[Fade up on a wide-angle shot of the inside of the Rose Quarter arena in Portland, Oregon. From the camera's position, it looks like the arena is pretty much full. Coloured spotlights swirl over the excited fans, and in the centre of the arena, bathed in floodlights, is the RCW ring, its black apron bedecked with the bold blue RCW logo. A figure is standing in the middle of the ring, and brings the microphone to his lips.] VOICE: Ladies and gentlemen... [The crowd pops huge. Cut to a shot of RCW ring announcer Sy Simmons standing in the middle of the ring, dressed in a smart suit. Simmons looks to be in his late 30s, and is in good physical shape, his short hair flecked with grey at the temples. He has a big smile on his face as he raises the microphone to his lips once more:] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome... [And then a familiar song kicks in over the PA, its opening jangly guitar chord bringing the fans in the arena to their feet as if with one mind. The roof threatens to come right off the Rose Quarter as the second jangly guitar chord gives way to the song's main riff, the crowd clapping along in time. The song? Sweet's "Little Willy." Sy Simmons is still in the ring trying to make his announcement, but he can barely be heard:] SS: Please welcome to the Rose Quarter... [Simmons pauses as the vocal of the song kicks in:] # North side, east side # Little Willy, Willy wears the crown, he's the king around town # Dancing, glancing # Willy drives them silly with his star shoe shimmy shuffle down # Way past one, and feeling all right # 'Cause with little Willy round they can last all night # Hey down, stay down, stay down down [And as we hit the chorus of this famous rock anthem, the lights in the arena drop, save for a single spotlight at the head of the aisle below the giant jumbotron... ...and into the aisle steps a familiar figure. The crowd goes absolutely nuts!] # 'Cause little Willy, Willy won't go home # But you can't push Willy 'round # Willy won't go, try tellin' everybody but, oh no # Little Willy, Willy won't go home [The figure takes a deep bow to the crowd, then straightens up, and throws his fists into the air, his face beaming. Simmons finally completes his introduction:] SS: "SPOTLIGHT"..... BILLY..... SHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAKESPEEEEEEEAAARE!!!! [Shakespeare walks down the aisle -- no, he's practically dragged down it by the eager hands of fans on either side of the aisle, reaching out to touch one of Portland's great wrestling legends. The spotlight follows Shakespeare down the aisle. Shakespeare looks to be in good shape, his hair shorter than before, wearing jeans and sneakers now rather than tights and wrestling boots.] # Up town, down town # Little Willy, Willy drives them wild with his run-around style # Inside, outside # Willy sends them silly with his star-shine shimmy shuffle smile # Mama done chase Willy down through the hall # But laugh, Willy laugh, he don't care at all # Hey down, stay down, stay down, down [Shakespeare nears the ring. He stands at the ring apron, and glances over at the ring steps, seemingly considering whether to climb them. And then he leaps nimbly to the ring apron, and almost in a single motion, vaults over the ropes to land in the RCW ring to a huge, huge pop!] # 'Cause little Willy, Willy won't go home # But you can't push Willy 'round # Willy won't go, try tellin' everybody but, oh no # Little Willy, Willy won't go home [Shakespeare mounts the turnbuckles in each corner and bathes in the adulation of the crowd. Cameras flash around the arena so quickly that Shakespeare's movement appears captured in strobe lighting as he mounts each corner, each time he hits the turnbuckle the crowd's cheers swelling to another crescendo.] # Little Willy, Willy won't go home # But you can't push Willy 'round # Willy won't go, try tellin' everybody but, oh no # Little Willy, Willy won't go home... [As the arena lights rise once more, Shakespeare stops in the centre of the ring and shakes the hand of Sy Simmons before accepting the microphone from him. Simmons leaves the ring and "Little Willy" fades as Shakespeare stands in the ring, and raises the microphone to his lips...] "BIL - LY! BIL - LY! BIL - LY! BIL - LY!" [Shakespeare appears visibly moved by the chants of the crowd in the Rose Quarter. Finally he brings the microphone to his lips again, and speaks:] BS: "This... This is my home of love: if I have ranged, like him that travels I return again!" [The crowd pops huge!] BS: So said the Bard, my namesake, in his 109th Sonnet. And I can't tell you how it feels to be in front of a live crowd again, after eight long years! [Another big pop.] BS: But my time in the spotlight is over... [A smattering of boos from the crowd.] BS: A new generation of heroes and villain take their turn on this stage, and the one who was "Born To Perform" stands aside to let them pass. From being the protagonist, I become... the narrator. I take my seat at ringside to watch this drama enter its new act. [Cheers from the crowd!] BS: So let us raise the curtain and bring out the players! [Huge pop from the crowd as Shakespeare drops the microphone and once more raises his fists to the sky, receiving the cheers of the fans. We cut to the titles:] ___ ______ __ ___ ___ __ ______ ___ _________ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / _ \/ _ | / |/ / _ \/ _ |/ ___/ __/ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / / , _/ __ |/ /|_/ / ___/ __ / (_ / _/ /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ /_/|_/_/ |_/_/ /_/_/ /_/ |_\___/___/ LIVE! Rose Quarter, Portland, OR Thursday 9 March 2006 [Cut to another wide-angle shot of the arena as a volley of fireworks surges up from the ramp area, the colours bursting in noisy glory around the roof of the Rose Quarter. The crowd is going crazy as we cut down to ringside and the broadcast position, where RCW lead announcer Don Ditka is standing with "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare.] DD: Welcome everybody to RCW RAMPAGE! We are coming at you *live* from the Rose Quarter in downtown Portland, Oregon. It is Thursday night and this crowd is *rocking* -- thanks in no small part to the man standing next to me tonight, my broadcast colleague, legend of the squared circle, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. BS: I can't tell you how it feels to be back in Portland, Don. DD: This crowd here tonight welcoming back one of Portland's favourite adopted sons like you've never been away, Billy. BS: It's unbelievable, beyond anything I'd imagined. Portland's fans have been starved of wrestling action for too long, and I'm thrilled to be a part of its return. DD: Not to mention being reunited with RCW President Daniel Spreadbury, the man who gave you your first opportunity at stardom here in Portland some ten years ago. [Shakespeare smiles.] BS: Like a director calling back his leading man of old! DD: Indeed. Folks, welcome to Rip City Wrestling's first ever live event. Sixteen thousand plus fans are packing out the Rose Quarter, and they are pumped and ready for what is sure to be an incredible night of wrestling action. [Cut to a short graphic montage, showing the line-up of competitors for all four of the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD first round Fatal Four-Way matches.] DD: We have no fewer than *four* top-drawer matches tonight, four contests each featuring four incredible athletes, all of them hoping to emerge victorious from tonight's Fatal Four-Way matches to keep their hopes of becoming the first-ever RCW Champion alive. BS: Their journeys start tonight, Don. And fortune is a cruel mistress: for twelve of them, the journey will end tonight, too. Who knows what drama will unfold here in the Rose Quarter? DD: That's right: the four men who win their matches tonight will be randomly drawn in two singles matches two weeks from tonight. Who will advance? [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Billy, we're about to get our first match underway -- but I understand there's a confrontation backstage. Let's take a look. [Cut to backstage. Ryan Faith is walking around at a brisk pace. Faith turns a corner and runs right into The Big Bad himself... and his best girl Matilda Agutter, of course. Johnny Pleasence, leather duster clad as always, is busy glowering at Faith, while Matilda tries to pull off a "Junior Birdman" face, but failing miserably.] RF: Well if it isn't Samson and Delilah. I didn't think I'd find anybody else pacing the corridors. I guess I'm not the only one a little anxious about tonight. JP: No, son... you're the only one anxious. For those of us with worldy experience, this is gonna be a walk in the park. 'Us' meaning me, naturally. You're in trouble, mate. RF: Say what you will, but we both know that this here four way we got ourselves thrown into, isn't going to be the easiest road to cross. I thought I'd get in some early stretching in. JP: Stretching? Poof. [Pleasence starts to walk away, but Matilda looks at Ryan oddly.] MA: You look like Timmy, you know. RF: Who the hell is Timmy? MA: Timmy got his eyes cut out by his mum. She then ate his tongue and touched him. _Scandalously_. You ever been _touched_ like a good little boy? [Pleasence stops and just looks at Matilda for a moment, before looking at Ryan Faith.] JP: Answer that. Quickly. [Faith looks puzzled by the question.] RF: I.. d.. what!? What is wrong with you two? Who the hell cares how or where or when I've been touched? [Matilda smiles.] MA: God cares... _unless you've been touched scandalously_. JP: In some circles, she speaks the truth. RF: So not only do I have to worry about Trevianski and Fitzgerald... I have your personal side show to worry about as well. [Pleasence "quietly" ashes his cigarette on Faith's shoulder rather discreetly.] JP: Mate, around here, I'm a god. A Champion of All Things Great and Good. You? You're my lightwork. I'll let... bloody... Madfox the... Interrogator handle you. In that ring, you're not worth my time. MA: Ye daft wee lil'... wee wee! RF: Is that so? JP: Just speaking the truth, old son... unless you want me to get _personal_ about things. [Faith just smiles and shakes his head.] RF: I would suppose being with you for so much time she does know a lot about lil' wee wee's. But if you think this talk is going to frighten, worry, disgust me.. or what have you. Well, then you're sorely mistaken. I don't care if you think you're some sort of god. The way I see it, "mate", you better look somewhere else if you think you're just going to walk over me. [Pleasence flicks his cigarette off screen.] JP: You damned bloody parrot... go on, I really want to see what page in The Book of Generic Idiocy you recite next. RF: Seriously... if you couldn't tell, I'm shaking in my boots. And if I were you, I'd keep that... [pointing to Matilda] on its leash. I can't be held accountable for anything I might do. Now if you'll excuse me, I think it's tea time. Cheerio... [Faith walks off, and Pleasence just pulls out another smoke.] JP: [muttering] I've never said 'cheerio' in my soddin' life. MA: ...he's going off to touch himself now. JP: Probably. Come on, ducks. Got some Guinness in the car. [And they stalk out of shot, the camera moves through an open door and into a locker room, where a Canadian is grunting softly. Sit-ups tend to do that at times. A well-chiseled Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc pauses in mid-sit-up, glaring at the camera slightly.] OL: Ya know, you camerafolk are infringin' on my good nature here. I gave you time fer talkin' earlier. But this? [LeBlanc finishes the sit-up, then rises to his feet.] OL: This is MY time. [The camera steps back a few paces. Orin lets out a short laugh.] OL: I see someone has been told about some o' the peculiarities between me an' technical men that has plagued me a bit. Still...it would be in bad form fer me to go messin' with the Man Upstairs' gear so early in my tenure here at Rip City. [Cue a few more steps backwards. The Lynx smirks.] OL: Ease off, boy. Lucky fer you, I'm feelin' chatty fer a spell. Fer instance, I am gettin' the distinct impression that Mister Watereddown thinks that we are beneath his client's notice... [The Lynx shrugs and cracks his neck.] OL: ...way he yaks him up, guess the boy thinks I should be shakin' in my boots or somethin'. Last time I heard this kind o' buildup, I was eight years old at the circus an' there was supposed to be a unicorn! [Pause. Sneer.] OL: Nothin' but a one-horned goat. An' maybe that Russian can butt heads an' kick a little, but in the end a goat's a goat. 'Sides, anyone who start playin' the "Woe is me! Conspiracy!" martyr-bation card, I tend to get less an' less impressed by what they're sayin'. I'm funny like that. Speakin' o' yammerin'...how about that Daniels? [He shakes his head, a bemused smirk on his face now.] OL: Casey Kasem called wantin' to know why you weren't hostin' the Top 40 this week. [A beat.] Is the Top 40 even valid anymore? Eh, who cares... Man like that should be givin' ol' Johnny Gilbert fits about job security once he get run out o' here too. That's all I think that needs to be said on that matter. [The Lynx flashes a feral grin.] OL: As fer Coleman, told ya you weren't gonna be ignored fer long. An' it looks like you can put together a good string o' moves too! Healthy opinion o' yourself, I see. Course, compared to Double D an' the man who can't be bothered to open his damn mouth himself, that ain't gonna be too hard... [A harsh chuckle escapes his throat.] OL: ...problem is, my own opinion's pretty on the robust side too. An' well, I gotta say, it don't look good fer ya. I mean, you might have you... [LeBlanc suddenly drops the grin.] OL: ...but you're not me... [The glare from earlier returns on the Lynx's face.] OL: ...an' it's MY time again now... [Taking the not-so-subtle hint, the camera quickly cuts back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside. Shakespeare has one eyebrow raises and a bemused look on his face as he glances up from the monitor on which he has just watched those events unfold.] DD: Okay, folks. Now, tonight's four matches will each have a time-limit of 15 minutes, so the action is going to be fast and furious. We've got no time to lose -- let's get up to ring announcer Sy Simmons to get our first match underway! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / ROAD TO THE GOLD First Round Fatal Four-Way Match / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Kolya Sudakov vs. Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Your Hero" Danny Daniels vs. Mark Coleman [Cut to Sy Simmons in the ring. RCW referee Jim Bright, dressed in a blue polo shirt with the RCW logo embroidered on the breast, stands ready in one corner. Simmons brings the microphone to his lips:] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a first round, Fatal Four-Way match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! [Pop!] SS: This match has a 15-minute time limit, and will be decided by the first pinfall or submission. There will be no disqualifications, and no count-outs! [Chairshot-anticipation-pop!] SS: In a Fatal Four-Way match, all four men may be in the ring at any one time, and the match is one fall to a finish! [Pier-Six-brawl-pop!] SS: The winner of the match advances to the next stage of the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! [Big pop! And then "God Hates A Coward" by Tomahawk starts to play over the loudspeakers in the Rose Quarter, and the crowd lets fly with a mixture of cheers and jeers.] SS: Introducing first, hailing from San Francisco, California, weighing in at 265lbs... [The spotlight focuses on the entranceway as the Starland Vocal Band's version of 'Afternoon Delight' starts playing. Entering the arena is Danny Daniels. He's wearing his black trunks and boots, along with a yellow t-shirt with the words 'Your Hero' emblazoned on the front. Wraparound sunglasses cover his eyes, and he grins and flashes two thumbs up at the crowd. The good news is... Danny's here.] D'YH'D: GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS, PORTLAND! [The bad news is... he has a microphone. And he's not afraid to use it as he walks down to ringside.] D'YH'D: You've asked for 'Your Hero'. You want 'Your Hero'. You need 'Your Hero'. And I've come to answer your prayers! You see, fans, You gotta install microwave ovens Custom kitchen deliveries You gotta move some refrigerators You gotta move some color TV's... But I don't! Why? Because I'm 'Your Hero', Danny Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice! [Daniels flashes a grin at the audience, who are already jeering and booing.] D'YH'D: That's right! Tonight, here in the Flower Garden, three other people will have the honor of losing to... ME! Danny Daniels. Sadly, I heard that TBA couldn't make his flight out, so he's been replaced. Too bad! TB, my close personal good friend, would have been a great competitor. He's been replaced by... [Danny blinks a couple times, then pulls out a crumpled-up program from his back pocket. He folds it out and looks at it.] D'YH'D: Ah! He's been replaced by [reading the program] Mark Coleman. [He crumples up the program and puts it back in his pocket.] D'YH'D: Now, Marky Mark... I don't know anything about you... check that. I know one thing about you. And that is that you're not... ME! 'Your Hero', Danny Daniels. Which means that... you're going to lose! Just like Koala and Kitty-Kat. [As Danny finally enters the ring and 'Afternoon Delight' winds down, he finishes.] D'YH'D: Just remember... Sticks and Stone may break your bones... but they don't do a darn thing against... ME! 'Your Hero', Danny Daniels! [Pause] D'YH'D: TOODLES~! [He gives a slow wave of hand, tosses the microphone down and bounces against the ropes, gesturing to Simmons to continue.] SS: Already in the ring.... "YOUR HERO" DAAAAAAAAANNY DAAAAAAAAANNIELLSSS! [Daniels gives Simmons another "thumbs up."] DD: Pardon the expression, Billy, but... what a dork. BS: The Bard couldn't have put it better himself, Don. [Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road" kicks in over the PA.] SS: And now, hailing from Memphis, Tennessee, and weighing in at 251lbs... [As the drums come in, Mark Coleman steps out from behind the curtain. Wearing a pair of dark grey wrestling trunks and sporting the Stars and Bars as a tattoo on his right tricep, Coleman pauses for a moment at the top of the ramp to survey the crowd, a smile on his Southern features.] SS: ...MAAAAAAAAAAAAAARK COOOOOOOOOLEMAAAANN! [The crowd gives a decent pop to Coleman's name.] DD: Coleman certainly seems glad to be here, Billy. BS: It's quite something, let me tell you, the first night you step through that curtain into the aisle and hear thousands of fans cheering for you. Coleman is right to savour this moment -- it'll stay with him for life. [Coleman walks down the aisle towards the ring. He shakes his head from side to side, loosening up before climbing the steps into the ring. The crowd cheers a bit as Coleman steps between the ropes and goes to the corner, leaning back against the ropes and bouncing off of them to warm up. Danny Daniels, predictably, flashes the "thumbs up" at Coleman, too.] SS: Introducing next... [A guitar riff and a howl by Eddie Vedder kick in over the loudspeakers and as "Do The Evolution" by Pearl Jam begins to play, Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc steps out into the aisle. The crowd begins to boo and jeer, but all LeBlanc does is give a shake of the head, whipping his shaggy light brown hair a bit.] SS: ...hailing from Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 275lbs... ORRRRRRIN "THE LYNX" LEBLAAAAAAAAAAAAAANC! [As LeBlanc makes his way down the aisle, his lips curl into a knowing smirk, as if he's aware of some big joke the rest of the world hasn't been deemed privvy to know about yet.] DD: LeBlanc is the biggest man in this match by some margin, Billy. BS: He is, but this match features three of the largest men in RCW, and the fourth man isn't exactly a midget. [LeBlanc enters the ring and stares across at Daniels -- who gives him the "thumbs up" and points to his T-shirt -- and Coleman, who simply stares right back. Pearl Jam fades from the PA and Quo Vadis kicks in.] SS: Finally... accompanied to the ring by "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson... [As "Hunter Killer" gets into full swing, Waterson throws open the curtains, and leads out Kolya Sudakov, who stares right ahead at the ring at the end of the aisle. Waterson is, predictably, already in a rage, pointing and shouting at the fans on either side of the barriers.] SS: ...hailing from Kemerovo, Russia, and weighing in at 230lbs... KOOOOOOOOLLYAAAAAA SUUUUUUUUUUUUUDAAAKOOV! [Sudakov makes his way down to the ring in a completely no-nonsense fashion, slides in under the bottom rope -- and immediately launches himself at Orin LeBlanc! Referee Jim Bright hurriedly signals for the bell as the crowd pops!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: And we are off to the races, everybody! Sudakov is kicking and punching away at LeBlanc, and Coleman and Daniels are eyeing each other up. BS: Sudakov is wasting absolutely no time getting things underway here. [On the outside, Waterson suddenly seems calmer: no longer irate and shouting but instead watching his charge with a satisfied smirk on his face. Sudakov has LeBlanc against the ropes, and Irish whips him towards the other side of the ring. Kolya tries for a kick as LeBlanc is on the rebound... ...but LeBlanc catches Sudakov's leg, and then *plants* him with a leg capture suplex. Big pop! On the outside, Waterson thumps the mat in frustration! Daniels and Coleman lock up, and Coleman goes for an armbar right away. Daniels easily powers out of it with an elbow to Coleman's face, staggering the Tennesseean. Official Bright gestures to Daniels for him to remove his sunglasses, but Daniels simply ignores him, and pounds away on Coleman.] DD: Look at Danny Daniels, Billy Shakespeare. Match official Jim Bright has asked him to remove his sunglasses, but Daniels simply refuses! [Sudakov bounces back to his feet and glares at LeBlanc, who flexes his fingers, awaiting the next engagement... and the two men collide, Sudakov this time getting the better of LeBlanc with a hard kick to the thigh, bringing LeBlanc to one knee -- and then another kick, taking LeBlanc down to the mat. Sudakov immediately grapevines LeBlanc's knee. Heel pop! Coleman, meanwhile, manages to spin Daniels around and forces him into the corner. Bright asks for a clean break, and Coleman grants one, backing away with his arms raised -- only for Daniels to lunge out with a punch! Mixed pop from the crowd! Coleman ducks another swing from Daniels, slips behind him, and drops him with a drop toe-hold. Coleman places his foot behind Daniels's knee and wrenches on his leg.] DD: Both Coleman and Sudakov going for the legs of their powerful opponents. BS: It's a good strategy, Don -- but it may be a little early in the match for Coleman to be relying on submission holds. He needs to wear his opponents down more first. DD: You're right, Billy -- Daniels has kicked Coleman into the ropes! [Coleman is propelled into the ropes by Daniels, and as he rebounds, Daniels catches him with a two-footed monkey flip. Big pop from the crowd as Coleman crashes to the mat and Daniels pops up to his feet, giving a big "thumbs up" to the fans. He's still, by the way, wearing his sunglasses. LeBlanc has managed to power his way out of Sudakov's grapevine, and the Canadian whips Sudakov into the ropes and hits him with a snap suplex on his way back across the ring. Big pop! LeBlanc bounces against the ropes to set up another move -- and Waterson grabs his foot from the outside! Big heel pop!] DD: Ben Waterson didn't waste any time interjecting himself in this match, Billy Shakespeare! BS: With his background in Mixed Martial Arts fighting, Don, he may be a match for some of RCW's wrestlers in his own right. [LeBlanc glares down at Waterson from the ring -- and is grabbed from behind by Sudakov, who *slams* him to the canvas with a release German suplex! Big heel pop! But as Sudakov is about to stomp away on LeBlanc -- Coleman fells Sudakov with a big forearm! Danny Daniels, meanwhile, shrugs and joins in the assault, Coleman and Daniels picking up Sudakov from the mat, sending him for the ride... ...and *pasting* him with a double shoulder tackle! Big pop! Waterson pounds the mat at the injustice of it all! And then Daniels turns on Coleman again with a short-arm clothesline! But Sudakov is immediately on his feet and *blasts* Daniels in the back with a hard kick! Big heel pop! As Sudakov reels back for another strike on Daniels... he's caught from behind by LeBlanc!] DD: Well, it didn't take long for this one to degenerate into a Pier Sixer! [Coleman and Daniels are fighting away in one corner, and LeBlanc and Sudakov are trading chops. LeBlanc sends Sudakov for the ride... Sudakov ducks under a clothesline attempt... and turns and spins on a dime and blasts LeBlanc with a kick, staggering the big Canadian! Then Coleman sends Daniels for the ride... and takes him down with a powerslam! Big pop!] DD: What rotation on that powerslam, Billy Shakespeare! BS: But he's not capitalising on it, Don -- he's going for the legs again! [Coleman cinches in a leg grapevine on Daniels, and is immediately clotheslined by Sudakov, felling the big Memphis native. LeBlanc isn't far behind, and gets Sudakov in a waistlock -- but Sudakov wriggles free, slips behind LeBlanc, and drives an elbow into the small of LeBlanc's back, drawing a shout of pain from The Lynx! Heel pop! Coleman and Daniels are back on their feet; Daniels gets the better of the exchange and sends Coleman for the ride... and fells him with a spinebuster! Daniels immediately climbs to the second turnbuckle... takes a moment to give another "thumbs up" to the crowd... lifts his sunglasses a moment to check that Coleman is still down on the mat, and leaps from the turnbuckle with a flying elbowdrop... ...but Coleman easily slips out of the way, and Daniels crashes to the mat, clutching at his elbow! Big pop!] DD: Coleman has a chance to get the upper hand on "Your Hero" now, Billy Shakespeare! BS: He's not *my* hero, Don -- but Coleman is going for another submission hold. I don't think that's the best move at this stage in the match. [Coleman gets Daniels in a half-Boston crab. This time, it's LeBlanc who breaks it up with a blow to the back of Coleman's head. Big mixed pop!] DD: Another rookie mistake from Coleman, Billy Shakespeare. [Coleman winces and faces up with LeBlanc. The two men, nose to nose, are practically the same height, LeBlanc just an inch taller. They exchange words. LeBlanc raises his hands for a test of strength. The crowd cheers for Coleman to accept -- and he does!] DD: LeBlanc has the early upper hand here in this test of strength, these two young lions... BS: Well, a Lynx and a lion, Don. DD: ...quite right, these two men... and now Coleman has the upper hand, but... OH! [Big mixed pop as Daniels fells Coleman from behind with a chop-block. Daniels immediately covers Coleman and hooks the leg... Bright is there... 1... ...and LeBlanc breaks it up with an axe-handle to Daniels's back! Big pop!] DD: Danny Daniels has the right idea, Billy Shakespeare, going for the pin at the earliest opportunity. BS: Absolutely, Don. There are no prizes for going the distance in this match. It's one fall to the finish! [Coleman gets back to his feet, his face set in determination. He glares at Daniels -- and is waylaid by Sudakov, who blasts Coleman into the corner with a flurry of kicks, punches and forearms, until official Bright steps in to force Sudakov away, much to Waterson's chagrin on the outside. Sudakov lunges in again, but Coleman ducks out of the way, and backs off a few paces. Sudakov charges in once more, and this time Coleman drops him with a drop-toe hold, followed immediately by an elbow to the small of Sudakov's back. Pop! Sudakov, tough as nails, pops up again, but Coleman hits a kneebreaker into a clothesline. Big pop!] DD: Mark Coleman is starting to handle himself in there, Billy Shakespeare! BS: He is, but he may only be making Kolya Sudakov more volatile. [Meanwhile, Daniels is knocked out of the ring by LeBlanc, and tumbles back to his feet, immediately flashing the "thumbs up" at the crowd. He immediately rounds the corner of the ring, and spies Ditka and Shakespeare at the broadcast position, going to join them.] DD: Oh, good grief... we are being joined here by "Your Hero" Danny Daniels. D'YH'D: Is this thing on? DD: I'm afraid so. Danny Daniels, you're supposed to be in this match. D'YH'D: I gotta tell you, Dave, it's colder in Portland at this time of year than I had expected. DD: What's that got to do with anything? Get back in the ring! [The three men in the ring turn and look at each other. LeBlanc and Coleman glance at each other, and then at Sudakov. And then they charge at him! Sudakov doesn't even flinch, and ducks under their combined lunges, spinning around and striking first LeBlanc with a kick, and then Coleman! Big heel pop! Waterson applauds from the floor.] D'YH'D: I had a great plate of nachos this lunchtime. The cheese is kinda repeating on me, though. DD: Danny Daniels, will you get back in the ring?! [Coleman takes a powder for a moment as LeBlanc and Sudakov go at each other. Sudakov sends the Lynx for the ride, but Orin ducks a spinning kick, turns on a dime, and boots Sudakov in the stomach -- then *plants* him with a DDT! Orin immediately drops to make the cover... 1... ...and Sudakov kicks out!] DD: Only a one-count on Sudakov. Man, that Russian is tough! D'YH'D: Dave, where did you get that jacket? DD: It's *Don*. And what has that got to do with anything, Danny Daniels? D'YH'D: It's hideous! You ought to try one of these fine T-shirts, embla......URK! [Daniels is cut short as Mark Coleman strides over to the broadcast position, wrenches the headset off Daniels's head, and drags "Your Hero" away by his straggly hair.] DD: I think I have a new favourite wrestler, and his name is Mark Coleman. BS: I thought he'd never leave, Don. [Coleman and Daniels start duking it out at ringside, while Sudakov and LeBlanc continue to do battle inside the ring. LeBlanc is working on Sudakov's powerful legs, while Waterson yells insults -- and worse -- at the big Canadian from the floor. LeBlanc drops to the mat and cinches in a cross knee scissors on Sudakov as Coleman rolls Daniels back into the ring under the bottom rope. Daniels has made his way to his feet by the time Coleman has got back into the ring himself, and Daniels stomps away on Coleman. Coleman guts it out and makes his way to his feet, hitting Daniels with forearm shots that slow the big Californian down.] DD: Coleman is learning fast, Billy. He's focusing more on power moves. BS: I'm increasingly impressed with him, and I'm impressed with LeBlanc, too. He's trying to eliminate Sudakov's legs, which is a smart move. [Coleman takes Daniels down with a Russian legsweep, then stomps away at Daniels's thighs. Pop from the crowd! Daniels pops back to his feet, a grimace on his face, and charges at Coleman, who spins him around with a spinebuster! Meanwhile, Sudakov launches himself at LeBlanc, who grabs him in a cross-body -- then moves over to the ropes, where an irate and red-faced Waterson is giving his own unique commentary on this turn of events... ...until LeBlanc dumps Sudakov out of the ring and onto Waterson! Huge pop!] DD: Oh my! LeBlanc just dropped Kolya Sudakov right on top of Ben Waterson, and both men are absolutely *furious*! [Sudakov can barely get back into the ring fast enough, clearly enraged but still his entire body showing immense tension as he launches himself at LeBlanc, forcing him back into the corner with a flurry of punches, strikes and kicks!] DD: VIOLENCE PARTY! VIOLENCE PARTY! BS: LeBlanc could be in serious trouble here, Don! [Sudakov's assault is halted by the referee, and LeBlanc staggers out of the corner. Sudakov shoves Jim Bright out of the way, and fells LeBlanc with a big kick, then drops to make the cover... 1... 2...] DD: He's got him! Sudakov is going to advance! [...and the crowd pops huge as Coleman stomps on the back of Sudakov, breaking up the pinfall attempt at the last moment. Coleman wrenches Sudakov up, grabs him in a waistlock, then heaves him up and lets him go with a German release suplex! Big pop as Coleman pounces on Sudakov with an armbar, then an anklelock. On the outside, Waterson is absolutely going ballistic, but Sudakov shows no signs of tapping!] DD: Coleman has Sudakov in a precarious position here, Billy! BS: Sudakov can't afford to be in this anklelock for long, that's for sure. [And indeed he is not, Danny Daniels making the save, coming off the second turnbuckle with a clothesline that fells Coleman! Big "thumbs up" to the fans from Danny, and a big mixed pop from the crowd. Sudakov rolls out of the ring and down to the side of Waterson, who immediately gives encouragement to his charge. LeBlanc, meanwhile, has made it back to his feet, and stares down at Sudakov. Daniels barrels into LeBlanc, and both men are knocked from the ring, tumbling over the ropes. Huge pop! Meanwhile, Sudakov half-rolls, is half-pushed by Waterson, back into the ring, to be met by Coleman. Coleman sends Sudakov for the ride... ...Sudakov ducks a clothesline attempt... ...Coleman ducks a kick from Sudakov... ...Coleman hits Sudakov in the midsection with a big boot... ...Coleman hoists Sudakov up for a crucifix power bomb...] DD: SOUTHERN CROSS BOMB! Coleman's got him up! [And a huge, huge pop as Coleman brings Sudakov crashing down to the mat, spiking the Russian's head into the mat! Coleman quickly makes the cover... 1... ...Daniels and LeBlanc start to roll back into the ring... 2... ...Waterson is absolutely irate, yelling obscenities... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big pop from the fans! LeBlanc and Daniels hit the ring, a look of shock on both of their faces. Coleman rolls swiftly from the ring, followed by official Jim Bright.] DD: He got him! He got him! Coleman gets the pinfall over Kolya Sudakov! BS: Waterson may be regretting rolling Sudakov back into the ring so soon right now! DD: Let's get the official word on this one! [Mark Coleman is already making his way up the aisle by the time Bright catches up to him and raises his hand as Sy Simmons makes the announcement.] SS: The winner of this match by pinfall, and advancing to the second round of the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD tournament... MAAAAAAAAAARRKK COOOOOOOOLLEEMAAAAAN! [Big pop for the young Memphis native as he retreats up the aisle, his eyes on the ring, where LeBlanc and Daniels stare down at him, and Waterson, red-faced, shouts obscenity after obscenity in his general direction.] DD: What a victory for this young man, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Incredible, Don. Coleman started out in this match with completely the wrong approach, but he weathered the storm, and he's made it out the other side with a win that you'd have to say is pretty improbable. DD: I'm not sure even Coleman can quite believe it as he makes his way out of the Rose Quarter with the cheers of these great fans ringing in his ears. Oh my... [Unbeknownst to LeBlanc and Daniels, Kolya Sudakov has made his way back to his feet... BIG HEEL POP!] DD: HIGH LEFT KICK! HIGH LEFT KICK! Kolya Sudakov has just laid Danny Daniels out with a high left kick! BS: And, surprise, surprise, Ben Waterson is in the ring directing traffic! [Waterson has indeed rolled into the ring, and is stomping away at the prone Daniels, kicking him out of the ring. Sudakov, meanwhile, turns his attention to LeBlanc, who gives as good as he gets -- until he is blasted from behind by Waterson! BIG HEEL POP!] DD: Waterson is a dangerous competitor in his own right -- this is two against one! [Sudakov again drives LeBlanc into the corner of the ring with a barrage of strikes, kicks, and punches. The crowd are jeering loudly!] DD: VIOLENCE PARTY! Again Sudakov with the Violence Party! [Now Sudakov cinches in a Guillotine choke and brings LeBlanc down to the canvas. Referee Jim Bright is back in the ring, signalling to the timekeeper to ring the bell again. The crowd are incensed!] DD: You'd have to say that Kolya Sudakov doesn't take defeat in good grace, Billy Shakespeare. BS: To put it mildly! [But then...] "RRAAAAAAAAAAARARRARRRRRRGGGGHHH!" DD: What on earth is that?! [It's a giant Australian, that's what it is! The crowd is on its feet as the giant form of Madrock the Irrepressible barrels down the aisle at high speed, letting fly with a war cry of impressive volume. Madrock hits the ring with a full head of steam, but the big man takes a little too long to get into the ring, giving Sudakov and Waterson enough precious moments to release LeBlanc and slip out of either side of the ring. As Madrock tends to LeBlanc, Waterson coaxes -- or is it drags? -- Sudakov back to the head of the aisle, both men staring up at Madrock.] DD: Here's something I'm surprised to find myself saying, Billy Shakespeare, but... thank heavens for Madrock the Irrepressible. BS: Sudakov certainly showed no signs of wanting to let go of The Lynx. [Orin LeBlanc has now made it to his feet, groggily holding the back of his head, and looks warily at the giant Australian next to him in the ring. LeBlanc leans against the ropes, and beckons for Sudakov to make his way back to the ring. Waterson continues to restrain Kolya as they back away up the aisle, slowly.] DD: Orin LeBlanc must be absolutely furious to have been on the receiving end of Sudakov's frustrations, Billy Shakespeare. BS: I'm sure we're going to continue to feel the ramifications of this match in the weeks to come, Don. DD: While RCW officials restore some order out here, let's go to some comments recorded earlier today from a man we're going to see in action later on here tonight, Owen "Truth" Curtis. [Cut to a shot of an empty Rose Garden. But, it's empty. All we see is a front row seat, which is empty.] VOICE: So, Mr. Allen ... I understand that you would like some help to keep the Portland Trail Blazers in town. Is it true you once owned this arena, but you stopped making the payments even though you are the seventh richest man in the world? [A microphone is extended toward the chair. The chair remains silent. The microphone is yanked back.] VOICE: I'll answer for you. Yes, it is true. And so my follow up question is, doesn't that make you a worthless, welching sack of steamy hot excrement? [The microphone, once again, is offered to the empty chair. The chair is silent. The microphone is withdrawn.] VOICE: I see. And what then, is the difference between you and Madrock, Trevor Lansing and Liam Cassidy? [The microphone is extended. The chair does not speak.] VOICE: Thank you. You are correct. There is no difference. Because just as you once promised to pay for this place, they have in various forms promised to win tonight's match, and none of you will be keeping your promise. You see, Paul Allen ... [The camera pivots away from the empty chair -- and toward a blond guy, with a white short sleeve dress shirt, blue knit tie, green eyeshade, and two-day stubble growth to go with his rumpled slacks and brown leather oxfords. His piercing blue eyes glare into the camera. You are looking at The Truth.] OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: ... you haven't been seen around the Rose Garden arena lately because you are a total embarassment. Why should Oregonians help the world's luckiest and worst businessman lose money running the worst team in the entire NBA? No reason. It is like asking, why do Lansing, Madrock and Cassidy have a chance against me? Same answer. There is no reason. No reason why they would have a chance. Tonight, the Truth is going to stare a lot of people in the face, including those three. And whoever said it was right, the Truth hurts. Gee, I never thought of that one before. What a genius. I think it was Lansing who said it. Who really cares. But the thing is, he didn't finish. The Truth ... hurts ... OTHER PEOPLE ... who deserve to be hurt. By what he does in journalism, and by what he does in the ring. And anyone who says he is unbreakable is just BEGGING to run head-on into the Truth. Life is full of compromises, struggles, travails and triumphs, but through it all, there is only one concept, one value, one priority and one reality that is never relative. It it is always singular, and it is always absolute. And that one thing, is the cold, hard, Truth. You're going to see it, you're going to experience it, you're going to know it, and perhaps later, you might even understand it. The Truth rules over all. And only when you fully grasp THAT ... will you truly be blessed. So, any final words, Mr. Allen? [He extends the microphone back to the empty front row seat, and the camera redirects its focus there. The seat is silent.] OTC [off camera]: Didn't think so. [Owen drops the microphone onto the empty seat, and we hear him walking off in the empty Rose Garden arena. Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Owen Curtis is a very angry man, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Angry and bitter, Don. We'll see whether he can put all that negative energy to a positive end and come out on top later on tonight. DS: Curtis's match is up later on -- but right now order has been restored here after Kolya Sudakov tried to take Orin LeBlanc out, and we're ready for our next Fatal Four-way match! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / ROAD TO THE GOLD First Round Fatal Four-Way Match / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Bailey Fitzgerald vs. Nickolai Trevianski vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Ryan Faith vs. Johnny Pleasence [Sy Simmons brings the microphone to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Fatal Four-Way match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! [Big pop from the Rose Quarter crowd!] SS: Introducing first... hailing from Southborough, Massachusetts, and weighing in at 220lbs.... [The spotlights start to circle the arena in a frenzy before finally settling in on the head of the aisle and out steps the youngster Ryan Faith. Ryan flicks his brown shaggy hair out of his face and looks around the crowd before focusing in on the ring.] SS: ....RYYYYYYYYYYYYYAN FAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAIITH! [Ryan wears blue jean shorts and high black wrestling boots. After standing in the head of the aisle for a few seconds, Ryan sprints to the ring... slides under the bottom rope. He throws his fist up in the air and just waits for the announcer to continue announcing the rest of the men in the match.] SS: And introducing next... [The famous looped guitar riff that heralds the opening of "Loser" by Beck rings out in the arena. The crowd pops! We quickly cut to one of the many backstage locker rooms. Sitting in a wooden fold-out chair in front of a set of blue lockers is a seemingly apprehensive Bailey Fitzgerald. Already clad in his wrestling gear, Fitzgerald fidgets with a roll of tape while resting his elbows on his knees. He looks deep in thought. He is stirred from his reverie by a production assistant with a headset bustling into the room.] PA: Bailey... Bailey, get to the curtain -- you're up! [Fitzgerald looks up at the assistant, and nods.] BF: Time to answer the bell, I suppose. [Fitzgerald twirls the tape between his hands for a moment.] BF: But they didn't tell me it would be like this. They didn't tell me was how many people there'd be. How many camera crews they'd have, and just how many homes would have access to RAMPAGE. But the hype and promotion aside, the one thing I'm really not sure I was ready for... [He shakes his head.] BF: ...were the expectations. But no going back now. I know I may be sorta coming in through the out door here but I've just got to put my trepidation aside and go out there and do what I've done better than most my whole amateur career. I've got to forget about the fact I'll be doing it in front of more people than I ever dreamed of and just give it a hundred and ten. And whether that takes me to the second round of the Road To The Gold or on the red eye back to Buffalo, I'll at least know I didn't half-ass it, and I'll know if I can... [Clearly mocking Petr Ivanovich now.] BF: ...how you say... "make it" here. [Fitzgerald rises to his feet and fires the roll of tape across the dressing room.] BF: "Portland or BUST," they told me. [He nods in affirmation.] BF: Let's find it which it's gonna be. [Fitzgerald stalks out of shot as we cut back to the arena side of the curtain. As "Loser" continues to play, Simmons completes his introduction.] SS: ...hailing from Buffalo, New York, and weighing in at 214lbs... BAAAAAAAAAAILEEEY FITZGEEEEEEEEERRAAAAAAAALLLD! [Fitzgerald steps through the curtains. His eyes widen as he surveys the sixteen thousand-plus-strong crowd before him. He appears momentarily frozen in his tracks.] DD: Oh my, Billy Shakespeare. Bailey Fitzgerald wasn't expecting this. BS: The glare of the spotlight can feel like it penetrates your skin and looks right inside you, Don. But Bailey had better suck it up -- he has a match to win! [Fitzgerald starts to make his way down to the aisle, gingerly looking around him at the fans on either side, many of whom give him encouraging smiles and "thumbs up" signs. Fitzgerald makes it to the ring and climbs up onto the apron, stepping between the ropes. He fixes his gaze on Ryan Faith, who stands on the opposite side of the ring. Faith makes no attempt to acknowledge Fitzgerald at all. Fitzgerald looks out into the crowd as "Loser" fades and Simmons brings his microphone to his lips again.] SS: And introducing next... [A rousing male voice chorus rings out. The crowd immediately gives a big heel pop!] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Petr Ivanovich... hailing from Tyumen, Siberia, and weighing in at 241lbs... [As the National Anthem of the Soviet Union continues to blare out, the curtains at the head of the aisle are thrown aside, and Petr Ivanovich leads a lean man out into the ring, dressed in a red singlet with the letters "CCCP" emblazoned in gold type across the midsection.] SS: ...NICKOLAAAAAAAAAAAAI TREVIAAAAAAAAANNSKI! [Trevianski doesn't even acknowledge the crowd's jeers as he makes his way down to the ringside area, though Ivanovich takes great pleasure in blowing cigar smoke into the faces of fans on either side of the aisle.] DD: Now there is a single-minded competitor, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Absolutely, Don. Trevianski is a *machine*, plain and simple -- a *pain* machine. [Trevianski effortlessly slides into the ring. Fitzgerald immediately gets out of his way, retreating to an opposite corner of the ring and fixing his eyes on Trevianski. Trevianski appears completely relaxed, almost slack, as if he's not even aware of the stage he's on. The Soviet national anthem fades out as Simmons raises the microphone again...] SS: And finally... [The lights in the arena drop -- big pop! -- and the opening bars of "Into The Night" kick in over the PA as a single spotlight illuminates the head of the aisle... into which nobody appears. And still nobody appears. The music cuts out.] DD: Where on earth is Johnny Pleasence?! [The camera cuts to a shot of a pack of smokes sitting on a locker room bench. Specifically, they just happen to be Camel Turkish Golds. A hand snatches them out of the frame, and the camera pulls back to find Johnny Pleasence standing in his locker room, furiously lighting up. Meanwhile, Matilda Agutter flitters about in the background, flirting with the battleship gray lockers.] MA: So many... corners. Should I make them dull? JP: [muttering] Shoulda just taken the money and ran. Folks're chompin' at the bit to wrestle here. Portland... a... [Pleasence, back at his normal volume, eerily adopts an American accent, stressing every syllable.] JP: ..."trail-blazing state if there ever was one." [He spits.] JP: Bunch of bollocks, that is. I mean, who even knows what "trail-blazing" is? Better yet, who even cares? MA: [off handedly] I could make them dull with myself, you know. [Pleasence flicks his cigarette off screen, and Matilda chases it down.] JP: So, Rampage. Tonight. Yeah. [He fires up another one.] JP: I got a big match, you know... the biggest on the card! The Big Bad's Ascension, it's called. It's gonna be the Savior of All Things versus Ryan Faith, Bailey Fitzgerald, and Nickolai Trevanski... and children, you better not watch. [Pleasence exhales.] JP: There's dark times ahead... for you all, not for me. See, there's gold in my future... a nice and shiny RCW title with my name already stamped on it... unfortunately, I just have to get past a couple of wankers to get my hands on it. Yeah, I ran into Faith earlier, and let me tell you... my fingernails have more balls than that kid. Bit of a poof he is, all fixated on stretching and all. And his anxiety has to be due to guilt about the fact that he's a bloody queef. [Someone suddenly sounds like they're coughing up a hairball off screen, followed by a dull thumping off screen, which can only mean:] JP: Ducks, did you snort the ashes again?! MA: [weakly] ...they sang to me and told me I would be king of the hill. JP: ...bloody hell. [Matilda walks back into the shot, slinking into Pleasence's arms.] MA: Bailey wants crumpets, but he gets crammed in the bum instead. He makes me ill, Johnny. Ill to my stomach. It churns violently because of him. JP: I'm gonna have to... fix that. MA: And... didn't Nickolai get stopped by Slyvester? But now he's back, and Apollo! Oh God, Apollo! He's crying blood from beyond the grave! "Chump!", he says! "No talent bum!", he spits! Why, why, why won't Nickolai just leave it alone? So brooding... so menacing... JP: So bloody boring. You ever seen that show about the little git in the middle of his family? The asthmatic little bastard? That's Nickolai de-aged and culture shocked, ducks. [Pleasence sighs.] JP: Christ, this always happens. I get to a new place, and it's full of soddin' idiots! If it's not full of wastes of life, it's full of idiots... which is the same damned thing in my book, but bear with me! Children, you are about to witness the dawn of a new age... don't be afraid now, everything's gonna be alright. The Lord of Darkness shall ascend to his rightful glory. And you, dear children... will marvel at the spectacle that is The Big Bad. And it all starts tonight... [Pleasence takes a drag off of his cigarette.] JP: Remember one thing and one thing only, Rip City... I will _not_ be denied. [And with that, Pleasance and Matilda stalk out of shot, and we cut back to the ring, where Sy Simmons brings the mic to his lips once more.] SS: And finally... [The lights drop out completely as the beginning of "Into the Night" by Tommy Iommi & Billy Idol begins to play throughout the venue...] # And you say you wanna live forever... # And you've got all the time to kill... # And you're living in the dark forever... # In your own little private hell... # Ow! # I wanna rule this world! # I wanna walk the night! # I wanna bleed this girl # Gonna take it all night 'til the morning light- # Ow, I wanna lead this world... # I wanna wake the dead... # And all the undead souls who walk the night # They can suck my dick... # [The lights go back up to full power as the song kicks in, with Johnny Pleasence and Matilda Agutter walking out from the back to a loud chorus of boos. Pleasence looks like he could care less though, as he has a bit of a smirk on his face as he heads down the aisle, idly smoking a Camel Turkish Gold.] DD: Pleasence has absolutely no qualms about keeping us all waiting for him, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Pleasence has no qualms about anything much, Don. Just look at him swagger. [Johnny's wearing a black singlet, long black tights with a bold white stripe going down both legs, black boots, and black elbowpads, with a leather duster over his attire; Matilda's got on a blood red dress and is busy amusing herself by making faces at the crowd. The Big Bad takes a quick drag off his cigarette, apparently checking his duster's pockets for his pack of smokes as he heads down the aisle...] # Are you sure you're so clean and pure? # As you lie here in front of me now... # And you're tempting the lord of darkness... # As you see what's forbidden to see... # Ow, I wanna rule this world! # I wanna walk the night... # I wanna bleed this girl # Gonna do it all night 'til the morning light... # I wanna rule this world! # I wanna wake the dead... # And to all the undead souls who walk the night # They can suck my dick... # Hey, yeah! # You know it's true! # Yeah, you! # Ha ha! # Play! [And as the song turns into total Billy Idol goodness, Johnny Pleasence rolls into the ring and immediately climbs the second turnbuckle of the nearest corner and raises both arms in the air to a loud round of boos, to which he seems oblivious. Matilda's doing her best Laugh-In Dancer impression on the outside, shimmying and shaking and all that nonsense. It's a fun sight. Pleasence does his ritual in every corner before taking off his leather duster and dropping it outside the ring, and saying a few "nice" words to the ref as he looks at his opponents... ...and slides out the ring as the bell rings.] DD: Johnny Pleasance appears to not want any part of the other three men in this contest, Billy Shakespeare. BS: It's a smart move, Don. Wait for the other men to show their stuff, then get involved. [Fitzgerald, Faith and Trevianski look down at Pleasence, who taps out another cigarette from his pack and lights it up. Ten the three men in the ring look to each other... and there's an almost imperceptible change in Trevianski, like a switch being flicked; suddenly his body is rigid and he looks the epitome of focus... and then he ploughs into Fitzgerald, absolutely sending the young man flying with a massive clothesline. Faith immediately leaps in with a strike to Trevianski's back, but Nickolai wheels around, catching Faith with a sickle, knocking him backwards, then cinching him up into a snap suplex, rolling over him into a headlock, rolling over and then reaching over and wrenching on Faith's leg, all in one fluid motion. Big heel pop!] DD: Trevianski is like a well-oiled machine in there, Billy Shakespeare. You can't even see the joins! [Fitzgerald stomps at Trevianski, forcing the Russian to let go, and brings him to his feet. The two men tie up... and Fitzgerald is on the receiving end of a knee to the midsection, followed swiftly by a double underhook suplex that plants him to the mat! Big heel pop!] BS: Faith and Fitzgerald are going to have to work together to make some headway against Trevianski here, Don. DD: I think you're right, Billy. In the early going here, Trevianski is dominant. [On the outside, Matilda has taken a seat on the ring steps and is singing a song about sailors to the fans in the front row, who are jeering her. Pleasence has one eye on Matilda, and the other on the ring as he taps the ash from his cigarette on the arena floor. Faith has engaged Trevianski, and Fitzgerald fights his way to his feet... Faith sends Trevianski for the ride, Fitzgerald takes up position by Faith, Trevianski ducks the double clothesline attempt... turns on a dime... and is met by a double kick to the midsection by Faith and Fitzgerald! Big pop!] DD: That should slow the Russian down a bit -- but can they capitalise?! [Faith immediately steps in with a reverse waistlock and *drives* Trevianski to the mat with a suplex! Faith makes the cover... only for Pleasance to grab the referee by the leg, cigarette hanging from his mouth, about as unapologetic as he could be. Referee Pat Nickrick shouts down at Pleasence to get in the ring, only to be greeted by an invitation to "get stuffed" from the ornery Briton, so the official turns his attention back to the other side of the ropes... where Fitzgerald and Faith are again working together, again sending Trevianski for the ride... and this time Fitzgerald knocks down the Russian with a dropkick! Big pop! On the outside, Petr Ivanovich's cool exterior shows signs of strain, a vein beginning to pulse on his temple.] DD: Fitzgerald's nerves appear to be subsiding, Billy, and we're starting to see what this young....oh! [Heel pop as Trevianski brings his forearm up between the approaching Fitzgerald's legs, staggering the young man from New York state... and Trevianski somehow brings his legs up around the neck of Fitzgerald, snapping him over to the mat into a very tight head scissors, Fitzgerald's face quickly turning red. Faith approaches, but Trevianski is ready, and when Faith reaches down to try and strike the Russian, Trevianski grabs hold of Faith's wrist and twists it painfully in a wristlock. Big heel pop!] DD: Trevianski has *both* Faith and Fitzgerald in painful holds! BS: But he's in a vulnerable position there on the mat; Faith still has his vertical base. [And indeed Faith kicks away at Trevianski, until the Russian is forced to release Fitzgerald, who rolls to the outside clutching his throat.] DD: Looks like that head scissors was more like a choke hold, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Certainly Fitzgerald looks to be in trouble out here on the floor in front of us, and -- oh, now that is uncalled for! [While Faith and Trevianski lock up inside the ring, Ivanovich shamelessly puts the boots to Fitzgerald. Big heel pop!] DD: This is a no disqualification situation, Billy, but Ivanovich is showing us that he's certainly no sportsman. [In the ring, Trevianski gets the upper hand on Faith and throws him with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex, Faith crashing to the mat. Immediately Nickolai is on top of Faith again, rubbing Faith's face aggressively into the mat. Big heel pop!] DD: And Trevianski showing us what kind of a sportsman he is, too. [Trevianski stomps away at Faith's legs, then applies a racked leg lock, causing Faith to cry out in pain. Referee Pat Nickrick is on the scene right away, checking for a submission from Faith. On the outside, Pleasence is finishing his cigarette, and looks to Matilda, who is now... painting the ringpost. She's painting the ringpost with a small brush and a pot of paint. No, we don't know where she got it from, either. Pleasence shrugs, and slides easily into the ring, walks over to Trevianski, and is even-handed with his stomps, breaking up the submission hold by attacking both Trevianski and Faith, before stepping through the ropes and to the floor on the other side, where Ivanovich has now, at least, stopped putting the boots to Fitzgerald.] DD: Don't tell me that Johnny Pleasence is going to *assist* Bailey Fitzgerald. [It's unlikely anyboy would tell him that. Pleasence picks Fitzgerald up by the hair... and slams him face-first into the broadcast table!] DD: Hey! [Ditka and Shakespeare stand up as Pleasence repeatedly rams Fitzgerald's head into the table, twice, three times, fou.... no! On the fourth attempt, Fitzgerald fights out of it, and chops Pleasence! Cheers of encouragement from the fans in the front rows as Fitzgerald tries to take the upper hand, shocking Pleasence with a couple of blows, and then running with him, running to try and execute a running bulldog on the outside... ...which Pleasence easily shrugs off...] * CLANG! * [...sending Fitzgerald careening into the ringsteps. Pleasence shrugs, taps another cigarette out of his packet, and asks Ditka and Shakespeare if they have a light.] DD: No we do not, Johnny Pleasence. This is a no-smoking facility. Are you going to get into the ring and participate in this match at any point tonight?! [Pleasence gives a smirk and wanders off, casually stomping on Fitzgerald a couple more times as he makes his way back around to Matilda, who is now attempting to paint the fans in the front row. Pleasence pulls her back, mumbling something about lead in the paint. Meanwhile, in the ring Trevianski and Faith are continuing to do battle, Faith attempting to pull out his big suplexes, and Trevianski taking them and bouncing back up.] DD: The endurance of Nickolai Trevianski is very impressive, Billy Shakespeare. BS: But Ryan Faith is no slouch either, Don. He's in good shape, and Trevianski's going to have to work hard to put him away. [Trevianski sends Faith for the ride, and drives a knee into Faith's gut as the Massachusetts native rebounds off the opposite ropes, then drops the leg across the doubled-over Faith to drive his head into the mat. Big heel pop! Trevianski makes the cover, and Nickrick is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Faith kicks out! Pop from the crowd! Trevianski drags the groggy Faith to his feet, slings one of Faith's arms over his shoulder, cradles him, and lifts him... Big heel pop!] DD: Oh, what a brainbuster suplex from Trevianski! Faith is in serious trouble here, folks! [Again Trevianski goes for the cover... 1... 2... ...and again Faith kicks out! Showing no frustration but simply an admirable pragmatism, Trevianski hauls the even groggier Faith back to his feet, slings one arm over his shoulder again, grabs Faith's waist... and throws him over, Faith landing awkwardly!] DD: Exploder suplex! Trevianski hits an exploder suplex! BS: And an ugly one at that, Don. Faith landed badly there. [For a third time Trevianski goes for the cover... 1... 2... Big pop! Bailey Fitzgerald breaks the count, lunging in from the corner of the ring into which he has crawled. The prone Faith rolls out of the way as Trevianski turns his cold gaze on Fitzgerald, still himself looking the worse for wear after his exchange with Pleasence on the outside. Trevianski grabs Fitzgerald in a reverse waistlock... but Fitzgerald swings with his right elbow, catching Trevianski a lucky blow and staggering the Russian backwards, Fitzgerald spinning around and launching himself at Trevianski with a bulldog! Big pop!] DD: Bailey Fitzgerald had better stay on top of Trevianski here! [Fitzgerald quickly drops the leg on Trevianski's neck, then rolls through as Trevianski sits up, clutching at his neck, and then Bailey rolls over the Russian with a snapmare, putting more strain on Nickolai's neck and shoulders as he snaps back to the mat. Again Trevianski sits up... and this time Fitzgerald greets him with a dropkick to the face! Big pop!] DD: Fitzgerald with a dropkick to Trevianski's face, and that'll give you an attitude adjustment in a hurry! BS: I think Fitzgerald may have busted Trevianski's nose -- yes, Nickolai is bleeding! [Big bloodlust pop from the crowd as Fitzgerald grinds his forearm onto Trevianski's face.] DD: This young man is learning fast, Billy. BS: You have to take advantage of *every* advantage, Don. We've seen that Trevianski, Ivanovich and Pleasence certainly will -- this is a good survival tactic from Fitzgerald. [Trevianski fights his way to his feet, his nose bloodied, and he seems... shall we say, less impassive. Nickolai lunges at Fitzgerald, who drops the Russian to the mat with a drop toe-hold, Nickolai landing on his tender nose near the ropes! Big pop! Fitzgerald cinches on a reverse chinlock, and yanks back with as much force as he can muster, until...] * CLANG! * [Pleasence absolutely *pastes* Fitzgerald with a steel chair from the outside. Fitzgerald tumbles backwards into the ring as Pleasence climbs up to the apron, still clutching the chair.] DD: It didn't take long for a foreign object to get involved here, Billy Shakespeare! BS: And this is a no-disqualification match -- official Nickrick doesn't look too pleased, but he can't disqualify Pleasence. [Pleasence steps into the ring as Ryan Faith gets to his feet. Faith charges at Pleasence, ducks the wild swing of the chair from the Londoner, turns around, goes for a standing dropkick, Pleasence slaps it away, and as Faith rolls to his feet...] * CLANG! * [Pleasence drives the chair into the skull of Ryan Faith, felling the Massachusetts native. As Trevianski approaches, Pleasence spins and...] * CLANG! * [Trevianski is sent back to the mat by a vicious chairshot from Pleasence, who stands above the three felled men, examining the various dents and dings in the seat of the chair, before tossing it to the outside, Matilda clapping with glee.] DD: Johnny Pleasence has decimated the other three men in this match. BS: And we've not seen a single wrestling hold from him yet. It may not be pretty, but it's hard to argue with this as a tactic in a four-way no-disqualification match. [Pleasence drops to the mat with a cover on Fitzgerald. Referee Nickrick is perhaps not as fast into position as he might be, but he makes the count... 1...] DD: Come on! Don't let Pleasence win this match like this! [2... ...and just as Nickrick's hand is about to come down for the third time, both Trevianski *and* Faith lunge at Pleasence, enough to interrupt the official's count. Big pop! Faith and Trevianski, both men clearly a little more sluggish than before, drag Pleasence to his feet, and send him for the ride... ...and as he comes back, Pleasence drops to his knees and hits *both* men with a low blow, one from each fist! Big heel pop!] DD: Johnny Pleasence is a dirty, cheating, son of a gun, Billy Shakespeare. [Meanwhile, Bailey Fitzgerald has staggered to his feet, and he spies Pleasence with his back turned; he quickly grabs a full nelson on Pleasence, pulling him to his feet... then launches him in the air and *down* with authority! Big pop!] DD: Full nelson slam! Fitzgerald with a full nelson slam! And he makes the cover! [Fitzgerald hooks the leg as Nickrick drops to the mat to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Pleasence kicks out! Big heel pop!] DD: Disappointment for Fitzgerald there, but he's got to stay on his man! BS: Hang on -- Matilda's up on the ring apron... and she's got something in her hands. DD: I almost dread to speculate as to what it may be, Billy Shakespeare. [Matilda grabs Ryan Faith's wrist... and then grabs Trevianski's wrist...] DD: What is this, ring-a-rosie?! [Then Matilda lets out a devilish cackle and drops back to the arena floor, almost cartwheeling with delight, as we see... Big heel pop!] DD: Matilda Agutter has... I can't believe this, Billy Shakespeare! Matilda has *handcuffed* Ryan Faith to Nickolai Trevianski -- and has managed to handcuff them either side of the bottom rope! BS: In the words of King John, "Lady, you utter madness, and not sorrow." DD: Matilda Agutter is hardly a lady, Billy Shakespeare. BS: But she's certainly not sorry, Don. Just look at her go out there! [Matilda is reeling around the ring in delight as their situation dawns on Faith and Trevianski. Faith tries to communicate with Trevianski, letting him know that one of them has to leave the ring and climb back in to untangle them, but Trevianski is too enraged, and within moments Trevianski and Faith come to blows, Trevianski grinding Faith's face against the ropes, Faith lashing out at the Russian and catching him with a hotshot across the top rope -- but as Trevianski tumbles to the mat, Faith is yanked down with him! Fitzgerald and Pleasence, meanwhile, are doing battle unimpeded by restraints in the middle of the ring. Pleasence sends Fitzgerald for the ride... Fitzgerald ducks Pleasence's attack... Fitgerald puts his head down to try and backdrop Pleasence... but he puts his head down a moment too soon, and Pleasence pounces!] DD: Rookie mistake by Fitzgerald, and it could cost him here! [Pleasence cradles Fitzgerald, hoists him up in the air, then drives him down to the mat on his head. Big heel pop!] DD: JOHNNY SPIKE! JOHNNY SPIKE! What a devastating piledriver! BS: This could be it for Fitzgerald! [Official Nickrick is there to make the count as Pleasence cradles the leg... 1... ...Faith and Trevianski both try and reach into the middle of the ring to stop Pleasence as Ivanovich tries to climb up onto the apron... 2... ...Matilda hugs Ivanovich's leg, holding him down and preventing him from entering the ring, while both Faith and Trevianski snap back against the ropes... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He got him! Pleasence got Fitzgerald with the Johnny Spike! [Referee Pat Nickrick goes to raise Pleasence's hand in victory, but the Londoner simply snatches his arm away and moves to Matilda to try and unwrap her from Ivanovich's leg.] SS: Here is your winner, by pinfall: JOOOOHHHHNNNNYY PLEEEEAAASEENNNCEE!! [Big heel pop as Pleasence grabs Matilda and begins to drag her away from ringside. Ivanovich rolls into the ring and yells down at Pleasence as he heads up the aisle.] DD: Johnny Pleasence played these men like three members of a string quartet here tonight, Billy Shakespeare. BS: It certainly wasn't the most sporting of matches, that's for sure. DD: Ivanovich is yelling at Pleasence to unlock Trevianski and Faith -- does Pleasence even have the key? Does he even care? [He does have the key, in fact, and pulls it out of his pocket with a smirk before tossing it up into the ring, where it is handily caught by Ivanovich. Pleasence and Matilda depart to the strains of Billy Idol as Ivanovich unlocks Trevianski's cuff, the Russian springing to his feet and... ...immediately launching a flurry of kicks at Ryan Faith, before the Massachusetts native even has time to get back to his feet! Big heel pop!] DD: Where have we seen this before, Billy Shakespeare?! Ivanovich in there directing traffic, and... oh! [Trevianski drops a knee onto the throat of the still-prone Bailey Fitzgerald. Another big heel pop!] DD: This is completely unnecessary! Trevianski may be frustrated, but we need some help out here! [Faith fights his way back to his feet again and storms at Trevianski, who is knocked back by a flurry of blows from Faith. Big crowd pop! But then Trevianski hits a stunning uppercut forearm directly at Faith's jaw, following up immediately with a leg sweep that plants Faith face-first into the canvas! Big heel pop! Meanwhile Ivanovich keeps stomping away at Fitzgerald, despite Pat Nickrick's efforts to force him away.] DD: We need some help out here! Trevianski's like a one-man wrecking crew out here! "YAYYAAAAAAAAAARARRARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHGHHH!" BS: We've heard that before! [We certainly have. Barrelling down the aisle at a surprisingly quick pace comes Madrock The Irrepressible, getting into the ring as fast as his big frame allows, Trevianski being quick enough to bail -- but Ivanovich is caught short, and finds himself whipped into the corner by the big Australian... who then gets up a big head of steam and... Big pop!] DD: What a splash! What a splash from Madrock the Irrepressible on Petr Ivanovich! Ivanovich may have just gone down a jacket size or two! [Trevianski immediately drags the stunned Ivanovich from the ring and begins to help him away, pointing up at Madrock and declaiming guttural Russian in his direction. Madrock rather comically beats his chest as both Faith and Fitzgerald rise to their knees behind the giant.] DD: That's twice tonight that Madrock the Irrepressible has come to the aid of somebody on the receiving end of an attack from the Russian contingent here in RCW! BS: Madrock may be making himself some friends, Don, but he's definitely making some enemies too. [Faith and Fitzgerald make it to their feet and stand beside Madrock, looking down from the ring on the retreating Trevianski and Ivanovich as they make their way up the aisle.] DD: Well, that last match won't go down in the annals of history as a mat classic, but we now know who two of the four men who will be contesting the RCW Championship in three weeks' time are: Mark Coleman and Johnny Pleasence. There are two spots left in the second round to be decided tonight, and one of those two spots could go to Madrock the Irrepressible, a man we've seen twice tonight before his scheduled match. [As Madrock leads Faith and Fitzgerald up the aisle in pursuit of Trevianski and Ivanovich, we cut to the backstage area, where RCW President Daniel Spreadbury is seen going over a production checklist with a production assistant.] LOUD VOICE: Well, I don't care if the sign says no smoking. I ain't putting it out. [The RCW President looks up.] DS: Excuse me?! [The camera pulls back, and we see a man approaching. The man drops a tattered, dirty old duffel bag at Spreadbury's feet. He is wearing tattered blue jeans, a wifebeater undershirt and a black fedora hat that covers his gruff, unwashed sandy blonde hair. He has a beard and a goatee and is smoking on a thick stogie. Despite his gruff physical appearance, the man grins when he looks at Spreadbury, who turns to his production assistant and excuses himself so he can talk.] MAN: So you guy the in charge around here? DS: Yes. MAN: Good. Then maybe you can tell me... [He drops the his cigar on the floor and steps on it, putting it out.] MAN: Where can a feller take a leak around here? DS: Pardon me? MAN: A leak. A tinkle. You know lad, do your business. I always like to drain the monkey before a fight. DS: I'm sorry, but who exactly are you? [The stranger gets a good chuckle out of that. He extends his hand to Dan, who reluctantly shakes it.] MAN: Where are my manners? Liam Cassidy, sir, reporting for duty. [The man shadow-boxes for a moment while Spreadbury tries to figure this guy out.] LC: You must be the boss man. Which way's the ring? It was a long train ride from Ogallala and I'm itching for a fight, know what I mean? DS: Uhm, Mr. Cassidy, I think there's been a mistake. LC: Oh, no mistake, lad. All I ask is that I get paid up-front this time. Been stiffed too many times in the past and forced to enjoy a victory can of tuna on account of not being paid. Now I ask you, what's the point of boxing for someone if he ain't gonna pay ya? Ain't no sense in that. DS: *Boxing?* This isn't boxing... LC: Oh, right, right. [He winks at Dan.] LC: There ain't no boxing here, Bob's your Uncle. I got it. So what's with all the cameras and stuff? I thought these things weren't really supposed to be taped, y'know? No evidence, that sort of thing. DS: Mr. Cassidy, I think there's been a mistake made somewhere. This is a wrestling event. Professional wrestling. LC: What? [The man gets a confused twinkle in his eye.] LC: Wrasslin'? Well, Hell man, no-one told me there'd be wrasslin' too. But a paycheck's a paycheck, right? So I'll go out, slap the poor bloke around a bit, slap a headlock or two on him, knock him on his arse and call it a day. Sounds good to me, boss. [An aghast Spreadbury can't do much else but stare in disbelief at this Liam Cassidy...] LC: Well, if that be all, I'll be on my way. Don't worry about the ring, I'll find my way out there. Just have one of your guys wake me up when it's time to go on. How's that sound? [Cassidy nods and slaps Spreadbury on the shoulder, with a big smile on his face.] LC: There's a good lad. [The man picks up his tattered duffel bag off the floor and continues grinning as he starts down a hallway. He passes a liquor cart and snatches a bottle of beer from the vendor and takes a swig as he disappears down the corridor. Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: So let me get this straight, Billy Shakespeare. "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy, the man we've been waiting to meet... he's an illegal bare-knuckle boxer?! BS: It certainly looks that way, Don. Are the RCW officials going to let him compete in this match? DD: I don't know, but I think we're just about to find out -- it's time to go up to Sy Simmons for the introductions. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / ROAD TO THE GOLD First Round Fatal Four-Way Match / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Owen "Truth" Curtis vs. Madrock The Irrepressible /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ vs. "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing vs. Liam Cassidy [Sy Simmons takes up his position in the centre of the ring and once more raises the microphone to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Fatal Four-Way match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! GROUP CHANT: COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! [Two drumsticks hit together four times.] ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! [The opening riff of "Stranger Than Fiction" by Bad Religion blares over the loudspeakers.] SS: Introducing first... making his way to the ring, hailing from Eugene, Oregon, weighing in at 241 pounds ... OWEN ... "TRUTH" ... CUUUUUUUURTIS! [As the song hits the first verse, Owen "Truth" Curtis bursts out through the curtains, wearing a dark green singlet with gold trim and, over that, a dark green cape with gold trim.] # A febrile shocking violent smack # The children are hoping for a heart attack # Tonight the windows are watching, the streets all conspire # And that lamppost can't stop crying [Wearing his trademark green eyeshade on his head, Owen glares determinedly forward as he heads for the ring, his dirty blond hair matched with a two-day dusting of blond facial stubble.] DD: Here comes Owen Curtis, Billy Shakespeare... an impressive individual, that's for sure. # If I could fly high above the world, # Would I see a bunch of living dots spell the world stupidity? # Or would I see hungry lover homicides, oving brother suicides, # And olly olly oxenfrees, who pickaside and hide? [Owen reaches the ring and rolls in. He twirls in a circle, arms spread, his cape flying up. The crowd responds with less appreciation than Owen gives himself.] # The world is scratching at my door, # My morning papers got the scores, # The human interest stories, and the obituary, oh yeah [Owen tosses his cape to the corner, drops, and rolls out. He looks for some random person sitting at ringside -- a young child or some blue-haired old bat. He removes his green eyeshade and bestows it upon that person's head.] BS: Well, isn't *that* touching. # Cockroach naps and rattling traps, # How many devils can you fit upon a match head? # Caringosity killed the kerouac cat, # Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction [Owen returns to the ring as the music fades, and Simmons makes his second introduction.] SS: Introducing next... ["Revolution Revolution" by Il Nino kicks in over the PA as a bank of lights bear down on the head of the aisle.] SS: ...hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 212lbs... "UUUUUUUUNNNBREAKAAAABLE" TRREEEEEEEEVVOORR LAAAAAAAAAANNSING! [Mixed pop from the fans as Lansing steps out into the aisle, wearing a loose-fitting cotton robe, open at the waist. Lansing makes his way quickly towards the ring, looking up at the squared circle before him.] DD: Lansing is not only the smallest man in this match, Billy Shakespeare, but in fact the smallest man altogether on the RCW roster. BS: And in this match he's going up against the biggest -- Madrock the Irrepressible -- not to mention Owen Curtis and the mysterious Mr. Cassidy. DD: But don't think for a minute that Lansing is intimidated by any of those men. This young man is determination personified. [Lansing arrives at the ring, climbs in, and takes off his robe, passing it to an attendant at ringside. Lansing is wearing cut-off wrestling tights, black with a white stripe down each leg. Lansing checks the black tape on both of his wrists, and limbers up in the ring, keeping his eye on Curtis.] SS: And introducing next... ["Miss You" by Mirwals starts up over the PA.] SS: ...hailing from Hackensack, New Jersey and weighing in at 237lbs... "THE JEEEEEERRRSSEY DRIIIIFFTER" LIIIIIIIIIIAAAAAAM CAAAAAAAASSSSSIDDY! [And out through the curtain steps Liam Cassidy... who almost does a double-take as he gets a look at the sixteen thousand-strong crowd.] DD: I'm not sure Liam Cassidy has ever wrestled in front of such a big crowd! BS: I'm not sure Liam Cassidy has ever wrestled, period, Don. DD: You may be right, Billy Shakespeare. We'll see momentarily. [Cassidy snaps out of his mild surprise, an easy smile coming to his face as he starts to make his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of the fans who extend them over the rail. Cassidy climbs into the ring and starts shadowboxing. Lansing and Curtis regard him with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.] SS: And finally... # We'll be singing # When we're winning # We'll be singing... # I get knocked down # I get back up again # You're never gonna keep me down [Big pop from the crowd as Madrock the Irrepressible stomps out into the aisle.] SS: ...weighing in at 321 pounds, he is the terror from the Cockatoo Islands, the monster from Almunster, the crazed freak from Abbott's Peak; give it up for MAAAAAADROCK THE IIIIIIIIIRREPREEEEEEEEESSIBLE! [Madrock makes his way down to the ring, slapping the hands of fans on either side of the aisle.] DD: Madrock is already quite a popular figure here in the Rose Garden tonight. BS: But we've yet to see how he handles himself in the ring. This should be interesting. [Madrock arrives at the ring, marches straight across to Owen Curtis... and hits him with a clubbing forearm! Official Bobby Belshee hurriedly signals for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * [As Curtis and Madrock go at each other, Cassidy starts bobbing towards Lansing, and takes a swing at him -- but Lansing ducks out of the way and is able to quickly get Cassidy in a side headlock. Cassidy flails somewhat helplessly with his arms as Lansing cinches the hold in tighter. Curtis attempts to get Madrock in a hammerlock, but the big Australian muscles out and simply shoves Curtis to the mat. Big pop! Curtis shakes his head, and pulls himself back to his feet, blocking another strike from Madrock, then applying a top wristlock -- which again Madrock immediately powers out.] DD: Curtis has an immaculate amateur background, Billy Shakespeare, but something else may be required to topple the giant Madrock. BS: With a man as big and strong as Madrock, you've got to take him off his feet. But Curtis is a smart man and he'll work it out -- it looks like a bit of ring rust to me. [Madrock sends Curtis into the ropes, Curtis ducks under a clubbing forearm attempt from the big Australian, then stops and turns, dropping to one knee, and immediately hitting Madrock with a powerful low blow. Big heel pop as Madrock is doubled over, and an uppercut forearm strike from Curtis fells the Australian to the mat.] DD: Owen Curtis showing he's not afraid to take a shortcut to get ahead. What a surprise. [Curtis immediately points to his head in the universal "look how smart I am" pantomime, and the fans in the front row jeer at him -- but Curtis's showboating is cut short as Madrock gets back to his feet, Curtis quickly bailing to the outside! Meanwhile, Liam Cassidy finally makes his way to the ropes, and official Belshee starts a count on Lansing to release the headlock, which the Tahoma native reluctantly does. Cassidy gives a smirk and bobs away from Lansing... Big pop!] DD: Oh my! Madrock the Irrepressible just about took Cassidy's head off with that clothesline! [Cassidy pops back up to his feet, rolling his neck after a blow the likes of which he is not accustomed to receiving... and is immediately cinched into a waistlock into an overhead release suplex from Owen Curtis, who has rolled back into the ring. Big pop!] DD: These three men are having their fun with Liam Cassidy here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Cassidy looks like a fish out of water. I don't know how long he's going to last out here. [Cassidy rolls out of the ring and tries to get his bearings... but his efforts are cut short as Madrock follows him to the outside. Madrock wails on Cassidy, the New Jerseyan having great difficulty in fending off the assault from the Australian. Cassidy charges at Madrock... and is lifted up high above Madrock's head... Big mixed pop!] DD: Cassidy has just been dropped throat-first onto the steel guard rail that separates the ringside area from the fans here in the Garden! [Cassidy rolls on the mats at ringside, clutching at his throat. Madrock yells something unintelligible at the fallen Jersey Drifter.] DD: Oh my. I think Cassidy may have played his final part in this match, Billy. BS: I'm not sure -- I'm not sure. Cassidy is getting up! [And he is! Cassidy is getting back to his feet! Cassidy is up to his knees, up to his feet, groggily, unsteadily... Big mixed pop!] DD: Oh! Madrock just *pasted* Cassidy with a steel chair, Billy Shakespeare! [Cassidy goes down, and this time shows no signs of getting up in a hurry. Madrock appears satisfied with this turn of events, and climbs back into the ring, where Lansing and Curtis are going at it. As Madrock steps back between the ropes, Curtis whips Lansing towards the giant Australian... who intercepts Lansing, scoops him up, and *throws him* at Curtis! Big heel pop as Curtis, in turn, catches Lansing and throws him behind for a fallaway slam!] DD: Madrock just threw Lansing at Curtis as if he didn't weigh a thing! BS: But Curtis is no slouch, catching Lansing and sending him for the ride. [Curtis steps aside as Madrock charges at Lansing, splashing the prone Tahoma native. Madrock goes for a cover... 1... ...but Lansing kicks out, before Curtis can even break up the pinfall attempt.] DD: Impressive resilience from Trevor Lansing. He may be outmanned and outgunned, but he's got a lot of guts. [Lansing rolls to his knees, trying to stay out of the clutches of Madrock. Curtis appears satisfied to watch from a distance for the time being as Madrock sends Lansing for the ride. Lansing ducks under an ugly clothesline attempt from the Australian, bounces off the opposite ropes, and launches himself with a big spinning kick, which staggers Madrock... but does not fell the giant! Lansing bounces off the ropes again, and this time his kick *does* fell Madrock. Big mixed pop from the crowd!] DD: Lansing's taken a beating here, but he's got a lot more fight in him! [Lansing immediately goes for his Texas cloverleaf variant, the Trevorlock, and cinches it in -- only for Curtis to immediately break it up by stomping away at "The Unbreakable." Curtis drags Lansing to his feet and chops him viciously!] "WHOOOOOOOO!" DD: It doesn't matter where you are in the world, folks... * SLAP! * "WHOOOOOOOO!" * SLAP! * "WHOOOOOOO!" * SLAP! * "WHOOOOOOOOOO!" [Curtis chops Lansing back into the corner, Lansing's chest quickly reddening from the blows whose characteristic slaps resonate through the arena. But suddenly Lansing muscles out, swapping places with Curtis, and replying with chops of his own!] * SLAP! * "WHOOOOOOOOOOO!" * SLAP! * "WHOOOOOOOOOOO!" [Lansing steps back from Curtis, and "The Truth" storms out after him... only to be caught with a dragon-screw leg whip, snapping him down to the canvas. Mixed pop!] DD: Lansing now, letting Curtis back up to his feet... and Madrock from behind! [Meanwhile, at ringside, Cassidy has revived sufficiently to have climbed -- or did he tumble? -- into the front row of the fans. He makes his way to the aisle and encounters a wandering beverage salesman. He grabs two beers from the salesman, throwing one in his own face, and downing the other.] DD: Is Liam Cassidy looking for a little Dutch courage here, Billy Shakespeare? BS: The answer is rarely at the bottom of a bottle, Don. But sometimes you just really want a nice frosty mead. DD: Mead? BS: You've never had mead? You're missing out. [Madrock and Lansing continue to duke it out in the ring, Madrock's, uh, unscientific approach contrasting with Lansing's speed and technical savvy. Madrock catches Lansing with a big body-check rugby tackle, felling him again... Madrock hooks the leg... 1... ...and Curtis immediately stomps on Madrock to break up the pinfall attempt. Heel pop!] DD: Curtis is sticking to his gameplan here -- let Madrock and Lansing wear each other out, and step in only when required. [Madrock once again brings Lansing to his feet, and whips him into one corner of the ring. Madrock then charges in with a battle cry, splashing Lansing in the corner. Lansing staggers out of the ring, and is then clotheslined to the mat by Madrock. Mixed pop!] DD: These fans were all cheering Madrock earlier tonight when he came to the aid of LeBlanc and Coleman, and then Faith and Fitzgerald -- but things change quickly over the course of one evening. BS: Madrock's just doing what he has to do here, Don. Lansing is the smallest man in this match, and Madrock's quite right to use his size and strength advantage to its fullest potential. DD: You're a very reasonable man, Billy Shakespeare. BS: It's the mead. You should try it. [Meanwhile, on the outside, Cassidy has apparently taken some directions from the fans in the floor seating at the Rose Quarter concerning the direction of the ring, and he is now clambering back over the guard rail and back into the ringside area.] DD: Liam Cassidy appears to have benefited from his liquid refreshment... and he's on his way back into the ring, it would seem. [Madrock and Lansing are still slugging it out in the ring. Lansing whips Madrock to the ropes, and Madrock puts on the brakes, grabbing hold of the ropes when he gets there... only for Lansing to launch himself at the big Australian with a spinning kick that sends both Madrock and Lansing tumbling over the top rope and to the outside! Big pop!] DD: Oh my -- it looks like Lansing and Madrock just had a very hard landing out there. BS: Now Curtis is left in the ring with nobody to wrestle... oh, I stand corrected! [Liam Cassidy has crawled back into the ring, and is pulled to his feet by Curtis. Cassidy takes a couple of swings at Curtis, but "The Truth" easily stays out of his reach. Curtis reaches out and jams a thumb in Cassidy's eye, stunning the New Jerseyan, then grabs Cassidy with a waistlock, lifts him... and drops him throat-first across the top rope, and hangs on as he cradles Cassidy for the pinfall attempt. Big heel pop!] DD: FRONT PAGE MUGSHOT! FRONT PAGE MUGSHOT! [Belshee is there to make the count... 1... ...on the outside Lansing pulls himself up onto the apron... ...2... ...Lansing steps through the ropes and launches himself at Curtis... ...3!] DD: He got him! He got him! * DING! DING! DING! * [Big heel pop as Curtis gets the pinfall on the stunned Liam Cassidy. Curtis immediately rolls out of the ring as Lansing goes to attack him. Official Belshee dives out after Curtis to raise his hand. Curtis gives a wry smile as Belshee raises his arm in victory.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner by pinfall... OOOOOOWWWEEEENN "TRUUUUUUUUTH" CUUUUUURRRRRTISS! [But the wry smile on Curtis's face quickly disappears as he spies an angry Australian giant bearing down on him from around one side of the ring. Curtis makes good on his exit up the aisle, with Madrock in hot pursuit.] DD: Madrock the Irrepressible showing his frustration... he weakened Cassidy, he was wrestling Lansing... and it's Curtis who gets the duke. BS: "Who is it thou dost call usurper," Don? DD: Uh... that would be Curtis, Billy. BS: Gotcha. That was from "King John," by the way. DD: I would never have guessed. [Lansing is left standing in the ring, shouting his displeasure down at Cassidy, who has now got back to his knees.] DD: I can't hear exactly what Lansing is saying, Billy, but I'm guessing it's something along the lines of how Cassidy should never have been in this match to begin with. BS: And in a sense that's hard to argue, Don -- but Cassidy has certainly shown that he's got guts and resilience, even if he doesn't have any wrestling experience. [As Cassidy gets to his feet, Lansing gives him a shove. Cassidy reacts as if on instinct, and lets fly with a right hook that catches Lansing square on the jaw, sending "The Unbreakable" hard down to the mat. Big pop!] DD: Oh my! Cassidy lands the big punch, and Lansing is down! [Cassidy doesn't stick around for any further repercussions, ducking out of the ring and heading back up the aisle.] DD: I wonder whether we'll see this young man again in an RCW ring, Billy Shakespeare? BS: From bare-knuckle boxing to professional wrestling... I've seen stranger things. DD: I'm sure you have... folks, I'm told that Liam Cassidy has been met backstage by RCW President Daniel Spreadbury. Do we have a camera back there? We do? [Cut to backstage, as the cameraman follows behind the unorthodox Liam Cassidy as he walks back from the curtain. The friendly, playful demeanor he displayed earlier now all but washed away, he curses under his breath as he is met by the RCW President.] DS: Mr. Cassidy... [Liam doesn't even wait for Spreadbury to finish.] LC: You said you were the boss around here? DS: Well, yes. I... [He is cut off again.] LC: So you're in charge. Good. 'Cause if you are, and if you don't mind sir, I'd like to come back again next week. I got me a bone to pick with that feller out in that ring. DS: You mean Trevor Lansing? LC: I don't care what the feller's name is, I just want the chance to knock him on his ass again. In fact, you don't even have to pay me next week. I'll knock him out for free. DS: Well, I suppose I can arrange something for you along those lines. LC: Attaboy. [Liam slaps Dan across the back.] LC: I'll be on my way, then. You just make sure that milksop shows up. [Cassidy departs, walking down a hallway. He stops at a locker to open it up and remove his tattered and worn duffel bag. After slamming the thing shut, he decides to relieve a little anger by smashing the locker with a fist which makes a loud sound and leaves a nasty dent in the metal. Cut back to ringside.] DD: Oh my -- it sounds like it'll be Lansing versus Cassidy on our next episode of RAMPAGE, folks! [Lansing is heading back up the aisle, clearly enraged. The crowd pops as "Rule Britannia" blares over the PA. Ring announcer Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring:] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome RCW President and interim General Manager of Wrestling Operations... DANIEL SPREADBURY! [The crowd claps politely as Spreadbury heads out into the aisle, clad in a dark business suit and carrying a large black briefcase to the ring. Spreadbury and Lansing have a brief word, and Spreadbury then sends Lansing continuing on his way back to the locker room. Bespectacled as ever, Spreadbury makes his way down to the ring and rounds on the ring steps.] DD: Well, folks, we're fortunate enough to be joined by our esteemed President here, just shy of our final match of the evening. BS: And we're wondering what I'm sure everybody else in this arena is wondering: what's in the case? DD: I have a feeling we're about to find out, Billy. [Spreadbury makes his way into the ring and accepts the microphone offered to him by Simmons, who steps out of the ring. Spreadbury places the case down in the centre of the ring and puts his hand into his trouser pocket, adopting a casual pose as he brings the microphone to his lips. "Rule Britannia"'s rousing chorus fades as he begins to speak.] DS: Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you've been enjoying yourselves here tonight at the Rose Quarter! [Big hometown pop!] DS: It's my pleasure to announce that tonight's attendance is 16,743! [More cheers from the crowd.] DD: Well, it's not quite a sell-out, folks, but only 3,000 off full capacity. Bodes well for the future of RCW here in Portland! DS: And before we proceed to tonight's final Fatal Four-Way match in the first round of the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD tournament, I just want to remind all of you here in person and those of you watching live tonight on television just what's at stake in this tournament. [Spreadbury picks up the briefcase, walks over to one corner of the ring, and balances it on the top turnbuckle. He unfastens the two clasps that hold the case closed and opens the lid. The crowd hushes slightly in anticipation... and then flashbulbs all over the arena erupt as Spreadbury pulls a large, gold belt out of the case and holds it above his head. Big pop!] BS: That's what it's all about, Don. That's the RCW Championship belt -- as the Bard said in Henry V, "By Jove, I am not covetous for gold," but we know for a fact that the three men who have already booked their place in the second round of the tournament are very covetous indeed. DD: You're absolutely right, Billy. That belt is a beauty! [Spreadbury drapes the belt over his shoulder and strokes a protective hand over its shiny gold surface. He once again brings the microphone to his lips.] DS: Ladies and gentlemen, this is the RCW Championship belt. Its history has not yet begun -- but three weeks from tonight we will know who the first RCW Champion will be. Don't forget that the second round of the tournament will take place in two weeks' time, with our next RCW RAMPAGE event. What a night it's going to be! [Spreadbury smiles as the crowd cheers.] DS: Before I go, I have one further announcement. Backstage earlier tonight, in the presence of RCW head official Juan Morales, we had ourselves a little draw to determine just what our second round matches will be... [Big pop of anticipation from the crowd.] DS: So in two weeks from tonight on RCW RAMPAGE, you will see... MARK COLEMAN take on OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS! [Cheers from the crowd!] DD: Oh my, folks, that's going to be quite the match! Veteran Owen Curtis squaring off against the rookie Mark Coleman. BS: Both men were very impressive here tonight, Don. I wouldn't want to pick a winner out of those two. DD: And that means we know at least one half of our other second-round match... DS: And in our other second-round match, it'll be the winner of tonight's final Fatal Four-Way Match taking on... JOHNNY PLEASENCE! [Boos from the crowd in response to Pleasence's name.] DD: Pleasence certainly didn't make any friends here tonight, Billy. We'll see who's going to have to get into the ring and face Johnny Pleasence and his, uh, eccentric main squeeze Matilda two weeks from tonight! DS: And we will also see "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing face off against "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy, with more matches to be confirmed. That's all for now, ladies and gentlemen. Enjoy tonight's final match, and I look forward to seeing you all back here two weeks from tonight for our next exciting live event. Over to you, Sy! [Spreadbury hands the microphone back to ring announcer Sy Simmons, who has re-entered the ring, as "Rule Britannia" blares out over the PA. The RCW President leaves the ring, the RCW Championship belt still draped over his shoulder, and makes his way back up the aisle, fans on either side of the barriers straining to get their fingertips on the big gold belt.] DD: Coleman against Curtis, and Pleasence against the winner of tonight's last match, Billy. It's going to be a big week on RAMPAGE next time out. BS: The four men in this match know what they've got to do, Don. It'll be a doozy. DD: Which Shakespeare play is that from, Billy? BS: ...never mind. Shall we get back up to ringside? DD: Yes, Billy, let's do that -- but first, let's go backstage to our broadcast colleague Jamie Bond, who's standing with one of the men who'll be doing battle in this match, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. Jamie? [Cut to the backstage area of the Rose Quarter Arena. Standing on the left is a young-looking man in a cheap black suit, with light blonde hair in. On the right is "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, wearing dark blue wrestling trunks, a denim vest and boots, I'm sure. Driscoll paces and cracks his knuckles, as the young intern begins the interview.] JB: Thanks, Don! The name's Bond -- Jamie Bond... [Bond waits for a laugh. Driscoll almost imperceptibly shakes his head and rolls his eyes.] JB: Okay. We're in the back here with "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, moments before the Fatal Four-way match against Nolan Dorado, Jake Andrews and Vinnie Carmazzi. Paul, what's going through your head right now? [Driscoll shoots the interviewer a glance and stops pacing.] PD: Just another day an' another dollar fer me, young man. The other three got them butterflies an' steel nerves, I know the feelin', but ol' Pistol Paul is comfortable as can be. Jus' another mountain I gotta climb, an' I ain't sweatin' it. JB: You seem as confident as ever, Mr. Driscoll, are you sure you're ready? PD: If that damn Shakespeare out there with Ditka was born to perform, then I guess you could say I was born ready. The chance to put yer mark on a region, on a territory such as Portland don't come 'long real often. This sport is 'bout takin' advantage o' opportunities, hell, that's what _life_ is about. When the brass ring is sittin' on yer doorstep, ya go an' take it. It's right there in front o' me, hoss, an' alls I gotta do is go an' get it. An' if that means 'long the way I gotta teach these three pretenders a lesson in playin' to win, then so be it. Carmazzi, Andrews an' Nolan want to make an impression an' prove they b'long in the employ o' the great Dan Spreadbury. I ain't in search o' warm'n fuzzies. I'm in search o' gold an' there's only one to get it... an' that path goes right through the Three Stooges. Now if you'll excuse me, I gotta go to the office. [With that, Driscoll leaves the scene, as the fair haired young man turns to face the camera.] JB: That was "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, guys, and he's got one thing on his mind. Back to you at ringside, Don and Billy. [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at the broadcast position at ringside.] DD: Let's get this final match underway, folks. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / ROAD TO THE GOLD First Round Fatal Four-Way Match / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Vinny Carmazzi vs. "Pistol" Paul Driscoll vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado vs. Jake Andrews [Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring and raises the microphone back to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is tonight's final first-round match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! [Big pop as the heavy guitar of "I Stand Alone" by Godsmack kicks in over the PA. The camera switches to backstage, to the beginning of the walkway that goes through the black curtain and travels the entire distance to the ring. Standing there... check that, pacing the same three-foot radius, is the man about to be introduced to the crowd. Based on his current actions alone, he is more caged animal than man. But in a few moments, that will change. Vinny Carmazzi doesn't really know what to do with himself in this situation. He'd prefer to already be in the ring. But the camera focused on him right now makes it clear that it is the time to talk. Still, he'd rather be fighting. All three of his opponents at once, for that matter. Maybe that will make him happy.] VC: Dorado, Driscoll, Andrews... you boys did a good job of getting your shots in last week. [Vinny slowly raises his fists to the camera. They remain steady just beneath his deep brown eyes. His hands are taped, but blood still finds its way through. Another one of Vinny's workouts must have just ended.] VC: But now it's my turn. [The blood from his knuckles begins to stain the white tape around his wrists. Veins visibly pulse through his forearms. The adrenaline has made Vinny numb. The focus is on his opponents' impending pain, rather than his own.] VC: One of you is going to submit. And take the rest of you out of the tournament. [The hands come down. Nothing is in the way of his words, the ones that convey intent.] VC: Yesterday you talked. Tomorrow you'll cry.... [Vinny takes a step closer. Unblinking. The remaining blood seems to all gone to his eyes.] VC: Tonight you tap. [Vinny turns and approaches the curtain. Cut back out to the head of the aisle from the main arena, as the curtain is tossed aside and Carmazzi strides out into the aisle, to a nice pop from the crowd.] SS: Making his way towards the ring, the first combatant in this Fatal Four-Way Match. Weighing in at 235lbs, and hailing from Jersey City, New Jersey... VINNNNNNNNNNNNNNNY CARMAZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZI! [Carmazzi remains completely focused on the ring ahead of him as he makes his way down the aisle, fists clenched by his side.] DD: Vinny Carmazzi is perhaps the most driven competitor I've seen in my long years involved in this sport, Billy. BS: Twelve years of paying dues will do that to a man, Don. Carmazzi's been out on the road since before my career even began, and here he is, still not yet having hit the big time. Perhaps tonight will be his night, and the start of something big. [Carmazzi nears the ring, and climbs the ring steps, stepping through the ropes without any pretence or prevarication, and immediately starts checking the tape on his hands, and rolls his neck, staring back at the aisle, a look of complete determination on his face. "I Stand Alone" fades from the PA and is replaced with the "whoooooooop" that heralds the opening of Jurassic 5's "What's Golden" hip-hop beats. Big heel pop from the crowd!] SS: And his opponent... [A shower of golden sparks cascades down over the entrance. Through the entrance curtain and emerging from the sparks, a slender yet muscular man in a shining golden robe strides into view with his arms to either side in double bicep bodybuilder pose. Behind him, the curvaceous Jodee Burwick emerges wearing a shiny golden halter top and hotpants outfit.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Jodee Burwick... DD: Will you look at Jodee Burwick, Billy Shakespeare?! BS: That's quite an outfit, Don. [Shimmering golden wraparound sunglasses hide Dorado's eyes as he flashes a megawatt smile at the nearest camera before beginning his jog down to the ring, apparently oblivious to the jeers of the crowd.] SS: ...hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 236lbs.... "GOLDEN BOY".... NOLAAAAN DORAAAAAAAADO! [Dorado makes his way down to the ring, leaving Burwick wiggling her way down to ringside, flashing her smile -- and more besides! -- at the fans on either side of the aisle. Dorado slides into the ring and clambers up onto the top turnbuckle, Dorado flexing his biceps before stripping off his robe -- to a few feminine squeals of admiration -- and tossing it to Jodee, who has now made her way to his corner.] DD: Well, certainly Dorado and Burwick look like a million dollars, Billy. [Dorado drops down from the turnbuckle and removes his wrap-around shades. With a smirk, he uses a slingshot-like motion to ping them towards Carmazzi. They strike Carmazzi in the chest, and Carmazzi responds simply by grabbing the sunglasses, snapping them in pieces, and tossing the bits out of the ring. Dorado shrugs, and makes a pantomime of Carmazzi's intensity to Burwick, who claps and laughs with delight.] DD: That was... childish. BS: You have to hand it to Dorado, Don. He's got the look, he's got confidence, and we'll soon see if he has the talent to back it up. DD: Just look at these two men, Dorado and Carmazzi. What a contrast between the man who's never had to work for anything his whole life, and the man who's spent his whole life fighting for just the tiniest bit of recognition. [Carmazzi makes a move towards Dorado, and Dorado takes a powder, easily sliding through the ropes to the side of Burwick, continuing to point and laugh at Vinny from the arena floor. And then the heavy drums and guitars of "Miracle" by The X's replaces Jurassic 5's hip-hop beats over the PA.] SS: Introducing the third man in this match... # The thrill to spill is getting the best of me # The thrill to spill is getting the best of me # The thrill to spill is getting the best of me [...And the house lights begin to flash violently, the music cascading into a head-on collision of explosive drums, lacerating guitar riffs, and throat-shredding intensity...] # I'm falling fast and farther away # I'm falling fast, I'm falling FAR AWAY SS: ...hailing from New York City, and weighing in at 219 pounds... # Run and grab some scissors it's time to cut some things # Sons of gods and sons of bitches all just act the same SS: ...JAAAAAAAAAKE AAANDREEEWSSS! [Through the curtain steps Jake Andrews, in full-length black tights with the words "Too Fast to Live, Too Young to Die" scripted down his legs around a skull and crossbones. He sports a puppy-pelt buzz cut and walks with a cantilevered stride. Andrews acknowledges the crowd on his way to the ring.] # Broken bottles, shattered glass, remind me of my soul # Once you lose the separation everything is whole # Cut 'em up and re-arrange and falsify the facts # Split' em up the middle and cover up the cracks [Andrews adjusts his elbow pad before sliding into the ring. He runs to the far ropes and bounces off, getting himself loose, and smirks at the sight of a fan in the front rows.] # I'm losing count of the possible miracles # I'm losing count of the possible miracles # I'm falling fast and farther away # I'm falling fast, I'm falling FAR AWAY! DD: This young man has an effortless air about him, Billy. BS: He's another athlete not short on confidence, Don. [Andrews raises an eyebrow at Carmazzi, and watches as Dorado slides back into the ring under the bottom rope, apparently feeling that Andrews's presence will keep him out of Carmazzi's sights for a while longer. The loudspeakers once more come to life with a heavy guitar riff, then another, as AC/DC's "Walk All Over You" thunders throughout the Rose Quarter Arena. The fans clamor to their feet and look to the entrance way, as Sy Simmons makes the introduction.] SS: And finally, from Odessa, Texas... weighing 263 pounds... "PISTOL" PAAAUUUUL DRRRRRIIISSSCCCOOOOOOOOOOOLLLL! [As the pace of the music begins to pick up, Driscoll strides through the entrance, shirtless, wearing dark blue standard tights, knee pads and boots. His hands are covered in white athletic tape, much like a boxer. Driscoll's wavy brown hair is slicked back with sweat, and he's a sporting the ever-fashionable two days' worth of stubble. He wears a faded denim vest with interlocking pistols on the back.] DD: And here comes the biggest man in this match, Billy Shakespeare. BS: The biggest, Don, and perhaps the most experienced to boot. DD: He's a second-generation athlete, the son of "Gentleman" George Driscoll, a Texas legend. [The Texan stomps up the stairs and then ducks into the ring, tearing off the vest and tossing it outside, then throwing his toothpick out to the floor as well. As AC/DC dies down, referee Morales backs Paul into the corner and checks him for weapons. All the while Driscoll has his eyes on the other three men in the ring, each of whom has taken up a corner of his own.] DD: Well, here we go, folks. We've seen how quickly these kinds of matches can descend into chaos. This match, like the others this evening, has a fifteen-minute time limit, and the winner will go on to face JOHNNY PLEASENCE in two weeks' time in the second round of the ROAD TO THE GOLD TOURNAMENT. [Head official Juan Morales signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big pop from the crowd!] DD: And we are underway! [Carmazzi locks up with Andrews, and almost immediately slaps on the Kimuri Armbar. Big pop! But before Carmazzi can really make the most of the submission hold, Driscoll breaks it up. Carmazzi and Driscoll go nose to nose. Andrew backs off, rubbing his shoulder, and Dorado seems happy to watch and see what develops.] DD: Carmazzi and Driscoll are the most experienced men in this match-up, Billy Shakespeare. BS: They'll both be wanting to dictate the pace of this encounter. [Carmazzi and Driscoll look to be getting the measure of each other... and then Carmazzi takes a swing at Driscoll. The Texan blocks the punch, and responds with a strike of his own. Carmazzi blocks another punch from Driscoll, and sends him into the ropes. Driscoll rebounds, and is sent tumbling by a kneelift from Carmazzi! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi certainly got the better of that exchange -- but Driscoll is straight back up! [Indeed, Driscoll dives at Carmazzi with a lunging forearm strike, felling the Jersey City native. Mixed pop! Now Carmazzi is right back up, and the two men once more go nose to nose. The crowd begins to buzz.] DD: We have a bit of an alpha male situation here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Neither man has stamped his authority on this match yet, but... [Pop as Andrews and Dorado seem to tire of the other two men's posturing, Dorado going for Carmazzi and Andrews going for Driscoll, and a full-out brawl erupts! Big pop! Driscoll is sent to the ropes by Andrews, and powers off the rebound with a lariat. Pop! Dorado, meanwhile, sends Carmazzi into the corner, and launches himself after Vinny with a handspring elbow. Heel pop! Dorado immediately monkey flips Carmazzi out of the corner, then leaps to the second turnbuckle and launches himself with a legdrop onto the throat and chest of Carmazzi! Pop from the crowd!] DD: Impressive pace and agility from Nolan Dorado, Billy Shakespeare -- and now he goes for the cover! [Morales is there to make the count... 1... ...and Driscoll yanks Dorado off Carmazzi, blasting him with a forearm uppercut that staggers the "Golden Boy". On the outside, Jodee Burwick shrieks her displeasure. Driscoll slams Dorado to the mat with a gutwrench slam. Mixed pop from the crowd! Meanwhile, Jake Andrews turns his attentions to the felled Carmazzi, pulling Vinny back to his feet -- and Carmazzi schoolboys him, rolling him up into a pinfall attempt! Morales makes the count... 1... ...and again Driscoll breaks up the pinfall attempt. Mixed pop!] DD: Carmazzi showing tremendous ring presence there, Billy Shakespeare, with a schoolboy on Andrews. BS: But Driscoll is equally wily, and was right there to break things up. [Dorado has made his way back to his feet and throws a weak punch at Driscoll. Driscoll easily blocks it, grabbing hold of Dorado's clenched fist and twisting it painfully in a top wristlock. Burwick slaps the apron in frustration. Carmazzi is back to his feet and gets Driscoll in a rear waistlock, forcing "Pistol" Paul to relinquish his grip on Dorado... and Carmazzi hits Driscoll with a bridging suplex, again getting a pinfall attempt... 1... ...and Driscoll kicks out, just as Dorado goes to stomp on the two men! Big pop!] DD: Everybody in this match is trying to finish it off in a hurry. BS: Perhaps they know we're over-running our timeslot. DD: Don't fret, fans, we'll be on the air until we have a winner in this encounter! [Carmazzi sends Driscoll into the ropes. The Texan stops at the side of the ring and turns, only to be met by Carmazzi, who has charged in behind him, and a clothesline from the New Jerseyan sends Driscoll toppling over the top rope and to the outside. Big pop! Carmazzi turns, and is met by a double dropkick from Andrews and Dorado. Pop as Carmazzi tumbles between the top and second ropes and to the outside to join Driscoll on the floor. Dorado then vaults easily to the top turnbuckle, adopting a crouched stance on the top buckle... facing to the outside! The crowd buzzes in anticipation!] DD: The "Golden Boy" is up on the top rope, and he looks to have mayhem in mind... BS: MOONSAULT! I couldn't have done it better myself! [Dorado moonsaults off the top buckle and clatters onto Driscoll and Carmazzi, who were both getting back to their feet. Big pop from the crowd as Dorado picks himself up.] DD: It was Driscoll who seemed to bear the brunt of the impact there -- can we get a replay? [Cut to a split-screen, live action continuing on the right as Dorado rolls Carmazzi back into the ring. On the left, we see a reverse angle from behind Carmazzi and Driscoll, which clearly shows that Carmazzi shoved Driscoll into Dorado's flightpath as the "Golden Boy" launched himself!] DD: A clever move by Carmazzi there to ensure that Driscoll took the majority of the impact. [As Carmazzi brings himself back to his feet in the ring, Dorado is up on the apron... leaps nimbly to the top rope midway between the ringposts, and launches himself into the ring in an attempted press on Carmazzi... but Vinny catches Dorado in mid-air and spins around, *planting* the "Golden Boy" with a sit-out spinebuster in the center of the ring, forcing Morales to immediately make the count... 1... ...and Andrews launches himself from in front of Carmazzi, grabbing Vinny's neck and snapping him over with a snapmare, breaking up the pinfall attempt! Pop from the crowd!] DD: Carmazzi with a million dollar move there, Billy Shakespeare, but there's always a third or fourth man on hand to break up the pinfall. [Andrews brings Carmazzi back to his feet and sends him into the ropes, felling him with a shouldertackle. As Carmazzi again brings himself to his feet, Andrews climbs easily to the top rope... ...and launches himself at Carmazzi with a missile dropkick. Heel pop!] DD: Jake Andrews demonstrating to these fans that Nolan Dorado isn't the only high-flyer in this match. [Andrews now goes for the cover on Carmazzi, and Morales drops to make the count... 1... ...and Dorado stomps on Andrews to break it up! Meanwhile, on the outside, Paul Driscoll has got back to his feet.] DD: Driscoll is up on the outside, but seems to be in no hurry to get back in the ring, Billy. BS: We've already seen tonight that it can be an effective strategy to stay out of the bulk of the conflict and only interject yourself if required to stop somebody else walking away with the match. DD: You're right, and perhaps that's the strategy Driscoll is going to employ here. [Dorado takes Andrews down to the canvas, then races into the corner and up the turnbuckles... to execute a running moonsault elbowdrop. Big mixed pop from the crowd!] DD: Really impressive daredevil stuff from Nolan Dorado here tonight, folks. But will he go to the well once too often? [Carmazzi is back to his feet and pulls Dorado away from Andrews before the "Golden Boy" can even attempt to win the pinfall... Dorado backs off, and Carmazzi pursues him. Dorado runs towards the corner, leaping up to the middle turnbuckle... he springboards off the second rope and onto the *top* rope of one side of the ring, and... Big heel pop!] DD: Oh my! Dorado with a double-sprinboard dropkick on Vinny Carmazzi, and this one could be over! [Dorado hooks Carmazzi's leg, and Morales is down to make the count... 1... ...and Morales is pulled out of the ring by Driscoll! Big mixed pop as the Texan climbs back to the apron and enters the ring. Dorado stands to make his dissatisfaction known... and is *pasted* with a right-hand from Driscoll. Dorado spins around from the force of the blow, and Driscoll immediately grabs him with a waistlock from behind, and thrusts him up and over... ...up and over... ...up and over the top rope! Driscoll powers Dorado over the top rope with a release German suplex, Dorado sailing over the top rope and to the outside! Huge, huge pop!] "HO - LY SHIT! HO - LY SHIT! HO - LY SHIT!" DD: My God. Dorado could be broken in half. He's got to be broken in half! BS: Driscoll is showing us he's willing to do whatever necessary to take his opponents out of this match, Don. [On the outside, Burwick rushes to tend to Dorado, who lies in a heap on the mats at ringside. Driscoll looks down from the ring, the slightest of smiles playing at the corner of his mouth.] DD: Well, folks, this is, to all intents and purposes, a three-way dance from this point on. [As Driscoll turns, he's caught short by Carmazzi, who puts the boot to Driscoll's left leg. Driscoll yells in discomfort as Carmazzi hits the Texan with a leg-drag, then hangs on and wrenches on the knee.] DD: Vinny Carmazzi now going to work on Driscoll's left leg -- Driscoll has some nagging injuries there due to having been shot there while in the service of the Marines. BS: It's a smart move for Carmazzi. Driscoll's got a lot of upper body strength and power, but he's a lot less trouble when he's laying flat on the mat. [Carmazzi locks on a figure four leglock on Driscoll. The veteran Texan reaches out with his right arm -- and is able to reach the ropes! Morales calls for the break, but Carmazzi is reluctant to relinquish the hold.] DD: Morales wants the hold broken in the name of sportsmanship, but this is a no disqualification match. There's nothing Morales can do to force Carmazzi to release Driscoll. BS: I think Jake Andrews is going to take matters into his own hands, though. [Indeed, Andrews has climbed to the top rope, and launches himself from the buckles with a legdrop, right across the chest and throat of Carmazzi. Big pop! Andrews goes for the cover, and Morales is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Driscoll breaks it up with a stomp to the back of Andrews. Mixed pop!] DD: Jake Andrews is explosive coming off that top rope, Billy Shakespeare. BS: You're not wrong, Don, but Andrews needs to string together more than just one big move. [Carmazzi makes his way back to his feet and Driscoll drags Andrews to his feet. Carmazzi and Driscoll each take one of Andrews's arms and whip him into the ropes.] DD: Are Driscoll and Carmazzi working together here? [Andrews comes back off the ropes and attempts a flying cross-body on Carmazzi as Driscoll steps out of the way. But Carmazzi catches Andrews in mid-air, and goes to toss him above his own head in a fallaway slam... but Andrews flips and lands on his feet behind Carmazzi, and then whips Vinny into the ropes. Pop from the crowd! Carmazzi hits the ropes, and comes back towards Andrews... but Driscoll steps in front of Andrews! Big mixed pop!] DD: SPINEBUSTER! Big spinebuster from Paul Driscoll! [As Carmazzi arches his back in pain on the mat, Driscoll stands and turns to Andrews, who stares back with determination at the big Texan. Andrews runs at Driscoll and swings at "Pistol" Paul -- but Driscoll blocks, and fells Andrews with a short-arm clothesline! Andrews rolls into the corner as Driscoll turns... ...and flashbulbs go off all around the arena as Dorado comes off the top rope with a flying spinning leg lariat, flooring Driscoll!] DD: My God! Where did Dorado come from?! He was suplexed all the way from the ring to the floor just minutes ago, and he comes back with an incredible spinning kick, taking Driscoll to the mat! [Dorado, groggy but unbowed, begins showboating towards Jodee Burwick on the outside, proud of his accomplishment. Burwick points to the ring behind Dorado... as Driscoll rises to his feet behind the "Golden Boy"! Dorado turns in the nick of time, reverses an Irish whip attempt, and sends the Texan into the ropes. Driscoll comes off the ropes and ducks a clotheline attempt... ...Dorado spins around... ...Driscoll comes off the opposide side of the ring, going full bore... ...and Driscoll launches himself off the mat with a huge lunging forearm shot, sending Dorado fishtailing out of the ring like a car on an icy highway. Huge mixed pop from the crowd!] DD: My God! What elevation from Paul Driscoll. BS: This is perhaps the hardest-hitting of all the matches we've seen here tonight, Don. Awesome stuff. [Dorado seeks comfort in the ample bosom of Jodee Burwick as Driscoll rolls onto his back in preparation to stand up... and is surprised to find Jake Andrews slammed onto his body by Carmazzi! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi just suplexed Jake Andrews right onto Paul Driscoll! [Carmazzi rolls Andrews off Driscoll, and goes for the cover. Morales is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Driscoll just kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi this-close to taking home the bacon, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Tremendous resilience from Driscoll. Every man in this match is proving hard to beat. [Andrews and Carmazzi together pull Driscoll to his feet, and go for a double suplex, which they hit! Then Andrews turns on Carmazzi with a fine standing dropkick, sending Carmazzi clattering to the mat. As Driscoll rolls out of the way, Andrews locks in an STF... and then rolls over so that Carmazzi is off the canvas, as if in a surfboard hold!] DD: FTS! FTS! Andrews's modified STF, and Carmazzi could be in trouble here! [Morales checks on Carmazzi who simply will not submit. Andrews wrenches on the hold with all his might, but still Carmazzi will not give up. Driscoll is back to his feet again, and breaks up the hold, bringing Andrews to his feet, slowing him down with a blow to the midsection, and then dropping him to the mat with a DDT! Meanwhile, Dorado is up on the top turnbuckle again, the prone Carmazzi in his sights.] DD: Dorado is up on the top buckle! Could he be going for the Golden Guillotine? [Dorado launches himself with a front somersault from the top rope, and as he rotates around, his leg extended, hoping to land on Carmazzi with a thunderous legdrop across the throat... ...Carmazzi dodges out of the way! Big pop! And Carmazzi immediately rolls through, cinching in the Kumuri Armbar on Dorado! Huge pop!] DD: KIMURI ARMBAR! KIMURI ARMBAR! Carmazzi has the armbar on Dorado! [Almost immediately, Burwick is up on the ring apron, attempting to distract Carmazzi into releasing the hold, toying scandalously with the laces on the front of her halter top. But Carmazzi is oblivious, the veins in his neck and temple bulging from the exertion of keeping the hold locked in on Dorado, who yells out in pain -- but will not submit! Meanwhile, Driscoll sends Andrews into the ropes... and as Andrews rebounds, he whirls around... Big pop!] DD: DISCUS PUNCH! DISCUS PUNCH! [Andrews goes down like he's been shot, and Driscoll is immediately down on top of him, hooking the leg with a full lateral press. Morales, who had a moment previously been checking for a submission from Dorado, makes the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big pop from the crowd as Carmazzi releases the armbar and gets to his feet, raising his arms in victory... until he hears the announcement from Sy Simmons!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner... by pinfall... "PIIIIIIISSSTOL" PAAAAAAAAUL DRIIIIISCOLL! [Carmazzi stares wide-eyed and incredulous at the official.] DD: Carmazzi had his back to Driscoll and Andrews -- folks, I believe Carmazzi thought Dorado had submitted! BS: Carmazzi is beside himself, Don, and it's understandable. He had Dorado in a position where victory was just a matter of time -- but you have to hand it to Driscoll for taking advantage of the situation and pulling out a big move at just the right time to get the pinfall victory over Andrews. [Head official Morales raises Driscoll's hand in victory as Carmazzi squares up to the big Texan, the two men standing nose to nose in the ring once more, just as they had at the start of the match. The cameras can't pick up their words, but they don't look wholly polite. The crowd starts to buzz in anticipation of another clash between the two men...] * CLANG! * [Big heel pop as Carmazzi is felled by a hard chairshot from Nolan Dorado!] DD: Dorado just *blasted* Carmazzi with a steel chair! Burwick handed Dorado that chair, and Dorado has just laid Vinny Carmazzi out. [Driscoll doesn't even acknowledge Dorado as he shrugs, and leaves the ring, backing away up the aisle with both fists raised in victory.] DD: Folks, we are out of time! What an incredible night of action it's been! BS: Unbelievable. DS: Paul Driscoll has prevailed in tonight's final match, and he'll square off against Johnny Pleasence in two weeks' time. And in the other second round match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD, rookie Mark Coleman will take on the veteran Owen "Truth" Curtis. BS: Both of those matches promise to be something pretty special. DD: We'll be back next Thursday night with updates on all the latest happenings in the aftermath of tonight's RAMPAGE with a new broadcast of On The Wire -- don't miss it at 10pm right here on KPDX 49. [In the ring, Dorado stands above the fallen Vinny Carmazzi, flashing his trademark golden smile, holding the dented chair aloft. The fans are jeering him, and he's simply soaking it up.] DD: Unbelievable, folks. On behalf of my broadcast colleague, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, this is Don Ditka wishing you all a very good night. [As Burwick joins Dorado in the ring and wraps one arm around the "Golden Boy", we fade to black.] ____________________________________________________________________ / Copyright (C) 2006 Rip City Wrestling, Inc. All rights reserved. / / www.ripcitywrestling.com / /___________________________________________________________________/