carmazzi is an incredibly intense and driven
competitor.  He's definitely one to watch here in RCW on the Road To The
Gold -- as is this next young man, Jake Andrews.

[Jake Andrews sits on the floor of a dark, dingy hotel room, his eyes
blazing blue as an acetylene torch, fingering his thigh through a
shredded hole in his jeans, skin glowing in the sunlight creeping in the
room through the heavy drapes.  His gaze is fierce, riveted to a small
television set that's been bolted to the combination dresser-nightstand,
watching the latest edition of the On the Wire.  His bags are strewn
across the bed, still unpacked.]

JA:  Some wrestlers are born credible.  Some wrestlers have credibility
thrust upon them.  And some have to work a little bit harder than the
others to get some respect.  This Thursday on Rampage, I'll be fighting
all three.

[Click.  Jake drops the remote and kicks his head back.  His 219 pounds
slouch easily against the wall, an affable grin on his lips, an unlit
cigarette dangling from his mouth.]

JA:  The son of a West Texas wrestling legend, s'been drop-kicking
people since he could walk: you know, it doesn't take a smark to rattle
off Driscoll's bio to me to tell me the reason why God put him on this
Earth.  This business is all he's ever known.  The bastard's so tough he
took a bullet in his knee and spit it back out, right?  But you can't
have a promotions full of guys like Paul.  You need guys like Nolan
Dorado.  Guys whose success is manufactured for them, by promotions
desperate for stars with the right look, because let's face it: "Pistol"
Paul's face won't be plastered on any RCW posters anytime soon.  Guys
who look good in the gym.  Guys who feel the world owes _them_
something.  And, let's be honest, guys who can't wrestle.  But why
should that stop you, right Mr. Spreadbury?  You'll make him a star
anyway.

[A smirk.]

JA:  And you just know Spreads is hoping and praying Jodee Burwick's
Christmas gifts fall out of her shirt on Thursday, and maybe it'll
distract the fans from realizing Nolan isn't ready for this tournament.

[He fires up a cigarette.]

JA:  And then there's the dark horse.  Then there's Vinny Carmazzi.  The
guy who's paid his dues.  The guy who doesn't have anything left to
lose.  But you know what I see when I look at you, Vinny?  A guy who
doesn't know how to win.

[Pause.]

JA:  I sat back and listened to Don Ditka tell the world about your
heart and determination, how he's sure you're gonna be a big star here. 
Based on what?  Because of your stellar track record?  Forgive me if I'm
not convinced.  You're just another dumb, rich Italian meathead from
North Bergen, Vinny.  What do you really know about being backed into a
corner?  What do you know about having your back against the wall?  Huh?
 What makes you so goddamned dangerous?

[Jake's jaw becomes tense.]

JA:  You've been a punching bag your whole career, Vinny.  And that's
not going to change. Don't believe me?  Just ask the wall you were
beating on last Thursday.  Don't worry, Vinny: it won't hit you back.

[A wide, effortless smile.]

JA:  But I'm going to tell you something about the Paul Driscolls and
the Nolan Dorados and the Vinny Carmazzis of the world.  They're all
good or they wouldn't be here.  Well, maybe the Driscolls and Dorados
are, anyway.  But you know what?  Good won't pay the bills Thursday
night on Rampage.  "Good" won't cut it in the ring with me, and it won't
win you the Rip City title.  You're gonna have to do more than raise
your game when you step in the ring with me at Rampage.  You're gonna
have to take it to another level.  Last week I told the world that 2006
belonged to Jake Andrews.  Pretty soon?

[Jake pauses, with wide-eyed delectation.]

JA:  So will the RCW title.

[Cut back to the studio.]

DD: Bold words from young Jake Andrews.  All three of his opponents will
be gunning for him next week, that's for sure.  Finally, let's hear from
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll, the impressive Texan who's determined to put his
mark on this match, and by the sounds of these comments, on each of the
other three man in this match to boot, Andrews included.

[Open to the locker room of the Rose Quarter Arena, deep in the bowels
of the place. The locker room is empty and uninhabited, at least for the
next few minutes, save the one man sitting in the center of it. "Pistol"
Paul Driscoll drags a chair to the center of the locker room, then sits
down on it backward, so his arms are resting on the back of the chair.
Driscoll looks the same as always, wearing a pair of faded blue jean,
brown cowboy boots and a shirt advertising "Uncle Sal's Pizza." His
brown hair is curly and slicked back with sweat, his face covered with
some of that two day stubble the kids seem to love so much.]

PD: Hard times.

That's what makes a man. Puts hair on yer chest, adds bass to yer voice.
Ya never learn more 'bout a man then when ya watch 'im react when the
s[BLEEP!] hits the fan. Does he get up when he gets knocked down?

I've seen more hard times'n I care to talk 'bout, more'n I care to
remember. I got me scars and bullet holes to remind me that every time
I'm thinkin' 'at it don't get much worse than the situation I'm in...
that it can _always_ be worse. But I ain't so sure 'bout the three young
pups who got the worst draw in the world. Seems to me that the three
unluckiest men in the state o' Oregon are Nolan Dorado, Jake Andrews an'
Vinnie Carmazzi, 'cause they been charged with stoppin' me from grabbin'
that gold belt.

Fellas, I'm gonna say this once an' I expect you to mark it down: it
don't matter what ya put in front o' me, I'll go through it to call that
gold belt my own. Any hard times ya got fer me?

I got ten times more fer you.

[Driscoll cracks his neck with his hands, then continues, measuring his
words.]

PD: Nolan Dorado, my friend, yer in fer a rude awakening. Yer comin' to
RCW with the Midas touch- anything ya touch turns to gold. You ain't
never been in a fight that ya ain't won. Well congratulations, kid,
'cause that'n a quarter'll gitcha a hummer from yer lady friend. The
past is the past an' ya can't bring it with ya, no matter how much ya
want to. I can gaurantee you, as a man who believes in the Good Book an'
would never say somethin' 'less he could back it up... that there's
gonna a time when things don't go yer way. Somethin' bad's gonna happen,
somethin' ain't quite gonna go the way you want it to go.

Then what?

Miss Botox gonna kiss it an' make it all better? Doubtful, Ace. Yer
gonna hafta step up an' work through 'em hard times. Yer gonna hafta
earn yer stripes, kid. Not as a wrestler, but as a man, an' ain't no
Midas touch or trophy girlfriend gonna help ya then. There's always a
bigger fish, Dorado, you can b'lieve that. Yer gonna meet that bigger
fish at Rampage, an' then yer gonna hafta ask yerself, "What now? I
ain't in my gated community no more, I ain't playin' ping pong in a
fraternity basement. I'm in the ring with a livin' breathin' man who
wants to rip my head off, an' he already had my girlfriend when she was
a brunette. What now?"

Gonna hafta figure that one out fer yerself, kid.

[Driscoll rocks back on the chair, shaking his head.]

PD: Jake Andrews already has that part figured out, see, 'cause Jake
knows damn well what his plan of attack is. First sign o' trouble?

[Paul whistles and nods with his head.]

RP: He's outta here.

I know you, Jake Andrews, aw hell, I know a thousand kids just like you.
Flavor of the month, that's what you is. Some kid wearin' carpenter
jeans, smokin' hisself stupid in his room at night, tryin' to be a pro
wrestler 'cause that's what his brother was. An' hell, that was a nice
story ya told us all, Jake, made me laugh to beat the band. But yer
preachin' to the choir kid, 'cause I got me an older brother too, by the
name of John Driscoll. An' see, John made hisself more money and scored
more drugs down in the South than anyone thought was possible. He was
livin' the rock star lifestyle back before they knew what the rock star
lifestyle was. Then one day he found hisself out of money, out of his
house and out on his ass. The ol' man was all pissed at him, his wife
was mad 'cause he was whorin' around every night. So then you know what
he did, Jake?

[Driscoll holds up a finger to the camera and allows for a few seconds
to pass, then continues.]

PD: Why, he kept makin' money, stopped buyin' the drugs, kept the money
he woulda spent on drugs fer hisself an' kept haulin' ass. I told ya
that story to illustrate a point... hard times don't mean ya close up
shop, hard times means ya buckle down, screw yer head on straight an'
keep goin'.

Quittin's in yer blood, Ace, an' ya can't fight genetics. First time ya
get popped in the mouth, first time ya find yerself in a situation you
don't like... yer gonna find yerself on the next plane back to New York,
playin' yer acoustic guitar an' tryin' to seem thoughtful. Wrestlin'
ain't in yer blood, hoss, an' yer kiddin' yerself if ya think otherwise.
People like you are a dime a dozen, an' they never end up stickin'
around. y'see it ain't all fireworks and rock'n roll music, not at first
anyway. Ya gotta prove that ya've got the stones to keep yer head above
water, an' at the first sign of sinkin' them guys bail fer somethin'
else.

You'll be bailin' real soon Jake, it's just a matter of how soon.

["Pistol" Paul holds his right hand out in front of him and counts off
two fingers, then raises a third.]

PD: Of course, ol' Vinny Carmazzi might could write the book on hard
times. I know Vinny Carmazzi, hell I had a match with him about seven
years ago in Florida. Beat yer goddamn head in that night, as I recall,
but that's all in a days work fer him.

Nolan Dorado don't know how to deal with hard times, Jake Andrews runs
away from hard times, an' Vinnie Carmazzi don't know nothin' _but_ hard
times, an' yet here he is dreamin' o' takin' me down at Rampage. That's
commendable Vin, ya got fire an' ya got guts, there ain't no denyin'
that. But look me in the eye, right now, an' tell me that yer gonna walk
into the ring and whip my ass on Rampage, I dare ya.

[Driscoll looks straight away into the camera before shaking his head.]

PD: Ya can't do it, because in yer little peanut head you accustomed
yerself to losin', an' that's a disease same as polio and cancer. Once
you settle with the fact that yer losin', you ain't never winnin' again.
You can punch every wall on the East Coast, you can tell sob stories
like it's yer job... but yer a loser Vinnie, and they ain't no changin'
that.

[Driscoll stands up and slaps the back of the chair.]

PD: Hard times. I told y'all before that I seen the kind o' hard times
that y'all can't never imagine, an' I lived through 'em to fight another
day. Not jus' in this ring but in _life_, I bounced back every time I
got knocked down. Now y'all are gonna hafta figure out if an' how yer
gonna be bouncin' back, because 'fore it's all said and done next week
I'm gonna be knockin' ya down plenty. See that gold belt means that I
made the right decision, winnin' that gold belt means that it ain't all
in vain. I came to RCW to be the best o' the best, an' the only way I
claim that title is by holdin' that big gold one.

You three stooges, I ain't too worried about ya, I ain't gonna feel too
bad 'bout puttin' ya through hard times. But me, hell, I'd never do that
to myself. I'd hate to be the reason fer my own hard times, so that just
means yer gonna hafta do.

[Paul kicks the chair out of the camera's view and stands front and
center.]

PD: Hard times, boys. They're a-comin'... an' there ain't nothin' you
can do about it.

[Grin. Fade. Cut back to Ditka in the mezzanine.]

DD: It's nearly time for a commercial break, folks.  But don't forget:
you can see all the stars of RCW live and in person just one week from
tonight in our very first RCW RAMPAGE broadcast.  Some tickets are still
available: get to www.ticketmaster.com to ensure you're there in living
colour.  We'll be right back after these messages.

[Fade out.]



[Fade back in to Ditka, who is now sat at ringside at the broadcast
position.]

DD: Welcome back to On The Wire!  I'm now here at ringside.  This is
just about the best seat in the house, and I can't tell you how excited
I am to get started, along with my broadcast colleague, himself a legend
of the squared circle, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare.  He'll make his
return to Portland for the first time in eight years in just one week --
it's going to be electric in the Garden.

[Cut to a graphic of Owen "Truth" Curtis, Madrock The Irrepressible,
"The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing, and a silhouette.]

DD: And this four-way match is one of the many reasons why!  We're now
able to announce who the fourth competitor will be in this match.  That
man is "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy, and we don't know much about
him at the moment.  We know he hails from Hackensack, New Jersey, and we
know that he has a persuasive agent -- because RCW front office staff
have signed this young man to a contract without meeting him.  In fact,
Cassidy hasn't appeared here today, so our first opportunity to see what
Cassidy can do will be in next week's match.  For now, let's hear from
the other combatants in this match, starting with the monster from
Almunster, Madrock the Irrepressible.  As you know, folks, we scheduled
time with all of RCW's new signings here in the Rose Quarter today, but,
true to his, uh, *eccentric* form, Madrock chose to tape his comments at
the RCW studios instead.  So here he is.

[The RCW studio is rife with activity, all of which conducted by a wild,
heavy-set Australian of mixed ancestry. Running in and out of camera
shot, Madrock is busy setting up props: amongst which we notice
fireworks, weather charts, a meaty shish kabob, a chair...]

M: EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE-

[Of course he's yelling. He is Madrock the Irrepressible and this is
what he does. That and smashing, belching, eating and a whole lot more
that cannot be told on public television. In any case, here comes
Madrock again, carrying a great oak desk over his head before smashing
it smack dab in the middle of the set, right in front of the camera
lens.]

M: -EEEEEEEEERE WE GO!

[The impressive giant then takes a huge bite out of the meat on a stick,
proceeds to sit down behind the desk and swallow his food before
addressing the audience.]

M: Roight! It'z come to my attenshun dat certain people uv' da press
around'ere spend all dere time flappin' dere gums about talkin'
cobblers! Personally, I blame da liberal bias in da media: no wonder all
dem Russians 'aff been rushin' about, no gud pinkos dat dey are. This iz
all why I've set up a NO SPIN ZONE around 'ere! Ya 'eard me OWEN CURTIS?
We'z gonna aff ourselfs sum FAIR AN' BALUNCED coverage iz wot we got.
An' it starts wif me, Madrock da future champeen uv' da woild, axin' for
sum' AKKOUNTANCY for all da rubbish ya rabbit on!

[Madrock perks his ear up, apparently getting messages from some sort of
earpiece provided to him. Whatever was said definitely exasperates him.]

M: Rabbit! Means "talk", as in rabbit an' pork!  Rabbit an' pork stew!
Ever 'eard of our Cockney rhyming talk? Yeah, now it'z Madrock providin'
da edjukashun: oo needs yer big words when I've got big words uv' me
own, wif big fists to boot! An' big boots to boot too! Ya wan' da TROOFF
Owen? Alroight. Yoo ready? 'Ere it iz. In very short sentences. Like
dat. I'z Madrock an' Iz da bane uv' Brisbane, da monster from Almunster,
da freak up Abbott's Peak! When I glower, people cower; when I take a
step forward, the 'ole world takes a step back. While yer sippin' molten
-dat's coffee ya git- I'z chuggin' rum an' bustin' eads. You wanna play
dis naughty, I'll play ya naughty roight back, cuz yoo can write about
it, you can aff yer own column, but it's MADROCK THE IRREPRESSIBLE dat
makes da news. An' DAT'S da TROOFF!

[With that, Madrock takes his side of beef, points to it while muttering
"Dat's yoo Owen" and takes a huge bite out of it. Impressive appetite
from a man with barely enough teeth in his mouth to chew meat. Planting
the shish kabob back into the desk, Madrock swallows and returns to the
task at hand.]

M: As fer da uvver chap Trevor Lansing, well yoo just da luckiest git
dere is. Straight outta college an' already callin' yerself unbreakable,
izzunat cute? Dis yer very firss day an' ya rumble wif da biggest,
strongest an' MEANEST Portland 'as ta offer. Well juss you trust
Madrock, cuz if you survive dis brawl, den you'll be able ta call
yerself "unbreakable" all ya want an' no one will aff any problems
believin' you.

[His eyes narrow underneath bushy eyebrows as he whispers to the
camera.]

M: But yer not.

[He snarls out the following.]

M: Spend yer life doin' sports safe in school! Get yerself stretched out
by well-meanin' mates to see 'ow far ya go before ya faint! Took yer
books out an' studied dis foightin' bizness ded 'ard I reckon'! See; I'm
a skolarly sort myself so I unnerstand, but I attended a different
ooniversity: iz called da Skool uv' 'Ard Knocks, an' I got my diploma in
Smashin' 'Fings Up wif a master in Puntin' Runty College Brats Clear Off
Da Grounds!!! Yer gonna lose Trevor! Dey put you up inna ring wif me,
Madrock the Irrepressible! Sociology? Should've studied meteorology
instead: learn 'ow to deal wif a force uv' nature when one comes a
knockin'! Yer gonna break Trevor! I'zza make it a point uv'it, I'll show
ya sumfin' dat ain't in yer books, I'll show ya da woild outside uv'
Yankee state, you'll see da planet crash down on ya when ya meet wif me,
an' you'll see everyfing yer mates, yer teachers wot don't know about:
MADROCK!!!

[He bellows as only he can and takes another bite from his side of beef.
As he does both at the same time, chunks of meat spit out everywhere in
an ugly sight. He tosses the food aside this time as he tries to regain
his composure.]

M: Dere's also a 'fird man ta mess wif Madrock: 'ee won't n'troduce
'imself, but I'll sure n'troduce 'im to my fist! Now folks must be
wunderin': Madrock, wot ya got yer hump all about for? Itz only one
piddlin' lil' foight, ain't it? Well lemme tell YOO sumfin'! I've been
lookin' 'round dis place, an' yeah, most of the bent sods 'ere wood
dazerve da roight krumpin' wots komin' fer'em! But wot 'bout dem proper
chaps, scrappers dat follow da code uv' honour an' dat want dere moments
in da sun? Well I'm gettin' to it, so sod off already! See, da mates I
found dat weren't all bad 'ad juss about gave up da foight! Folks ground
up so much by loife, dey forgot wot it felt like ta 'aff dere arms
raised up in vic'try an' dere names cheered! Bailee Fritzg'ruld, Vinny
Karmazzi; yeah, Madrock's callin' ya out! I'z 'ere ta remind ya lot wot
men are made uv'! It'z like I sed when I firss came in dis place: we
come ta foight, kick ass... AND WIN! Juss you watch Madrock on Rampage:
he?ll show ya 'ow ta walk tall, taller den ya evva walked before! Ain't
nobody gonna feel sorry fer yer sad arses, so for everyone 'oo spends
dere days lookin' out fer da next fing ta go wrong, Madrock iz scrapin'
ta show you deres nuffin' ta fear, nuffin' ta worry about, nuffin' at
all... Unless yer da bloke dat gets ta take me in da ring, den it's time
ta break out da cottonelle!

[He snarls viciously at the camera, his huge arms covering the front of
his desk, as the cameraman wisely chooses to fade out. We cut back to
Ditka at ringside.]

DD: I'm sitting here at ringside, and I have to tell you -- the thought
of that giant human whirlwind being just feet away from me in the
squared circle next week... well, it's enough to give you pause.  And
don't be fooled that Madrock can't put it all together in the ring -- he
most certainly can, as this sparring session taped earlier today here in
the Rose Quarter against local wrestling school student Manny Lewis will
attest.

[Manny is already waiting in the ring when "Tubthumping" blasts out of
the PA. Madrock bursts out to the stage, screaming, pointing to the left
with his left hand, pointing to the right with his right hand then
thumping his chest like a mad gorilla. Yelling "LEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEET'S
RUMBLE!!!" as loud as he can (pretty effin' loud), he storms towards the
ring, arms flailing, apparently completely oblivious to the fact that
there's no crowd in the arena at all, save the odd bemused looking
roadie. Meanwhile, Manny doesn't know what's going on and before he
knows it, is on the receiving end of some clubbing blows at the end of
Madrock's massive forearms!

Madrock whips Manny into the ropes before tossing Manny about 8, 9,
heck, 10 feet up in the air! This isn't so much of a flapjack maneuver
as Madrock grabbing Manny by the waist and tossing him straight up!
Manny crashes chest first into the ground and comes to only to see
Madrock pumping his fist while everyone cheers his amazing flight. Manny
retreats to the corner as Madrock persues, a low dropkick to the knee
the only thing stopping the Australian wild man. Manny climbs the
turnbuckle and quickly goes up for a high cross body block... only to
have it blocked by Madrock and turned into the Off Keel Slam.

Madrock makes whirling motions with his finger, signaling the giant
swing! Manny up for the ride and it's a fast one! Madrock lets go and
Manny NARROWLY catches the rope, almost thrown clear out of the ring
with that one and manages to climb back in, only to get on the receiving
end of a jumping overhead double sledge. Totally flattened, Madrock
teases ending this... but not before hitting his finisher! After a big
senton splash, Madrock hooks both of Manny's legs and turns around
before rising up. With his opponent drapped upside down behind him,
Madrock hits Coming Down Abbotts Peak and it's all over for Manny Lewis.
 Cut back to Ditka at ringside, who has been watching this footage on a
monitor on his broadcast table.]

DD: Unbelievable, folks.  Don't miss your opportunity to see Madrock
live and in person next Thursday night at the first-ever RCW RAMPAGE
show.  It's going to be quite something.  Now, let's turn our attention
to one of Madrock's opponents, the incendiary Owen Curtis.  No doubt Mr.
Curtis believes he has another scoop for us tonight.  Let's find out.

[Cut to black.]

VOICE: The scene is Portland.

[The screen stays black.]

VOICE: More precisely, Naito Parkway.

[Still black.]

VOICE: What? You don't know where it is? You must be new in town. Get a
map.

[Stiiiiiill black.]

VOICE: Ah, what's the use? You don't need one. It wouldn't help you
anyway.

[Yep. Still black.]

VOICE: Reason being, I'm not up there. I'm down here.

[The screen is black, black, black, black, black ... until a light comes
on. The light of truth. Make that Truth, with a capital T, because
standing before us is the man, and he's wearing an orange construction
vest and white hard hat -- aside from his standard blue oxford shirt,
brown cord pants, black knit tie, and two-day stubble. He's standing in
an environment that is mostly darkness, except for some kind of
equipment track that runs off into the distance, as well as some strange
digging contraptions.]

OC: Hello from the underground. Now, you might think I'm talking to you
about Rip City Wrestling, and you'd be right, Rip City is the
underground when it comes to wrestling right now. It ain't the big time.
Not now. Not yet. It may be later, but for now, this is the bottom rung.
If I can live with that, so can you. Maybe.

But no, I really am talking literally. We are underground. We are in the
depths of something known as the Big Pipe. You Portlanders know exactly
what it is, because it's costing you millions of dollars, and you don't
get a choice in the matter.

The roster of Rip City Wrestling, however, probably doesn't have even
the slightest notion what I'm talking about. Like Bullwinkle the Moose,
they may talk a lot and say big words, but the fact is they are
ignorant. That's OK. That is why I'm here. To educate -- both inside the
ring, and outside of it.

I'll be blunt. The Big Pipe exists because of poop. Feces, waste -- call
it what you want. You see, in rainy old Portland, they had the foresight
to mix the stormwater pipes into the sewage pipes. The result? During
every heavy rain, the system gets more fluid than it can handle, and it
all mixes together and bypasses the treatment plant.  In other words, 
Portland's poop goes straight into the Willamette River, the very jewel
of Oregon.

Which is why, of course, I was trying to warn Madrock the Irresponsible
not to go swimming in there last Tuesday.

Now, as you might guess, the EPA doesn't like poop going into rivers. So
they are insisting that Portland solve this little problem. Enter the
Big Pipe. This big, underground pipe is being added to the Portland
storm drain and sewer network.  It's part of a new system to help handle
all the poop and all the rainfall, so that Portland doesn't need to
flush into the river. It's taking them years to build -- oh God I love
bureaucrats -- but when it's done it should handle the job, more or
less. Even if Madrock the Incontinent has just been to Outback
Steakhouse and eaten more than he should, we're gonna be fine.

What does this have to do with wrestling? Simple. Just like Portland
itself, Rip City Wrestling is full of human waste. Or more precisely,
humans who ARE a waste. Of television time, ring time, interview time
... you name it. Starting with Trevor Lansing.

Trevor, I don't know how many people have claimed that they have the
ability to withstand any assault no matter how severe, but the number is
way too high, and WAS way too high years before you came along. Let me
spell it out. People are born. People die. And in between, they absorb
their blows in life. Physical, mental, emotional. Some are the stronger
for it, others are weaker, but none are invincible, and that, pal ...
that includes you.

Before you rush to say it also includes me, I'll save you the time. It
does. I know. I was on the shelf for nine freaking years. Nine years.
And it was because my knee was hanging onto my body by a thread. You
want to know my weakness? There it is, genius. Everyone knows anyway.
But think about it. I'm going to do everything I can to protect that
knee, because doing so is the only chance I have, and the only chance I
have to do THAT is to take you out pronto, along with anyone else. Don't
believe that I haven't figured out how, but I'm going to do it, and I
bet you'd like to know how. That's too bad because I'm not telling you.
You'll have to find out later. "Test me," you say? Pal, you're GOING to
be tested. And you're going to be surprised, if you really think that no
one can hurt you. You call yourself a technician, I know every technical
move in the book, and every amateur move besides. Get ready, because you
can't say you weren't warned.

Another waste would be Madrock the Incomprehensible. You can call
yourself Madrock, King Ad-Rock, Sad Sack, or anything else you like. You
know, I know, and they all know you didn't come from Australia in no
box. Give me a break. Dan Spreadbury may be engaged in all sorts of
devious practices, but purchasing some Australian rube and having him
shipped to Oregon is not one of them. At least not for wrestling
purposes. You're probably some genteel tax accountant from New Zealand
who subscribes to the New Yorker and attends poetry slams but is too
timid to get up and speak. If I thought you were worth digging into, I
would, but I can see you're big, stupid and untrained. Got all that? No?
Good.

And then there's some guy from Jersey who doesn't even have a biography
turned in. I'll give HIM the same respect he has given US and just say
no more.

What do all these people have in common? They're my opponents in the
fatal fourway. And they are pieces of the human species who remind me of
feces. Just as Portland needs a Big Pipe to get rid of its poop, RCW
needs someone to eliminate garbage from title contention. It's an
analogy, you know. And let me tell you, there is no presence that is
more cleansing, more sanitizing, than the Truth. After I clean and
sanitize the ring at the first episode of Rampage, we'll just see if the
next round offers me any more competition.

This is Owen Curtis, signing off. You have been blessed ... with the
Truth.

[Owen signals to someone off camera, who hits a switch. A machine roars
to life, raising a platform and lifting Owen out of the picture, leaving
a view of nothing except the underground construction. Machines whir and
screech... and then the screen is black.  We cut back to Ditka in the
mezzanine.]

DD: And that was Owen Curtis reporting for KPDX 49 News on Portland's
sanitation, folks.  Let's hear now from one of the men Curtis called
out, one of his opponents next week in the first-round Road To The Gold
match, the man they call "The Unbreakable", Trevor Lansing.

[Cut in to a simplistic locker room. Manila-painted walls accentuate the
freshly-painted blue lockers lining those same walls. A long, crisp
wooden bench cuts through the center of the small, circular changing
room... with which a man sits upon.. the thin bank of lights across the
ceiling raining down on the youthful-looking man.]

The man is sporting a "University of Washington" T-shirt.. and a pair of
dark blue boxing trunks. Sweat beads off his face.. as his ice-blue eyes
glance towards the camera.. then towards his wrists that are taped up in
black.. some of the tape beginning to unravel itself.. as it seems like
this man, this Trevor Lansing, has just finished a training session.

[Without bothering to look towards the camera.. Trevor begins to peel
away the tape.. all the while speaking his own version of the truth.]

TL: I guess I'm supposed to be worried.. I guess I'm supposed to just
lie down and take the beating handed to me.. for I am the shortest...
and the lightest competitor in the Rip City. But if I... even once...
decided for myself that taking the easy road was the best and the safest
of options? I'd never have been referred to as the Unbreakable One.

It is a moniker I _do not_ take for granted, and because of it... I am
were I am today.

So...

I am the underdog due to simple logistics.

[A slight nod as more tape gets peeled away.]

Good.

[Wadding a ball of tape up... he fires it to the side... off of a locker
and into a corner of the room. That's what janitors are for anyway,
right? Now working on the other wrist... Trevor continues...]

TL: I knew that from the day I signed my name on that dotted line and
handed that contract over to the officials of the Rip City. I knew
that... as each name was posted on the website... as each wrestler got
taller... and larger... and more vicious. I knew that then... and I know
that now.

And just like before..

To me?

It doesn't mean a drop of sweat.

Equality comes in many different shades and colors... and only the keen
eye can discern the subtle differences.

[With the other wrist untaped, he hurls the wadded ball into the same
corner as before... but now... as sweat continues to trickle off his
face... Trevor eyes the camera. He's glaring, no subtlety about it.]

TL: I've broken men as heavy as Madrock who had twice the intellectual
stimulus to boot. I'd made men who spoke the truth, like Owen Curtis,
tap out in excruciating pain... as I nearly snapped their limbs in half.
For you all know... as the saying goes...

The truth hurts.

And I've made a mockery of men who drift in and out of our precious
sport... just as they made a mockery of the sport itself by entering
that squared circle... so, you, Liam Cassidy.. will be no different than
the vagrants of the past.

[He simply shrugs.. the glare turning to a wicked smirk, a knowing sign
of confidence.]

TL: The only difference between then and now?  This time... in the ring
that will eventually be called the House That Lansing Built... all the
bones being shattered... all the ligaments being torn... and all the
hands slapping against the mat in agonizing pain...

Will stand for something special.

It will be the victory hymn for one "Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing.

And it will be that chorus of pain that will move the smallest, the
lightest, and the _toughest_ man in the Rip City one step closer to the
prize.

That Rip City Wrestling title.

[Trevor nods slowly, but damn surely.]

TL: And like I've said before... take a second and let those words sink
in.. then take a good, hard look into my eyes... and tell me if you
don't see the _real_ truth.

As they say... the eyes are the windows to the soul.

And my soul is shining brighter, hotter, and with more undeniability
than any one man can bring upon it.

And if you do not realize _that..._

Madrock..

Curtis..

Cassidy?

I suggest you make an advance appointment to the rehabilitation clinic.
Because I will... without a shadow of a doubt... break you into pieces.

Not because I have to...

But because I _want_ to.

[A smile and another nod. He is sure of himself, that is one thing you
cannot take away from the man from Tacoma, Washington.]

TL: So bring everything you boys got... bring your size, your skill...
your determination, your greed... your lust, and your heart... and watch
me as I tear each of them down bit by broken bit.

For the victor declared will be the only one left standing...

...on both feet...

...unfazed and unbroken...

...and as we all know by now...

...Trevor Lansing...

...is truly...

...unbreakable.

So Rip City?

Get my belt warmed up for me... for soon?

It'll be coming home.. to its rightful place..

Around _my_ waist.

[Lansing gets up and stalks out of shot as we cut back to Ditka in the
mezzanine.]

DD: Folks, we have to take a quick break: we'll be right back after
these messages.

[Fade as we cut to commercials.]




[Fade back in to Ditka, who is now standing in the locker room, a row of
metal lockers behind him.]

DD: Welcome back, folks.  In the third of our four Fatal...

[Suddenly Ditka is interrupted by an off-camera shout.]

D"YH"D:  DAVID!

[Don Ditka turns as Danny "Your Hero" Daniels enters the locker room. 
Danny's wearing a red-and-yellow polka dot golf shirt, alogn with his
ever-present wraparound sunglasses.  He gives Don a big "thumbs up" as
he grins and stands next to our intrepid host.]

DD:  I see we've been joined by Danny Daniels?

D"YH"D:  Greetings and Salutations, Donnie!  It's me, "Your Hero," a man
so nice they named me twice.  And I have to say that it's great that
you've bounced back ever since getting fired as the head football coach
of the Bears.

DD:  The Bears?  I...

D"YH"D:  And you look 10 years younger now that you've lost that
moustache.  But we're not here to talk football.  I'm here to discuss
the Road to the Gold match!

DD:  That's right -- you're in a Fatal Four-Way match with three tough
competitors.

D"YH"D:  They're tough -- but there's tough, there's really tough,
there's really really tough, and then there's... ME, "Your Hero," Danny
Daniels!  A man so tough that I don?t even know if I can bruise!  And,
with these gorgeous looks, would anyone risk it?

[Don starts to interrupt, but Danny's on a roll.  Sadly.]

D"YH"D:  Now let's look at my opponents.  First, there's Koala Sudafed. 
He's Back in the US, back in the US, back in the US, back in the USSR. 
And don?t know how unlucky he are, boy.  Because he has to face... ME! 
Danny Daniels.  Right, Derek?

DD:  My name's...

D"YH"D:  Then there's Or... Or... you know, the guy from Canada.  He
calls himself "The Links."  Now, I like golf -- those guys are snappy
dressers -- but golfers aren't wrestlers...

DD:  Danny...

D"YH"D:  ...unless he uses a golf club as a weapon.  I don't think a
putter would hurt, but the three wood...

DD:  Danny...

D"YH"D:  ...now THAT can pack a wallop!  As I found out the hard way...

DD:  DANNY!

D"YH"D: [Finally looking at Don]  Yes, Deepak?

DD:  It's Lynx.  L-Y-N-X.  Like the cat.

D"YH"D:  Lynx?  Lynx? [short pause]  right!  Like I was saying, Arden is
a Stray Cat Strut... a ladies cat.  A feline Casanova.  That's where
he's at.  But he's still not "Your Hero," Danny Daniels.

[Danny flashes another pair of "Thumbs Up" at the camera.]

D"YH"D:  And then there's my last opponent... TBA.  Now, I like him.

DD:  Like who?

D"YH"D:  TBA, of course.  Great fellow, will lend you the shirt off his
back.  And a fine fine wrestler.  But TB -- he lets his close personal
friends call him by his nickname -- TB is wrestling twice on the show. 
First against Owen, Madrock, and Trevor, and later on against myself and
two guys who aren?t me.

[Another grin by Danny Daniels.]

D"YH"D: Now, TBA is going to be A-OK in RCW...

[Danny tilts his head and mutters under his breath]

D"YH"D: I'm suddenly hungry for Alpha-Bits.

[Danny shrugs.]

D"YH"D: But two matches are a little too much for him -- he's got a bad
knee, don't you know.  My good friend TB will be tough, but in the end
even he'll fall to the might of... ME!  "Your Hero", Danny Daniels.  And
do you know why?

[Don doesn't even get a chance to start speaking.]

D"YH"D:  Because of people like you, Bob.

[Don silently mouths the word "Bob?"]

D"YH"D:  I realize that I'm "Your Hero," your hope, your inspiration. 
Indeed, the wind beneath your wings.  And it is my pleasure -- no no, my
HONOR -- to be your hero.  To provide you the hope that you're looking
for.  So, to my opponents... Sudafed and Stray Cat... and even you,
TB... you're going to have to lose to me.  Because I'm here to inspire
people like...

[Clasping Don on the shoulders and flashing another grin]

D"YH"D: ...Bob here.

[Danny gives a slow wave to the camera.]

D"YH"D: TOODLES~!

[Danny smiles broadly and walks out of shot, leaving Ditka looking
bewildered in his wake.]

DD: Danny Daniels, folks.  While we're on the subject of your hero and
mine, let's roll some VT of Daniels warming up in the RCW ring earlier
today with a young man from a local wrestling school.

[The camera fades in to show Danny "Your Hero" Daniels entering the
ring.  A non-descript young man in wrestling tights bounces on his toes,
waiting.  Danny's wearing a yellow t-shirt with 'Your Hero' written on
it.  He slides under the bottom rope and stands up, bouncing against the
ropes.  The youngster goes to lock up, but Danny holds up a finger,
walks over to the opposite ropes, and bounces against them to test their
strength.  Another lockup attempt is aborted as Danny jumps up and down
on the mat to test its buoyancy...

The man finally gets tired of waiting and forearms Danny across the
back, stunning him.  He whips Danny across the ropes and delivers a
spinning elbow, sending Danny to the mat.  Grabbing Danny by the hair,
he pulls up Daniels, going for a shot...

... that's blocked -- and a clothesline sends the youngster flipping
over. Danny immediately stomps on the youngster twice, then checks his
hair, grabbing the referee to reaffirm that none of the hair was pulled
off.  Reassured that he's fine, Danny picks up the youngster and
delivers an atomic drop, then stomps away some more as we cut back to
Ditka.]

DD: Having taken a closer look at Daniels in the ring, let's now take a
closer look at the match Daniels finds himself in, one week from tonight
at the first-ever RCW RAMPAGE.

[Cut to a graphic showing Kolya Sudakov, Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc, "Your
Hero" Danny Daniels, and a silhouette.]

DD: If Daniels had allowed me to get a word in just now, I could have
told him just who the fourth man in this Fatal Four-Way match will be. 
And that man is Memphis, Tennessee native Mark Coleman, a tremendously
promising young man who is only 20 years old, and the youngest wrestler
yet signed to an RCW contract.  Let's meet him now.

[Cut to a simple motel room.  We hear a voice:]

MC: Now, here's where y'all supposed to listen to me talk 'bout just how
damn good I am and 'bout how much everyone else in Rip City Wrestling
sucks.  Ain't quite my style to go that way, though.

[The room we see is a room at a Motel 6.  If you've seen one, you've
damn well seen them all.  Red carpet, twin bed with matching
nightstands, a couple of token pieces of furniture, and a TV with basic
cable.  Resting on the bed is a black Nike gym bag, open and
half-unpacked.

Sitting on one of the token chairs, with a pair of cowboy booted-feet up
on the token table, is a young man, early 20's.  Short, slightly messy
black hair adorns his head, and he wears a blue University of Tennessee
Volunteers t-shirt across his solid chest.  The short sleeves also show
off strong arms, with a very prevelent tattoo on his upper right bicep,
that of the Stars and Bars.  He looks at the camera and speaks with an
easy Tennessee drawl between drinking from a bottle of Deer Park Water]

MC: Howdy.  Name's Mark Coleman.  I'm one of the wrestlers you'll be
seein' on TV this Thursday for Rip City Wrestling.  And   hopefully,
you'll be seein' me for a long time.

I could sit here and tell you about my vast and distinguished wrestling
history, save for the fact I plumb don't got one.  Yeah, save for a
couple of indy shows here and about, I'm one of those much derided
"rookies" this sport seems to have.  You know the type.  Young, full of
energy, and then proceeds to get the tar beaten out of 'em by a veteran
who feels the need to put him in his place.

Well, I got the "young" and "full of energy" parts down pat, it's the
"gettin' the tar beaten out of 'em" part that's gonna disappoint a lot
of people.  Sure as hell don't plan on that happenin'.

Look, I've seen the roster.  Lot of first-timers here in Portland, and
in that herd there's also a lot of familiar names.  Ain't gonna name
drop, though.  Just know, from a glance, this ain't some Mom-and-Pop,
fly-by-night roster we got ourselves here in Rip City.  Got talent here.

Ain't ashamed to say, though, I'm a large part of that talent.  See,
everyone, wouldn't be here if the RCW talent scouts and management
didn't decide I deserved to be here.  You throw a name like a certain
"behind the scenes" guy around and you're gonna get your door beaten
down by everyone wanting a piece of the action and a shot at wrestling
night after night.  So in order to just get an invite here to Portland
and show up...that alone should tell all y'all something about what I
got and what I bring into that there ring.

Course, gotta consider the other fellas who are gonna be wrestling
Thursday night, on what's damn well gonna be the best match on RAMPAGE. 
Ya got the Canadian, ya got the Russian, and ya got the nutjob.  Hell,
most federations, that's your main event solely because of the Canadian
and the nutjob.

[Coleman flashes a "insider" grin, before continuing.]

MC: Yeah, I look at Danny Daniels, and if there's ever been a guy a few
sandwiches short of a damn picnic, I'm lookin' at him right now.  Well,
not right now, but...yeah, ain't ever been too good at figures of
speech.  Guy walkin' around callin' himself "Your Hero" while comin' off
like he's gonna be runnin' head first at a brick wall any second now. 
Guy like that?  Unpredictable and dangerous in the ring.

Then there's Kolya Sudakov, who's just plain dangerous.  Hell, ya just
gotta take one look at the guy, and ya know deep down inside he wants to
just rip someone's head off after choking the life out of em.  And, of
course, Ben Waterson, who'll talk someone to death with that mouth of
his.

Orin LeBlanc's the last one...guy his size, might as well be
one-and-a-half of him.  Quick too.  Can't comprehend someone with his
build being called "The Lynx" after a quick furry critter.

Am I worried?  'Course not.  Yeah, Daniels may be nuts, Sudakov may want
to kill someone, and LeBlanc may be flying around that ring like
someone's throwing concrete blocks with both hands.

But I got one thing I got in my corner, and it's the only thing I need. 
I'm Mark Coleman, and I'm damn good.

Yeah, I'm good.  I admit that.  But sayin' I'm good and showin' everyone
I'm good, that's two completely different horses.  All I can do is step
into that RCW ring come opening night, come that first show, and do what
I was trained to do and what I enjoy doing.

Kick a little butt, stretch a couple of limbs, plant an opponent or two,
and then hit the pay window for my winnings.

Simple?  Yeah.

Plausible?

[Coleman smiles an easy grin]

MC: Completely.

[Fade]

DD: Looking at Coleman, who apparently weighs in at a lean 250lbs,
you've got to believe that he may well be right when he asserts that
he'll be no pushover.  Earlier today, our cameras were on hand as he had
a warm-up session in the RCW ring against a student from a local
wrestling school.  Let's take a look!

[The camera cuts to a sparring match in progress in the center of the
empty Rose Quarter... as a young man in long blue trunks, holding an
armbar, is suddenly hip tossed by Mark Coleman.

As soon as he slams into the mat, Coleman is on top of him, picking him
back up and whipping him to the ropes.  One drop toe-hold later, Coleman
drops a quick elbow into the small of the young man's back.  Without
wasting time, Coleman reaches and puts the young man in an ankle lock. 
The ropes, however, are easily within reach, and once the young man has
hold, Coleman immediately lets go.

The young man gets back to his feet, and after a moment, the two men
lock up.  A few people, including trainers and reporters, are at
ringside, watching as Coleman comes out with a wristlock from the
grapple.  The young man attempts to go behind Coleman to break it, but
as he does, Coleman lifts a knee, catching the young man in the gut
halfway through.

He follows up with a quick gutbuster, easily lifting the young man up
from the mat before dropping him over his outstretched knee.  Still
holding on, Coleman, with seemingly little effort, picks him up, spins
him a bit, and lands a vicious shoulderbreaker.  Even as the young man
falls down to the mat, Coleman has locked on an armbar, grinding it in
as he lies on the mat.

After a few seconds, one of the trainers at ringside yells "stop!" 
Coleman immediately lets go of the armbar, and he helps the young man to
his feet.  Dazed, the young man shakes Coleman's hand with one hand
while rubbing his shoulder with the other.  A trainer and a man in a
suit climb into the ring and begin to talk to the two, and we see
Coleman shaking the hand of the suit as we go back to the studio.]

DD: Mark Coleman is definitely not a man to underestimate in next week's
Fatal Four-Way match.  Let's hear from one of the three men who'll be
looking to put the boots to this promising youngster, the pro wrestler
hunter/killer, Kolya Sudakov -- or, more accurately, from his
oh-so-vocal agent, Ben Waterson.

[Cut in from static to a superclose shot of "Agent To The Stars" Ben
Waterson.  In the background, we can hear a dull "THUMP!" sound repeated
every so often.  Waterson's eyes are bulging... and yes, I think he just
might be irate.  Let's listen in.]

BW:  AHHHHHHHHHH!

[Yep.  He's irate.]

BW:  This is all a conspiracy, people!  Everywhere this man has gone, he
has faced overwhelming odds in his life.  He struggled to get out of a
country that refuses to let the individual shine.

He battled prejudice for his youth and lack of training to get into
martial arts academies around the globe.

He fought to break into the Mixed Martial Arts ranks.

He choked down his own dignity... his own self-value to step into a...

[Waterson snorts.]

BW:  A "professional" wrestling ring.

[Yep, he did the finger quotes.]

BW:  He stepped into the wrestling industry with the ideal of
revolutionizing it.  He walked into locker room after locker room hoping
to make a lot of people some money and in the process, bring some
respect and dignity to this... sport.

[Waterson looks like he ate a cockroach between two crackers as he says
"sport."]

BW:  Instead?  He gets disrespected.  He gets abused.  He gets
ostracized.

In PPW, not a soul wanted to be seen standing next to the man who wanted
to make this sport legitimate in the eyes of the world.

He was cast out... ignored...

HE DIDN'T GET TO PLAY ANY REINDEER GAMES!

[The "THUMP!" stops short.  Waterson looks off camera with a bit of
panic, smiles big, and waves his hand in a "keep going" gesture.

He snaps to turn back to the camera, deadly serious.  In a whisper...]

BW:  Four corners match?  Four corners match?!

This is a man trained in the art... in the ballet of man to man combat. 
A warrior whose life has been spent beating one man with his bare hands
until that one man can't stand anymore...

ONE MAN!

[Waterson's voice raised abruptly there... and he smiles off-camera
again.]

BW:  Not two... not three... this is all a joke.

This is all a fraud.

_This_ is the reason people don't respect this business.  This is the
reason you people at home hide your wrestling DVDs behind your copy of
"Never Been Kissed."  This is the reason you only buy wrestling t-shirts
that you can't identify as a wrestling t-shirt.

This is not pure combat, people.

This is a circus.

[Waterson leans closer, whispering again.]

BW:  This man is not a circus sideshow.  He doesn't tame lions... he
doesn't swing on the trapeeze... and twenty-six of him don't get out of
a damn VW Bug.

[Uhhh.]

BW:  He is a warrior... he is the most dominant man this business has
ever seen.

He is the future of an industry who can't see past the next show.

He is Kolya Sudakov... Pro Wrestler Hunter/Killer...

[Dramatic pause.]

BW:  And Rip City Wrestling?

He is coming... for you.

[Waterson crosses his arms, leaning back with a smile.]

BW:  Consider... yourself... warned.

[Static!  And back to Ditka in the locker room.]

DD: Let me tell you, folks, if Kolya Sudakov is even one tenth as, uh,
*intense* as his agent, the other competitors in this match are going to
have their work cut out for them.  It's nearly time for another
commercial break, but before we hear those messages, let's hear from
RCW's only Canadian import, Orin "The Lynx" Leblanc.

[Fade in on a fair sunny day in the city of Portland.  Specifically,
we're right outside the Rose Quarter Arena, where one Orin "The Lynx"
LeBlanc looks up at the venue, a thoughtful expression on his face.
Seeing the camera, the Canadian flashes a bit of a smirk.]

OL:  The Man Upstairs ain't half-assin' it, is he?  Already havin' us
duke it out fer the gold.  An' that's just the way I like it.  Course,
three others are thinkin' about gettin' in the way o' me an' mine before
I can take my due share.

[Orin shakes his head]

OL:  Least our mystery man has a name now, though the way my luck has a
way o' turnin', I'd not have been surprised if a Demola had popped up
anyway.  "Mark Coleman"...

[He chuckles and shrugs.]

OL:  ...I don't know ya.  So fer now, you're gettin' the blessin' o'
pragmatic silence on my end.  [slight grin]  Expect that to change in a
handful o' days though, 'cause you ain't gettin' ignored fer long.  As
fer Hero Boy...

[Now the Lynx shakes his head in amusement.]

OL: ...word is, you actually know what you're doin' out here!  That
bein' stupid is all just some elaborate act on your part!  But mind ya,
if a big boy like you couldn't hang in some chicken-[BLEEP] comic
company's excuse o' a fed, it gets me to wonderin' just how much of that
line is blurred between "idiot" an' "savant" in your brain pan.  An'
that brings us to the Russian...or at least to his damn mouthpiece.

[The Lynx snorts.]

OL:  He likes to name-drop, now don't he?  So your boy shared the same
breathin' room with legends like Myers an' Verhoeven.  You think just
because your boy was fed a bunch o' no-names in Pinnacle that suddenly
puts him on _their_ level?!  Please... [LeBlanc rolls his eyes] You an'
your boy aren't even close to bein' on par with them...

[The Lynx's eyes narrow dangerously as his voice drops to a low gutteral
growl.]

OL: ...an' you're certainly not even close to bein' on par with me.

[And just like that, a grin pops up on Orin's face.  He taps a hand
against the side of the arena and chuckles one more time.]

OL:  I think I'm lookin' forward to this dance, boys...

[Fade out to commercials.]



[Fade back in Ditka, who is now standing outside a large truck
emblazoned with the RCW livery.  He's standing at the bottom of a flight
of steps, leading up into the back of the truck itself.  Ditka is now
wearing a jacket to protect himself from the chill wind on this late
Thursday evening.]

DD: I'm now standing outside the RCW production truck, one of the most
crucial parts of the RCW operation.  From this truck our director
ensures that our crack team of cameramen won't miss a moment of the
action when it all kicks off one week from tonight.  And we still have
one more match to talk about, folks.

[Cut to a graphic of Bailey Fitzgerald, Nickolai Trevianski, Ryan Faith
and Johnny Pleasence.]

DD: These four men will do battle in the remaining Fatal Four-Way match,
the winner going on to the next RCW RAMPAGE event to face the winner of
one of the other three four-way matches scheduled for next Thursday
night.  Let's hear first from Ryan Faith, who was here in the Rose
Quarter early this morning:

[Scene opens up inside the Rose Quarter arena as the camera pans around,
showing us the venue in which the warriors newly signed to the RCW will
do battle. Camera continues panning till we catch a lone individual
sitting about 20 rows up with his feet up on the chair in front of him.
Draped on the chair next to him is a navy and cream old school varsity
letterman jacket. The man? Ryan Faith. Ryan sits there just staring into
the ring as the technicians work to put it together. Occasionally, Ryan
flips the hair out of his face but never losing focus on the ring. He's
wearing a plain gray sweat suit and from some sweat stains on it, it
appears that he has just finished some sort of work-out. The camera crew
hustles up to Ryan and he greets them with a nod.]

CAMERA GUY: Think we can get a few words, Ryan? About this moment about
what you're feeling?

RF: Well, I guess this is it, huh? Been a while since I've felt both
excited and nervous. I have that queasy feeling, ya know? I've been
waiting for this for a long time. I've said it before, this isn't the
Big Easy anymore. We're far removed from my past and the things that I
left there.

[Ryan lets out a slight smirk.]

RF: You know, I do still think about it. I'd be a fool to say that for
the last few years I haven't been thinking about the things that I never
got to do in my last go around. Its funny 'cos my girlfriend tells me I
act more like a 40 year old than my own age. I should be carefree and
live life loose. Which I do, don't get me wrong.

[Faith sighs.]

RF: I have to keep things in perspective. People don't like me and most
people don't even know me. You know there's always that chip on my
shoulder. It's more not knowing what people will think of me when I do
make my return. I know what I'm capable of, but I have to transport that
and do it in the ring. I mean, we have so many talented competitors in
this federation. A combination of old and new. Some of these men I
remember from before I was even graduated high school. I remember
watching Trevianksi wrestle. Hell I remember Pleasence lighting a match
off of someone's face. I know that I don't have the resume some of these
men have.

But I've got nothing to lose. When I go out there against those three
other men, I don't have some reputation or name to lose. I don't have
some stellar history or background. You see, I can lose and it won't
mean much to anyone but me. Hell if I win, it might only mean something
to me.

[Ryan pauses for a second.]

RF: Well, it'll mean something in the annals of RCW when their first
champion won his first match. It'll be the trivia question that all RCW
will remember when wrestling questions are asked around the school room
10 years from now. "Who did the eventual inaugural champion of RCW beat
in his RCW debut?"

[Ryan points to the ring.]

RF: There is the battleground. There is the tapestry that I will use to
paint the masterpiece of my debut. The initial launch pad for the next
rising star in this industry. The others will talk about how they will.
They will talk about how they must win and maybe about how they are far
superior to their competition. They may look at their opponents and
laugh. Others may look at them and not even care.

Let's get one thing right.... I did _not_ come to the RCW to talk about
what I should be doing. I did _not_ come here to make predictions or to
run at the mouth about how great I am.

[Ryan emphatically shakes his head.]

RF: No. That's not me. If you want that, go to the other guys. Let them
play that role. I came here to wrestle. I came to take care of business.
I know I'm ready.

[Ryan stands up, grabs his jacket and starts to walk back up the
aisle... before pausing and looking back...]

RF: Question is... are you ready...

[Ryan smiles]

RF: ...to test your faith?

[Cut back to Ditka.]

DD: This Massachusetts native is certainly looking to get his game face
on for next week's big match.  One man whose only face appears to be his
game face is the Russian destroyer, Nickolai Trevianski.  His manager
Petr Ivanovich declined RCW's invitation to train at the Rose Quarter
arena today, and instead requested that we send our camera crew to his
own training facility.  So we did -- and this is what we found.

[The shot fades into a smoke-filled gym. In it, only one man stands.
That man? His bald head occasionally shines from the sunlight just
peering through a small window at the top of the gym. He wears a worn
out pair of sweat pants and a shredded wife beater. Currently he's
beating the living hell out of a giant body bag. A man strides into the
vision of the camera and blocks the previous view. He wears a pair of
black slacks and a black skin tight polo shirt. His hair is slicked
back, and all you really notice is the cigar on his mouth and the
gigantic gold cross hanging from his necklace. Suddenly, he takes a
puff, then looks behind him, only to turn back around to the camera and
smirk. He? He's Petr Ivanovich. The beast beating the holy hell out of
that bag....

Nickolai Trevianski.]

PI: That man is...how you say...unforgiving. While most of you who will
watch this are piddling around thinking up somewhat clever things to
say...Nickolai...

[Petr looks over his shoulder, only to hear several large thuds against
the body bag from the taped fists of Nickolai.]

PI: He's focused on other things. While the rest of you are focusing on
making sure your accents sound really...how you say...authentic...he's
worried about how much pressure the bones in his fists can take when he
hits a human rib. He's worried about if he'll break his forearm if he
hits a man's jaw so hard it shatters. He's worried about the exact
amount of punishment a human being's ribcage can take before he passes
out from the pain.

You live in a different world then he does.

[Petr takes a long drag of his cigar.]

PI: While you're worried about making a name for yourself, he's worried
about being disqualified from snatching your life from right out
underneath you. He is, how you say...unrelenting. A monster, with no
compassion, no remorse...no soul. Have you ever stood, eye to eye, dah,
who doesn't care about life or death. A man who when, how you say,
rubber hits the road, only cares about the amount of punishment
inflicted upon you? Have you? Have you looked into his eyes and searched
for his soul...and found nothing?

Have you looked for hope, and only found the flames...

[Petr chuckles slowly.]

PI: Soon, you will all learn. You, Ryan Faith. You, Bailey Fitzgerald,
whoever the hell you are, from whatever rock you crawled out from
beneath. And lastly, you, Turkish Camel smoking, smoke stack of hate,
Johnny Pleasance...you will all soon learn. With him...

[Petr looks over his shoulder.]

PI: It's not about winning. Because in the end...how you say...the shit
always settles on the ground. It is, however, about one thing...and one
thing only...

[Petr stops this time, turning his back to the camera, as Nickolai
unleashes a series of right hands, then lefts, then a combo of right and
left kicks to the upper portion of the body bag. With each crushing
blow, Nickolai lets out a blood curdling scream. A scream filled with
anger and hate. A scream that only a man who's been through the depths
of hell could produce. He continues forward as Nickolai chuckles yet
again, turning around to the camera.]

PI: Survival. See you in Portland, dah?

[Slight pause.]

PI: Heh heh heh.

[Cut back to Ditka in the production truck.]

DD: I don't doubt that Trevianski is well-placed to not only survive but
*thrive* in the competitive environment that is Rip City Wrestling,
folks.  We'll see soon enough -- don't forget that the last few tickets
are still available for next week's first-ever RCW RAMPAGE show, and you
can be there in person.  See www.ticketmaster.com for details!  Another
man you'll see live and in person next week is Briton Johnny Pleasence.

[Cut to a shot of the ringside area on the arena floor.]

V:  Ooooh, a ring.  Fancy that it's not a circle, but a square... but
they call it a squared circle? It's a bit of a riddle, isn't it?

[There's a wicked laugh, as the camera pans past a bunch of hapless
wrestlers to a shot of a woman in an RCW ring.  She's wearing a flowing
blood red dress standing in the middle of the provided ring.  This woman
just happens to be Matilda Agutter, Johnny Pleasence's best girl... and
she really shouldn't be let of out the house.]

MA:  Wonder, wonder, foil and plunder... what's going to happen when my
sweet Johnny gets a hold of all of you?

[Matilda cocks an eye off-screen.]

MA:  Hmmph.  A bunch of boys want to come in here, but I know what they
really want...

[She laughs.]

MA:  [mockingly] Oh, don't you want a woman?  A _real_ woman?  Someone
to keep you warm on those cold nights?

V:  Ducks, what the hell?!

MA:  ...and if you had a woman, what would you do?

[Matilda begins to pull up her dress.]

MA:  You'd cry like a priest in front of a-

V:  My brother's a priest, pet!

MA:  Oh...

[Matilda looks as if she's going to faint.]

MA:  Johnny, I didn't-

[Johnny Pleasence hurriedly enters the ring, and pulls his girl close. 
It's touching.]

JP:  'S'okay, love.  This place just has you worked up, is all.  Got
your head in a bad space, you see.

MA:  I'm all better.  It's just that this place...

[She effectively gets the willies.]

MA:  It makes me feel like Margaret Thatcher.

JP:  ...huh?

MA:  All sorts of bibbldy and bobbildy!  Do you want me to end up like
that?!  On the cover of a book?!  _On the cover of a book?!_

JP:  I don't...

[The Big Bad looks at the camera.]

JP:  It's... gonna be... fine.

MA:  You promise?

JP:  Honey, I promise.  Just let me kick the giblets out of this lot
next week, win my gold, and it'll be okay...

[She smiles.]

MA:  Remember when we had to run screaming from San Diego?

[The Big Bad chuckles.]

JP:  Yeah.  Like they've never seen anyone bleed that much before...

MA:  Skull all peeled, front teeth knocked out... it was almost as good
as when you burned that lad's eye...

[Pleasence chuckles...]

JP:  Yeah.

MA:  ...the sizzzle...

[She grinds against him, and Pleasence looks alarmed.]

JP:  Not in front of the camera, pet!

MA:  But... this is a ring, and we are a _match_...

[Pleasence tries to ward her off.]

JP:  Listen, there are limits... a few limits, but there _are_ limits. 
Have to keep right and all, you know.  Straight and narrow for the
kiddies and all that.  This place has all sorts of... censorship.  And
plus, I don't want to end up on the internet in a soddin' sex tape!  You
know how damaging those things are?  Two weeks of press tops, and then
no one remembers the one time you taped yourself doggin' some broad. 
It's a worthless concept.

[He pauses, raising an eyebrow off screen.  The camera pans over to see
the same gaggle of wrestlers from the beginning, all apparently waiting
to see who gets their shot at the Big Bad.]

JP:  And what the bloody hell is this?!

V:  You gonna wrestle, man?!

[Pleasence flips a blurred bird at the shouting wrestler, and looks all
around the empty arena, eyes wide.]

JP:  ...the place is soddin' empty!  Where's the crowd?!  The cheers?! 
The boos?!  The hot dogs and the lit'le chits with the tube tops?!

[He trails off...]

JP:  ...the popcorn...

[Pleasence shakes his head, and glowers at the camera.]

JP:  Damn it Rip City, you've bloody ruined wrestling!  I'll murder all
those gits next week because of this!  I will _not_ be denied!

V:  What about a match?!

[Pleasence spits.]

JP:  Piss off!

[Pleasence angrily stalks off and out of the ring away from the
wrestlers, pulling a raspberry-blowing Matilda out with him as we cut
back to Ditka in the truck.]

DD: Johnny Pleasence and his main squeeze, Matilda Agutter, everybody. 
Finding out exactly what Matilda may get up to next week could be worth
the price of admission by itself.  She appears to be a little unhinged
-- and "unhinged" is exactly the word to describe Johnny Pleasence, an
extremely dangerous competitor.  We'll see just how dangerous in just
seven days' time!  Finally for tonight, let's hear from the fourth man
in this match, young Bailey Fitzgerald:

[Cut to the center of the Rose Quarter Arena, where a newly-constructed,
seemingly unscathed wrestling ring resides.  With no tears, nor crimson
stains upon the ring's canvas, the ring appears in fine, pristine
condition.  Leaning upon the far back right set of turnbuckles clad in a
pair of brown cargo shorts and a white and green striped Polo, a
peculiar Bailey Fitzgerald looks aimlessly around the ring, examining
the dimensions and stability of his new Portland digs.  As if preparing
for a forthcoming encounter, Fitzgerald hops up and down a couple times,
testing the give in the mat.  Appearing decently dissatisfied with his
findings, he pops his shirt's collar in a disgusted fashion and peers up
toward the camera.]

BF: Well, damn.

[Fitzgerald shakes his head in disappoval.]

BF: Thing's stiffer'n a board.

Hello, Mr. Chiropractor.

[Fitzgerald halfway waves to accentuate his words, but quickly begins
rubbing his face in frustration.]

BF: Yep, I knew I wasn't ready for this.  I could be back upstate right
now, filling up bingo halls and high school gymnasiums but then I go and
have a profound moment and actually think I'm ready to trek across the
continental U.S. and take on some of the very best in the sport.

I figured at the very least I might be able to get my feet a l'il wet
and you know, sorta get a feel for the place and work my way into the
mix.  But nooooooooo.

They just said, "You, young kid.  Yeah, you.  We're gonna throw you in
there with three of the toughest hombres we got, and if you make it
through that, you can come back the next week."  Pretty much, yeah. 
That's what they said.

[He quickly scoffs at such a suggestion.]

BF: But it's cool - I'm down like four flat tires.

Believe it or not, I'm actually looking forward to getting my hands on
the likes of Johnny Pleasence.  I've caught a couple of his two-bit
tirades in months past, and I've seen enough of his prima-donna
personality to know enough I won't feel too broken up 'bout knocking his
block off should he stand in the way of me and the next round o' this
tourney.

And that l'il Bubble Yum floozy of his... pfff!  I could give two idjits
about that l'il tart and whatever "assets" she _thinks_ she's bringing
to the dance aren't going to distract this upstart in the slightest.

[In a rare moment of confidence, Fitzgerald jets a thumb toward his
chest.]

BF: Ryan Faith, though.  Me and him got a few things in common.

[He nods.]

BF: Been in and out of some of the lesser known wrestling organizations
our whole wrestling lives... tiffs with our fathers... and I can pretty
much bet we're both suckers for that New England clam chowder...

[Fitzgerald "heh heh's" to himself.]

BF: But Faith, I like what I see in that kid.  So if it's not me who is
fortunate enough to move on in this Road For The Gold, I know who I'm
rootin' for.

Because Nickolai Trevianski?

[Bailey paces about the ring now, perhaps looking for just the right
words to say.  But instead, Fitzgerald opts to be frank.]

BF: Trevianksi is a friggin' psycho.

[The unmarked wrestling ring notwithstanding, Fitzgerald spits to the
mat.]

BF: I know guys like Nickolai.  Guys like him get their kicks beating
the squash out of guys like me.  They live for it.  They feed off it. 
Hell, they prolly get off on it.

And I know just as well as the next guy that if I slip up for even a
second... that if I glimmer down at his manager even once... or become
overconfident and go for the coup de grace before I should... I know I'm
done for.

And after Trevianski is done choking the life right outta me, all
that'll be left is for him and Ivanovich to laugh about it the next
morning over a bowl of Corn Flakes.

[A bit perturbed now, Fitzgerald folds his arms across his chest.]

BF: But I'm not about to let it end like that.  Not this early in the
game, anyway.  This isn't the plateau for me.  This is merely the
beginning.

And sure, chances are I'll get folded up like an accordian at Rampage
and feel like I got dragged through Hell tied to the back of a
Volkswagen the morning after.

Yeah, I'm young.  I'm inexperienced.  And I'm as green as the guy on the
asparagus can.

But I've gotten this far.  And despite it all, I can say I believe in my
abilities enough to not bet against myself.

The question my opponents must ask themselves, is --

[Fitzgerald glances around the ring now - up, down, left, right - before
returning his baby blue peepers to the camera.]

BF: Can you really say the same?

[The young cruiserweight slowly saunters over to the ring ropes and
springboards over the top rope and out of the ring.  Cut back to Ditka,
who is now sat by a video editing console, a bank of LCD monitors behind
him, several of them showing footage we've already seen tonight.  Behind
Ditka sits a man wearing headphones, operating the editing equipment. 
Ditka sips steaming coffee from an RCW mug.]

DD: Well, folks, that just about wraps it up for On The Wire this
Thursday night, and boy, am I glad to have come in out of the cold. 
Don't forget: in just seven days we will be back *live* on KPDX 49 with
the first-ever RCW RAMPAGE.  You can be there in person if you head on
over to www.ticketmaster.com or get yourself down to the Rose Quarter in
person -- but hurry, tickets are selling fast!  It's going to be an
incredible night of action: we will narrow the field for our first-ever
RCW Champion from sixteen men to just four.  And we'll be back here with
On The Wire in two weeks, to discuss the fall-out from RAMPAGE and to
look forward to the next stage on the ROAD TO THE GOLD!  Until next
Thursday night, this is Don Ditka for Rip City Wrestling, wishing you
all a... good night!

[The man behind Ditka hits a button, and the credits start to roll.  The
show ends with a run-down of the card for the inaugural RCW RAMPAGE
event:]

RCW RAMPAGE 9 March 2006 Rose Quarter, Portland, OR

RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD FIRST ROUND Fatal Four-Way: Vinny Carmazzi vs.
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll vs. "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado vs. Jake Andrews

RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD FIRST ROUND Fatal Four-Way: Owen "Truth" Curtis vs.
Madrock The Irrepressible vs. "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing vs. "The
Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy

RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD FIRST ROUND Fatal Four-Way: Bailey Fitzgerald vs.
Nickolai Trevianski vs. Ryan Faith vs. Johnny Pleasence

RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD FIRST ROUND Fatal Four-Way: Kolya Sudakov vs. Orin
"The Lynx" LeBlanc vs. "Your Hero" Danny Daniels vs. Mark Coleman

[Fade to black.]