___ ______ __ _, _, _ ___ _,_ __, _ _ _ __, __, / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / \ |\ | | |_| |_ | | | |_) |_ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / \ / | \| | | | | |/\| | | \ | /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ Thursday 16 March 2006 [Semisonic's "F.N.T." is heard as the lights in the RCW studio rise, revealing lead announcer Don Ditka leaning casually on the glass desk in the middle of the studio, a large plasma screen hanging behind him. Ditka puts down the papers he is holding as the camera zooms in and "F.N.T." fades out.] DD: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to RCW On The Wire, the world of wrestling in just 60 minutes. Tonight we'll be taking a look back at last week's first-ever RCW RAMPAGE and finding out just who is still in the hunt to become the inaugural RCW Champion. We'll also be running down the card for next Thursday's RAMPAGE show, and hearing from all the RCW superstars. So let's get right to it! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / << << << << << << REWIND << << << << << << /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Ditka is now sat behind the desk, the screen above and behind him showing images from RAMPAGE.] DD: Folks, what a show it was last Thursday night in the Rose Garden, as we saw 16 men whittled down to just four in the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD tournament. [The screen shows Mark Coleman and Danny Daniels hitting Kolya Sudakov with a flying shoulder tackle... Sudakov chopping Orin LeBlanc... Coleman powerslamming Daniels... Coleman getting pasted by LeBlanc to break up his half Boston crab on Daniels... Sudakov pounding away at LeBlanc in the corner with the Violence Party... Coleman pinning Sudakov with the Southern Cross Bomb to pick up the win... Sudakov laying out both Daniels and LeBlanc... and Madrock The Irrepressible storming down to the ring, forcing Sudakov to beat a strategic retreat. As the footage plays, Ditka speaks:] DD: In the first of the night's four Fatal Four-Way matches on the ROAD TO THE GOLD, it was Tennessee rookie Mark Coleman who came out on top. He started the match making some rookie mistakes, but came through in the end, taking advantage of Daniels and LeBlanc being out of the ring for a moment to score the pinfall on Kolya Sudakov. Sudakov was absolutely livid after the match, as he and "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson did a number on both "Your Hero" Danny Daniels and Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. Next week on RAMPAGE, of course, Daniels will be forced to team *with* Sudakov to face LeBlanc and Madrock The Irrepressible -- but more on that later! [The screen behind Ditka shows a simple four-man tournament bracket, Coleman's name being entered into the first spot.] DD: For Mark Coleman, victory sees him through to the second round of the tournament, and he would have to wait until later on to discover who his opponent would be. [The screen now shows Johnny Pleasence and Matilda coming to the ring, and Pleasance simply sliding out as the match starts... Nickolai Trevianski pasting Bailey Fitzgerald with a double underhook suplex... Ryan Faith suplexes Trevianski... Fitzgerald flooring Trevianski with a dropkick... Johnny Pleasence slams Fitzgerald face-first into the broadcast table... Pleasence using a steel chair to subdue Faith and Trevianski... Matilda handcuffing Faith and Trevianski to each other around one of the ropes... Pleasence hitting Fitzgerald with the Johnny Spike and picking up the pinfall... Trevianski, released from the handcuffs, attacking both Fitzgerald and Faith... Madrock The Irrepressible again making the save, Trevianski and Petr Ivanovich beating a retreat.] DD: The unorthodox -- not to mention unpleasant -- Johnny Pleasence was the second man to progress to the next round of the tournament, thanks in no small part to the strategic intervention of his valet, Matilda Agutter, who actually *handcuffed* two of his opponents together. The impressive Nickolai Trevianski had the better of much of the match, only for RCW officials to discover after the match that existing contractual obligations would force Trevianski to withdraw from RCW last Friday. But what of Ryan Faith and Bailey Fitzgerald? Fitzgerald looked to be out of his depth for the early part of the match, overwhelmed by the big fight atmosphere, but soon found his way into the competition. This young man could have a bright future in RCW if he can control his self-doubt. As for Ryan Faith, he looked very comfortable in that ring, and we could well see great things from this competitor. [The screen shows the tournament bracket, Pleasance's name being entered into the lower of the two brackets.] DD: Johnny Pleasence therefore advances to the next round of the tournament, next Thursday night, live on KPDX 49. What a night it's going to be! [Footage from the third match of the night now plays as Ditka speaks... Liam Cassidy getting a wrestling clinic from Trevor Lansing... Madrock the Irrepressible shoving Owen Curtis to the mat... Madrock nearly beheading Cassidy with a clothesline... Cassidy being dropped throat-first on the ringside crowd barrier... Madrock throwing Lansing at Curtis... Curtis chopping Lansing into the corner... Lansing sending Madrock to the outside with a flying spinning kick... Curtis hitting a groggy Liam Cassidy with the Front Page Mugshot for the pinfall victory... Lansing shoving Cassidy down to the mat, and Cassidy landing a big haymaker on Lansing, sending him flying... Cassidy backing away up the aisle as Lansing glares down at him from the ring.] DD: In the night's third match, Owen "Truth" Curtis weathered the storm of Madrock the Irrepressible and "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing to advance in the tournament. We got our first look at "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy, who turns out not to have a great deal of wrestling experience -- in fact, he's a bare-knuckle boxer from New Jersey -- but who showed that he can take a beating and keep coming back for more. Lansing and Cassidy are now on a collision course -- more about that later on. [The tournament bracket now shows Curtis's name next to Coleman's in the bracket.] DD: So Owen Curtis advances to face Mark Coleman next Thursday night in one of two second round tournament matches. That will be one to watch! [Now Ditka speaks over footage from RAMPAGE's final match, as "Pistol" Paul Driscoll squares up to Vinny Carmazzi... Nolan Dorado hits a flying legdrop on Carmazzi from the second turnbuckle... Driscoll slams Dorado to the mat with a gutwrench slam... Carmazzi clotheslines Driscoll to the outside... Dorado moonsaults off the top turnbuckle onto Driscoll and Carmazzi on the outside of the ring... Carmazzi planting Dorado with a spinebuster... Driscoll launching Dorado over the top rope and to the outside with a German release suplex... Jake Andrews coming off the top rope and felling Carmazzi... Dorado hitting Driscoll with a flying leg lariat off the top rope... Carmazzi tying up Dorado in the Kimuri armbar, but Driscoll hitting Andrews with the Discus Punch to pick up the pinfall victory... Driscoll and Carmazzi going nose to nose after the match... and Dorado blindsiding Carmazzi with a steel chair.] DD: Veteran journeyman Vinny Carmazzi came oh-so-close to getting the duke in the night's final Fatal Four-Way Match, cinching in the Kimuri armbar on Nolan Dorado, but the opportunistic Paul Driscoll drew on his considerable experience to score the pinfall on Jake Andrews after a Discus Punch, with Dorado perhaps only moments away from submitting. Carmazzi and Driscoll look to be extremely evenly-matched, and I for one am looking forward to seeing them hook it up again in the future. Nolan Dorado was also extremely impressive in action, his high-flying athleticism very effective against his opponents -- but he showed that gold doesn't always glitter when he viciously attacked Vinny Carmazzi after the match with a steel chair. Jake Andrews was unlucky to be on the losing end of the pinfall, and I'm sure we'll see great things from this young man. [The tournament bracket is now complete, Coleman facing Curtis and Pleasence facing Driscoll.] DD: Next week on RAMPAGE, our other second-round tournament match therefore pits "Pistol" Paul Driscoll against angry Brit Johnny Pleasence. What a night it's going to be -- let's take a look at the card in full, right after these messages from our sponsors. [Suddenly, the video screen is filled with a dirty gold color. And it seems to be shimmering. After a few seconds, a familiar is heard.] D'YH'D: Greeting and Salutations! Now you too can dress like "Your Hero," just by wearing the coolest shirt in school. [The screen zooms out, revealing that the gold color was the close-up of a t-shirt. Standing there, holding the t-shirt, is Danny "Your Hero" Daniels. Danny's still wearing the wraparound sunglasses, as well as a grin on his face. He turns the shirt around... ...revealing the words "YOUR HERO" in black block writing on the front of the shirt.] D'YH'D: Buy the shirt that shows the world that you want to be like... ME! "Your Hero", Danny Daniels. [Fade out to, uh, "real" commercials.] ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / >< >< >< >< >< RAMPAGE RUNDOWN >< >< >< >< >< /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [As we fade back up from commercials, Ditka is now standing in front of a large screen, showing the RCW RAMPAGE logo.] DD: So let's take a look at the action coming your way next Thursday night, live from the Rose Garden in downtown Portland. Let's start with BAILEY FITZGERALD vs. RYAN FAITH. [The screen behind Ditka shows the mugshots of Faith and Fitzgerald.] DD: This match-up promises to be an intriguing clash of styles. On the one hand, you have Bailey Fitzgerald, a young man determined to make the best of the bad hand life has dealt him, but perhaps lacking the confidence to really grab the opportunity now presented to him here in RCW, and on the other you have the super-confident Ryan Faith, a brawler who'll do whatever it takes to win. Let's here from Bailey Fitzgerald now: [Cut to the interior of a generic, roadside motel. In terms of furnishings, the room is by no means lavish and has only the bare essentials: a twin-sized bed, dresser, nightstand, a small work desk and an ancient television complete with bunny-ear antennas. Plopped down upon the single desk chair is Bailey Fitzgerald, clad in a pair of carpenter jeans and simple white, V-neck tee. Leaning back in the chair with a washclotch upon his forehead, Fitzgerald peers up toward the ceiling for a few seconds. He then exhales deeply, removes the compress and readjusts his eyes straight forward.] BF: I knew when I got here I was gonna make some mistakes. [Fitzgerald shoots an eye behind him to a nearby window, where a steel chair rests upon an out-of-date air conditioner. And upon the seat of the steel folding chair? About a three-inch dent. Fitzgerald's head quickly swivels back around.] BF: I just didn't figure my first slip-up would send fifteen pounds of steel at my cranium at about Mach Two. [Bailey grimmaces and reaches for his forehead once again.] BF: But live and learn, I s'pose. [Fitzgerald removes the compress from his head and fires it to the floor as he rises to his feet and begins pacing about the room's small confines.] BF: See, having my blades pinned to the boards in my first RCW match doesn't faze me in the slightest. No part of me ever said I was gonna roll into the Northwest and start tearing this place asunder. I said from the get-go I'm as wet behind the ears as any guy gracin' the payroll and that fact hasn't, and probably won't change for some time. Till I prove time and again I've got the necessary tools and ability to remain a player in this organization, I'm just some young grappler who's able to get by on a handful of experience and a nice smile, as far as I'm concerned. [He stops his place and crosses his arms now.] BF: That is, unless guys like Johnny Pleasence keep proving me wrong. [A pause.] BF: Because that's all you did, Pleasence. You proved in spades a young upstart like myself might just be the thing that would stand in the way of you capturing the kind of coveted championship that has eluded you your entire trumped-up career. Not only did you not even have the gumption to face myself -- and others -- at RAMPAGE, but you felt so threatened by my fast start that you found it necessary and vital to... BAM! [Fitzgerald uncrosses his arms and points to his head, raising his voice suddenly.] BF: Do _this_ to me! [An almost golf-ball knot accentuates Fitzgerald's otherwise uncathed forehead. Bailey paces once again, collecting his thoughts. Sauntering back and forth throughout the room's walkway, he continues.] BF: But that's fine, Pleasence. If those are the types of things you need to do to get ahead in this business, you be my friggin' guest, pal. But I'm not about to waste my time and energy talking about what revenge I'll extract upon you. I ain't about to plot and scheme my way to getting even with you, knowing full well I'm nowhere near your proverbial radar with the likes of Paul Driscoll fillin' your plate. Just know the one thing I _will_ do, Pleasence... [For the first time in days now, Fitzgerald sports a slight grin.] BF: ...is remember. [He returns to the air conditioner now, glancing down at the same steel chair that was wrapped around his head a week prior. Switching gears now, Fitzgerald lifts his head and sports a far less perturbed expression than before.] BF: But this week brings another test. A different kind of test. But a difficult one, at that. And his name is Ryan Faith. [Fitzgerald nods in affirmation.] BF: Pleasence's cowardice aside, the one thing I remember most about last Thursday night is the performance of Faith. And that kid... [Nods again.] BF: That kid's got heart. And here I thought that if nothing else -- if abso-freakin'-nothing else -- the one strength I held over essentially most all my peers was my drive, my will and the Never-Say-Die mindset I bring with me every time I emerge from the curtain. But from everything I saw, Ryan Faith stuck with me every waking step of the way, and then some. Maybe it's the fact I was able to work _with_ him at times in that match last week. Maybe it was the fact he tried to save me from being pinned after that blasted Johnny Spike. But you know what I think it is? I think it's the fact I could turn my back for all of five seconds and not anticipate a fist, boot or... [He glares down at the chair once more.] BF: ...steel chair being thrust into my backside should such an opportunity arise. At no point did I ever anticipate Ryan doing such a thing. And I know it's not much, and maybe this is the inexperience talking, but after RAMPAGE? [Fitzgerald pauses in bewilderment.] BF: I almost trust the guy. Is part of me expecting to lose that trust on next week's show? Part of me, sure. By trusting Ryan Faith, am I leaving myself open and susceptible to being taken to the woodshed? Undoubtedly. Neither of us came here to start runnin' our mouths about what we've done, what we're gonna do or just how damn spectacular we think we're are. We've said that. We came here to _wrestle_. [He shrugs.] BF: So as that bell sounds next Thursday night at the Rose Quarter, should Ryan ask me to shake his hand like a man before our scrap, I'll gladly extend mine to his. It's there if he wants it. But the moment he steps to me and looks deep into these baby blue peepers, the one thing he won't need to ask me is if I'm ready to test my faith. [Fitzgerald bows his head for a moment, but slowly turns back forward as the camera focuses in; the knot on Fitzgerald's head still just as prevalent.] BF: He'll know. [The camera gradually pulls away and the scene fades out. Cut back to Ditka in the studio.] DD: Bailey Fitzgerald proudly carries his war wounds, folks, and... [Suddenly, the screen is again filled with dirty gold, this time with the "YOUR HERO" block lettering filling the top half of the screen. Danny Daniels's voice is again heard.] D'YH'D: Show the world that you want to be great! Wear the "YOUR HERO" shirt, only $16 apiece or 2 for $40. [And the screen again cuts out to Don Ditka, looking a little annoyed. The screen behind Ditka now shows the faces of Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc, Madrock The Irrepressible, Kolya Sudakov and -- you guessed it -- "Your Hero" Danny Daniels.] DD: In a match that promises to be tag team turmoil, two improbable pairings will face off against each other. On one team, burly Canadian Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc will team with the monster from Almunster, Madrock the Irrepressible, against Russian pain machine Kolya Sudakov -- who laid out LeBlanc last week, only for Madrock to make the save -- and "Your Hero" Danny Daniels, who was also on the receiving end of a beat-down from Sudakov. How will the sunglasses-wearing, bad-song-quoting cocksure San Francisco native fare in trying to get along with Sudakov -- who doesn't even speak English? Not that Danny Daniels speaks anything closely resembling English either, but hey... Anyway, let's hear from some of the competitors in this match; first, our intrepid backstage reporter Jamie Bond caught up with Madrock the Irrepressible. [Cut to Jamie Bond standing before an RCW logo in a backstage area.] JB: Well, fans, this is your suave and debonair Jamie Bond backstage at RCW studios. I was told to come here and meet the bane of Brisbane, yes, the monster from Almunster, he's the freak up Abbott Peak: I'm talking about your very own Madrock the Irrepressible! 'Cept I can't seem to find him anywhere. Worse still, I can't seem to HEAR him anywhere -- wait! Scratch that, I seem to have found a hairy individual that could just be that man... [Thus Jamie Bond comes face to face with a wallaby standing on a ledge.] JB: ARRRGH! [Startled, Jamie Bond takes a few steps back and stumbles over another wallaby! This one quite irate at almost being stepped upon by RCW's head interviewer.] JB: ARRRRGHH! [Wallabies everywhere!] JB: ARRRGGHHH! M: ARRRRGGGGHH! JB: ARRRRRGHHH? M: ARRRRRRGGHHHHHHHHH!!! [And here comes Madrock! Camera pans rightwise to catch Madrock the Irrepressible stomping his way into stage. Arms flailin', voice bellowin' , wallabies scatterin' everywhere. Oh yes, Madrock is starting off this interview the only way he likes, shouting to his heart's content!] M: AHHHHHHHHHHHktully dis place ain't 'arf bad, wunce you get used to da geography an' da suchwise. But da cold; seriously! If I wanted to sail to Antartica I'dve just sailed souff instead uv' norff; probably get lost sideways but I'd sure be warmer then 'ere! JB: Madrock, what are those wallabies-- M: Sorry Bond Jamie Bond, 'fought you sed RCW orfices in Swizzerland, but I'm glad I cought ya 'ere cuz I've always got sumfin' ta say. JB: You can't just bring wallabies in Portland, there's gotta be some kinda law-- M: Well you know sumfin' Bond mon', I sed when I firss came in dis place dat I wazzunt leavin' 'til dey call me CHAMP Madrock: now I'z 'earin' dat I lost dat match cuz I didn' beat my guy fass enuff!!! Dey tell ME dat I don't git ta advance in da tourney to become da champ!! Well duckies, jokes on you, now you gotta live wif da great big Cockatoo beast! Yeah, I'z makin' Portlun' my very own STOMPIN' GROUNDS an' I don't even know If I'll evva go!! Iz gots me room an' rent, I'z got all my mail resent an' all I'm left wif is my discontent, a torrent uv' ill intent for every bent gent dat don't repent! Boogie down! JB: Are you even listening to what I'm-- M: Lemme tell ya Bond-Bond, Orin LeBlanc, 'ee don't owe me a damn 'fing! I saw a foight dat didn't 'aff Ol' Madrock innit, so I wait all pashunt-like for da boys ta do dere bizness! Well when da bell rings an da smoke clears an' chaps STILL wanna party, Madrock wants ta party roight back at'cha! 'Cept Madrock ain't locked up to no ropes, now ain't 'ee? Ain't no two-on-one wif Madrock around, now ain't it? Well when da Violence Party ain't a private party, fools take a reservation for club Outta 'Ere; cuz dis ain't Studio 54, dis ain't da Zenob, but you're dancin' wif da bess uv' 'em when yer dancing wif Madrock da Irrepressible! Yeah 'ees got two left feet but 'ee don't step on any toes, no 'ees steppin on necks- steppin' on yer faces; yeah 'ees puttin' iz FOOT DOWN iz wot I'm sayin'!!! JB: Hello, Earth to Madrock? Purple monkey dishwater-- M: Cuz when da Russians come rushin' dis Australian comes a'rallyin! Oh, we've got Canadians, Australians, Russians an' Americans but it don't matter cuz its a small small woild (singing)la la la la la, It's a woild that you share -- dat I call intensive care -- it's a small, small woild!! (singing) Sorry!! But when I fink about 'oo else I gotta face, dere's only one fing in da 'ole woild dat's more annoyin' den "Our Zero" Danny Daniels an' itz dat song. Oh Lordy give Madrock strength, cuz I gotta beat Danny Daniels but I can't kill 'im. I gotta smash him down, but I don't want da manslatta charges -- (singing) Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are callin' -- dey made of lead, and down yer scrawny hide- yer chance is gone, an' my pashunce fallin' -- tis you, tis you must go and I must bide...(singing) JB: Well folks, if Orin "the Lynx" Lansing wanted a mad singing Australian with a thick Cockney accent as a tag team partner, he couldn't have been luckier! Dis is... *This* is Jamie Bond, reporting from inside RCW studio in magnificent Portland, Oregon, telling you-- M: (singing) BUT COME YE BACK, WHEN YA'VE FINALLY SHATTUP! JB: Oh fer Pete's sakes I'm leavin'! M: OR WHEN YOU'VE CEASED YER ANNOYIN' PRATTLE 'TIS I'LL BE 'ERE, IN VIC'TRY OR IN BAAAAAAA-TTLE OH DANNY BOY, OH DANNY BOY... YER SUCH A TWAT! [We get a wipe effect as we leave Madrock's serenade, and cut to a shot of an empty gym.] VO: Now I bet you all are expectin' a rant right about now, eh? [Stepping into view -- no, perhaps, *stalking* would be the better choice of word -- is the RCW's token Canadian, Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. His jaw is clenched tight and there's obvious tension in his muscles, but in his hazel eyes something glints knowingly.] OL: Though it is particularly temptin' right now, I promised myself I'd start this out proper. And while I'd admit that things did not go as decidely as the way I woulda liked them to, I give a nod o' thanks to Mister Madrock for steppin' in on that supposed tete d'tete tantrum of Benny and the Pet after his boy done did get his ass pinned. Don't know why you did it, but I'm grateful nevertheless. Do my best to pay that favor back in our upcomin' match... Mind ya, I find it funny that I'm probably gonna be the more eloquent one in this fight. [Orin now shakes his head in slight amusement.] OL: Though, gotta admit, I thought I was done with them strange tags when Re-RAW folded. Hell, I thought Rip City wasn't doin' tag teams period! Guess Waterson decided he had a different contract signed when he stuck himself in matters as his boy was flounderin' against me. An' a man might be a bit upset at that kind o' after-match doubleteam lack o' sportsmanship, but the way I see it, Uncle Ben and his mule see me as a threat! [Pause. An ugly grin spreads across the Lynx's face.] OL: An' they'd be right. [He chuckles.] OL: Course, they'd not _ever_ dare admit that publicly, even if Waterson sticks his hand up his puppet's ass an' makes him talk. I'd even wager we ain't gonna be a blip on the lips again if Benny deigns to speak. Probably yammer on about how this kind o' match is "beneath" his charge an' how that doof Daniels is "beneath" workin' with them anyway. That team's gonna be a picture, eh? Don't know which one o' them I'm gonna feel sorry for more... [Orin shrugs.] OL: I mean, I'm not too sure what color the sky is on Planet Hero, an' Danny Boy seems to be more than a little bit on the enamored side o' himself, but even HE can somehow recognize that in some small way, there's life outside o' it... even if his frequency is constantly on the fritz. An' in my eyes, that makes HIM more credible than yon silent Russian and his leash-holder... [Again, the Lynx grins.] OL: ...but not by much. [A beat.] OL: You boys both did make the mistake o' steppin' between me an' mine last time out. An' for the record, that favor to Mister Madrock ain't the only thing I intend to be payin' back on. [The Lynx's voice takes on a hard edge.] OL: Consider this your only warnin'... [As LeBlanc stalks out of shot, we wipe-cut again to a locker room door, which flies open, nearly crashing off its hinges as one pissed-off Russian storms into view, trailed closely behind by a red-faced "Agent To The Stars" Ben Waterson.] BW: It wasn't fair, Kolya! They set you up to fail! [Kolya Sudakov, hearing the word "fail", snaps his head back towards Waterson, staring coldly at him. You can see Waterson gulp in fear as he struggles to get the next words out.] BW: Well, uh... umm... maybe... er... maybe fail isn't-- [The cold stare increases as Sudakov takes a step forward, forcing Waterson's back to the wall.] BW: Come on, Kolya! It's not my fault! I didn't know they had it in for you! [Sudakov turns away, front kicking a metal locker and leaving a huge dent in it.] BW: [under his breath] And I thought things were bad in Pinna- [The Russian drives his right fist into the metal locker as well, leaving a matching dent a little higher than the first.] BW: Don't worry, Kolya! I know we got blindsided. But I've got a plan. I forgot how crooked it is up here in Portland... I forgot how much you need to "fit" to make it work. [Waterson scratches his chin.] BW: I know what to do. [A grin crosses his face.] BW: I know _exactly_ what to do. [And as we zoom in on the wide grin, we cut back to Ditka in the studio. Behind him, the plasma screen shows the faces of "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing and "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy.] DD: On last week's RAMPAGE, we were all stunned to discover that Liam Cassidy, the final man to be entered into RCW's championship tournament, was not in fact a wrestler at all: he is a bareknuckle boxer with no wrestling experience whatsoever. That didn't stop the New Jerseyan from competing in one of the night's Fatal Four-Way matches, but he didn't fare well, ending up on the outside of the ring for much of the match, after taking quite a beating from his opponents. After unfortunately succumbing to the match's eventual winner, Owen Curtis, "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing took issue with Cassidy's presence in the match, asserting that had Cassidy's place been taken by a more experienced competitor, Curtis wouldn't have been able to take advantage of him for the pinfall. Lansing and Cassidy clashed in the ring, and Cassidy managed to hit Lansing with a serious haymaker before returning to the backstage area and requesting a one-on-one match with Lansing on the next show. RCW President was happy to oblige, and we're going to see that match go down one week from tonight. Let's hear from Cassidy now: [We fade up on a drizzly day outside. The camera is outside of a quaint looking house that is marked "Hawthorne House". The cameraman begins to walk up the steps, towards the front door. The front door is open, but the cameraman stops at the doorway and zooms in through the mesh screen door. Inside, we see the traveling man that showed up at the first ever RAMPAGE with the wrong intentions... "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy is standing in the front, talking to a staff member.] LC: You're [Bleep]'in me, ain't you? Worker: No sir, it is only fourteen dollars a night to stay here at this hoste;. We even have high-speed internet and a pancake breakfast every morning. You're looking to stay for the week, so that should work out to be one hundred and five dollars, breakfast included. [Cassidy just stares at the employee in disbelief.] LC: All that for more than a hundred bucks? Worker: Yes sir, I think you'll find that more than reasonable. LC: Maybe if I was the Pope or something there lad. That sounds like a mighty high price just for a place to sleep at night. Worker: Uhm... Sir? Are you serious? LC: I'm right serious when I tell you you won't be robbin' me of my money, I can tell you that. You have yourself a good day now lad, good luck getting any suckers in here that would pay that kind of money. Take it easy now. [Mr. Cassidy picks up his tatered old duffel bag and heads for the door, stepping out onto the patio. He is wearing the very same clothes we saw him compete in on RAMPAGE, tattered blue jeans, white wifebeater undershirt, black fedora hat that covers his scruffy sandy hair, and a plaid sweater overtop. He glances at the camera for a moment as he digs around his pocket.] LC: Now can you believe that? A hundred bucks just to sleep in a bed for a week? That's just idiotic. So I take it you're with that wrasslin' league there, Ripped City Wrasslin' or whatever? Cameraman: Rip City Wrestling, actually. LC: Sure, sure. That Dan guy send you over? Cameraman: Yes. LC: Fair enough. [Liam pulls out a half-smoked cigar from his pocket.] LC: Hey, listen lad, do you have a light? Cameraman: No, sorry. I don't smoke. LC: Well, that's probably best for you. Ah, here we go. [Liam fumbles around his pocket and is finally able to pull out a lighter. He flicks it three times before a flame sparks, and he lights up his stoogie. He pauses for a moment to savor in the smell of the cigar... Waiting and then breathing out a smoke ring towards the camera.] LC: So what can I do you for lad? What's your business? Cameraman: Well, I'm supposed to get a word from you for On The wire. [Readjusting his grip on his old duffel bag, Liam begins to walk. The cameraman follows en suite.] LC: On the what? Cameraman: On The Wire. It's a show for Rip City Wrestling where we are clips and interviews with the wrestlers. [Liam just looks back to the camera with a vacant expression on his face.] Cameraman: Wrestlers... like you. LC: Oh. [Bleep]. I ain't used to being one of them fancy wrasslin' types. I ain't a wrestler. [Liam drops his bag and starts to throw a few jabs, mere inches away from the camera lens.] LC: I'm a boxer. Toughest boxer in the United States, I'll tell you that. Cameraman: Right... Well, either way, they wanted me to get words from you on your match with Trevor Lansing next week. LC: Trevor who? Cameraman: Your opponent. You know. The guy you had a problem with yesterday? LC: Oh, that sumbitch. Yeah, I know who you mean. [Liam lifts his bag back up and continues on his way up the street.] Cameraman: Well? LC: Well what, lad? Cameraman: *Sigh* I need your comments. Please. Anything will do. LC: Well, see the problem is I ain't much of a talker, lad. I don't know what you want me to say, but I'll tell you this and hopefully it's what you need. That Trevor Lansing feller disrespected me. Now I know I ain't a wrastler and I lost that match. But come on. That was against three other guys. Now the last time I had to fight three other guys was when Stinky Pete decided he didn't want this hat no more. [He taps the worn looking fedora on his head.] LC: I had to knock out three bums just to get my hands on this, and I ain't ever let it leave my head since. But anyway, I wasn't expecting to see three other lads in that ring. So yeah. I got my shoulders pinned. Whatever works. But that Trevor guy... He pissed me off. So I knocked him on his arce and let him know just what I thought of him. And then the bossman said I could come back next week and face that lad one-on-one inside that ring. Well, that's all I need to know. I don't care much for who he is and what he's all about. All he needs to know is that if he disrespects me again, he ain't gonna be awake too long to flap his gums anymore. See, I'm in the business of knocking people out. It's what I do. [Liam pauses and throws another jab to the camera and sports a big grin.] LC: So I'm gonna knock the bugger out. Plain and simple. But ya know, I think I might like this whole wraslin' thing. Lot's of pretty boys and nancies to smack around for a pay check. [He pauses and stops dead in his tracks. He looks around, trying to find his way.] Cameraman: Now what? LC: Well, if I can't find a place to stay, I want to find a place to drink. I've heard tell of a place around for folks like me. [Cassidy faces the cameraman.] LC: Could you tell me where I might find a place called "The ArmBar"? Cameraman: Oh dear... [With Cassidy grinning to the camera, we cut back to Don Ditka in the studio. The screen shows a still "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado and Jodee Burwick standing over the prone form of Vinny Carmazzi.] DD: And following the aftermath of another of last week's Fatal Four-Ways, we'll see Vinny Carmazzi out to avenge the brutal chairshot handed down to him by "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado, in what promises to be an extraordinary match. Dorado showed us his high-flying athleticism, and Carmazzi showed us incredible resolve, determination and skill. Both men were unlucky not to advance on the ROAD TO THE GOLD -- but perhaps this match will start to give us an indication of who will be leading the charge to challenge the inaugural RCW Champion, when he is crowned in three weeks' time. Let's hear from the man with a flair for the gold, Nolan Dorado: [We cut to an interior shot of the Rose Garden that has been configured for a basketball game as Portland Trailblazers logos are prominently displayed everywhere. In the middle of the court, "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado stands dressed in a gold-colored track suit, bouncing a basketball off the hardwood as Jodee Burwick stands behind him in a glittering golden halter top and painted-on jeans. Dorado bounces the ball a few times before lofting it through the air with athletic grace towards the distant basket. The ball performs a near-perfect parabola before swishing through the basket without touching either the hoop or the backboard. Turning towards the camera, Dorado flashes his trademark grin as the gold caps on his incisors gleam in the bright lights of the Garden.] ND: There you go! That wasn't so hard, was it? Too bad the 'blazers couldn't do the same, huh? I mean, damn! Those losers haven't won a championship since 1977! Years before I was born!! [Behind him, Jodee Burwick's face displays a fleeting look of alarm at the mention of Dorado's year of birth before she quickly covers it up with her usual "come-hither" expression.] ND: Now speaking of losing, Paul Driscoll said a few things before Rampage – most of which were wrong. But even a monkey sitting at a typewriter can sometimes hit the right keys and in his ape-like brilliance, sometimes even a chump like Driscoll can accidentally get it right sometimes. This surprising admission might cause some of you to ask... what gem of correctness did the misfiring "Pistol" happen to stumble across? [The grin vanishes in a split-second as Dorado glares angrily into the camera's lens.] ND: I don't like losing. I'm not used to it. It's not my bag. Unlike Portland's pathetic NBA squad, I'm not a champion-in-waiting, I'm a champion-to-be! [Almost as quickly as it appeared, the anger vanishes.] ND: But I gotta give the redneck credit. Right when I was about to break out of that pathetic hold Carmazzi managed to slap on me, he took advantage of my distraction and wiped out Andrews long enough to get the pin. [Dorado chuckles.] ND: Vinny's used to losing, he does it all the time. Andrews deserved to lose, he just doesn't have it in him. But Driscoll? You got lucky, Texas. And so my road to the gold gets temporarily sidetracked until such time as I'm able to ascend through the ranks to the top contendership and take that belt away from whatever unfortunate soul happens to grab onto it first. [A snarl returns to Dorado's lips.] ND: But that brings me back to Carmazzi. Listen closely, curtain jerker. That little love tap I gave you? That was for keeping me out of the way long enough for Driscoll to steal what was rightfully mine. Your losing, insomniac carcass kept me from taking what was rightfully mine... and for that, your Rip City career is about to make the Trailblazers' losing streak look like a blip on the radar! [Jodee Burwick steps up from behind Dorado and wraps her arms around his shoulders, turning sideways to present an alluring profile as she presses her body up against the "Golden Boy's" side. This manages to bring a smile back to Dorado's lips as he absentmindedly places an arm about her sculpted waist.] ND: Driscoll... Andrews... they're not worth my time. I'm sure we'll all meet again somewhere down the road, but right now everybody else should sit back and watch as I use that waste of space, Carmazzi, to demonstrate just how victories are won. There's an old Italian proverb -- "When gold speaks, every tongue is silent." [Jodee Burwick holds up an excessively manicured finger in front of her bee-stung lips in a shushing gesture towards the camera.] ND: Meaning, shut the hell up, morons! No one wants to hear what you have to say. No one wants to hear you whine about your losses or brag about your stolen victories. Portland natives are desperate to latch onto someone they can cheer for. Someone they can look up to with the athleticism and the talent that's been sadly lacking in this city for far too long! [Dorado looks around the interior of the Garden for a moment and shakes his head from side to side.] ND: Vinny Carmazzi... and in fact, all of Rip City needs another lesson in the Golden Rule... [Again, the gold caps become visible as the smile becomes broader.] ND: ...and that's simple... the "Golden Boy" rules! [Careful not to damage her extremely long (and expensive-looking) nails, Jodee Burwick wraps her hands around Dorado’s face and turns him to face her so that she can plunge her tongue deep into his mouth. Dorado enthusiastically returns the kiss for a moment before pulling away.] ND: C'mon, baby... let's get out here. I think I'm in need of some more of your... special "training." [The buxom blonde responds with a husky laugh as the two turn away from the camera and walk off towards one of the exits. We wipe-cut to an empty recess of the Rose Garden. Specifically, the trainer's room hidden somewhere in the lower levels. It's several hours after the first RCW RAMPAGE went off the air. There's only one person visible in the room. Not a paramedic. Not a nurse. Not a doctor. Not even a journalist looking for a story to fill up space. Just a man sitting up on the table, holding his head in his hands. A huge icepack on the back of it. The result of a steel chair after the bell. Perhaps a fitting end to a match where his dreams had been dashed again. Unfortunately for Vinny Carmazzi, nothing about this situation is new. Not the concussion. Not the disappointment. He continues to hold his head in his hands. His dirty blonde hair has become red and matted just beneath the icepack. He doesn't look up.] VC: Not sure what's worse. Not moving on in the tournament or not remembering what the hell happened. Told I have two guys to thank. [Vinny slowly moves his neck slightly to the side and readjusts the oversized icepack.] VC: Good luck the rest of the way in the tournament, Driscoll. Took an opportunity, got the three count, moved on. You won, but don't go thinking you beat me to do it. [He stirs in his seat rather abruptly. Either from the sting of his open wound, or from the match result.] VC: You didn't punch me. You didn't pin me. You were declared the victor and not me, but that doesn't mean anything between us. I heard that I had the Kimura locked on and could almost hear the kid's arm break. Moments from tapping out when you seized the moment for yourself. I don't blame you for doing what you did. But don't think it settles any issue as to who was the better man. [Though you can't quite see his face, he is obviously wincing in pain as he speaks.] VC: So Driscoll, you're now my pick to win the whole thing. You're clearly talented enough and smart enough. But don't forget when you're holding the belt up high that it could have easily been me. You sitting out on the sidelines. You beat Andrews and I beat Dorado. But you didn't beat me to get where you're going. We're going to settle this when the tournament's all done. Hopefully you'll have the belt with you when it happens. [Vinny tries to sit up a little straighter on the table, but buckles under the weight of the icepack and head trauma.] VC: Nothing settled between me and Driscoll. Still don't know who's better. But for Dorado, it was obvious he knew where he stood the moment he grabbed that chair. All but the inevitable submission or broken arm was enough. Couldn't handle it. Instead of asking for a rematch or putting in a little more work at the gym, he wanted it simple. Immediate. Clear. Vicious. Perhaps career-threatening. [Vinny pauses, still with head in hands.] VC: And it will be. But he doesn't know it yet. [He begins to slowly lift his head up. The icepack slides towards his neck.] VC: I baited you into a high-risk move and made you pay for it on the way down. Played you for a fool. Preyed on your weakness. But then you went right after mine. I don't have eyes in the back of my head. I can't immediately bounce back from a chairshot to the skull. Congratulations, you got your revenge. But it's soon going to be time for mine. [His head rises a little higher. The ice drops a little further.] VC: Been told we've already been put on the schedule for the next RAMPAGE. One on one. But bring your chair. Bring your girl. Bring your friends. If you have any. Bring your family. If they still have anything to do with you. Bring whatever you can find. Bring everything. [Vinny slowly turns his head to the camera. His face is still unseen.] VC: But it won't matter. I will make you tap. And this time, I won't let go. This time you will submit. Or I finish the job I started and break your arm. [He finally makes eye contact with the camera. Streaks of dried blood cross his face. Vinny steadies his head, takes off the ice, and places the stained bag beside him. Despite the glassy look in his eyes, his glare remains intense and focused. As if he can fight through the daze and fog and still picture his intended target.] VC: Your attempt at revenge was simple and immediate. At Rampage, mine will show you a whole new meaning of vicious. And if you don't tap out, maybe career-threatening. [A small hint of a smile.] VC: Or maybe even if you do. [Cut back to the studio, where a still of "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing and "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy going nose-to-nose appears on the screen.] DD: In another match that aims to settle a score from last week's RAMPAGE, illegal bare-knuckle boxer turned RCW star Liam Cassidy will step back into the wrestling ring to face perhaps the most accomplished pure submission wrestler on the books, "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing. Talk about a clash of cultures -- I have a feeling this one won't be pretty! [The RCW championship belt is shown in the middle of the screen, with Owen Curtis on one side of it and Mark Coleman on the other.] DD: As if those four matches aren't reason enough to tune in next Thursday night, we can't forget our two second-round matches on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD. In the first match, Tennessee rookie Mark Coleman will face Owen "Truth" Curtis. Let's hear from Curtis right now: [The scene? We're looking straight up at the empty sky. It's a typical Portland day in the late winter, early spring. Cloudy. Dry. Partly sunny. Cold. Even a bit blustery. But getting warmer. Not too warm.] VOICE: For you all that are new to Portland, let me be your tour guide. Lesson number one: Don't like the weather? Wait five minutes. [We pan down to the ground. The scene is a dirty, vacant lot next to the Willamette River, covered with scraggly brush and bordered by a chain link fence. A man stands looking away from us, dressed in a charcoal gray suit. He looks at the river, his dirty blond hair blowing in the wind along with the rumpled fabric of his slacks and jacket.] VOICE: It's kind of like the backstage politics in pro wrestling. The winds change seemingly at will. Fortunes rise and fall. So let me tell you about it. Come closer. [The camera moves, not sure that the guy talking is the figure by the river.] VOICE: I'm right here. You know what a zoom button is, don't you? Press it. [The camera operator does. We know that because the picture zooms into the man who's standing by the river. When we're closer, he turns to talk, and we see the face of The Truth.] OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: Better. What I'd like to talk to you about tonight is "getting to the top." You see, there is always a price to be paid for "getting to the top", no matter what. And shortcuts? They can be expensive. Let's take for example the city of Portland. I'm standing on vacant land that's being turned into new biomedical offices. They call it "South Waterfront." But they need access to the only teaching hospital in Oregon, OHSU, and it's on top of a hill, reachable only by a narrow, winding road. Logical, huh? But that's Portland. Look over there. [Owen points out of the picture, to OHSU's campus up on the hill. The camera looks there too.] OTC: Guess what Portland is doing to connect OHSU to the South Waterfront. If you guessed "build a road" or "set up shuttle buses," you guessed wrong! Zoom down to river level. [The camera does, and we see all sorts of construction equipment working around what looks like the beginnings of a gigantic steel tower.] OTC: If you guessed "giant urban cable-suspended steel ski lift," check to see if you're mixing prescriptions. You probably are, but it doesn't matter, because you guessed right! They're building a freaking enclosed ski lift. That's Portland's idea of mass transit. They call it "The Tram." An aerial tram... in a city. Wow. How out of date is that? Even Disney took down its sky cabs! [He shakes his head bewilderedly.] OTC: Portland thought everyone could skip the winding roads and ride up the hill in a giant sky cab. And what do you know, they're making it happen. Why is this relevant, you ask? Because it proves there are prices to be paid to get to the top, and they can be expensive. Deceivingly so. People will try all kinds of weird ways to get there, and you're looking at one example. When the city signed on to it, they thought it would cost $15 million. Today construction is 40 percent done, and the most recent price? $55 million. You're gonna have to pay it, too, Portland. All of you. No choice in the matter. Which brings me, strangely enough, to what Billy Shakespeare and Don Ditka said about me the other day during RCW Rampage. [The camera turns back to the face of Owen, his hair blowing in the wind. Even dressed in a suit, his face is coated with sandpapery stubble.] OTC: You all heard it. They called me angry. Angry and bitter. You know what, Donny and Billy? I got turned down for a job once because of some dumb announcer like you, and I ain't gonna take no crap. I'm not angry, NOR am I bitter. What I am, is a realist. What I am, is The Truth. What I say, is accurate. And I'm telling you, there are people getting into the running for the RCW title -- such as Mark Coleman -- who have no idea the price they must pay to get to the top. Mark Coleman is 20. He's got the physique, he's got the moves, he's got the muscle, he's got the training, and he's got confidence. That and a nickel might get him Paula Abdul's hotel room key -- or hell, maybe even Simon Cowell's. Who can say? But it ain't gonna get him the Rip City championship. Not when The Truth is standing in the way. Do you know, Billy and Donny, and Mark, what I have gone through to get here today? To RCW? To the Rose Garden? To the semifinals of this championship tournament? Let me tell you. There is a piece of a cadaver in my left knee. You can see where his ligament was transplanted into my body. There is a big long scar marking the path of agony that I have walked. I know that few in this life taste triumph, and the road to get there is filled with pain, misery, agony, suffering, defeat, heartbreak and cruel twists of fate. Just because you start the road, doesn't mean you finish it. Irony will take you out, my friends. Like all you drivers stuck on the freeway who knows they're using the government's money to not to build a better road for you -- but a ski lift for doctors. Or like the kid who died driving drunk so I could have a left knee ligament and my wrestling career could live. The Truth ... is harsh, Mark Coleman. The Truth ... is something you may not like, but guess what? You don't have choices when it comes to The Truth, because The Truth _is_ The Truth ... and that's all there is to say. The Truth doesn't compromise for you, it dictates TO you. And do you know what The Truth is saying? It's saying you're not ready, yet, Coleman. I will give you your due ... you're young and you're already here at the age of 20. Most 20 year olds can't even get a returned phone call. What you've done -- that's not easy to do. Just by virtue of that, the odds say you're a tremendous talent and you'll probably make it to the top, AT SOME POINT. Yet The Truth also holds the possibility that you may NEVER make it -- and you certainly won't next Wednesday. That's when I'm coming out to the ring and proving to you ... the path to the top is more costly than you thought. Your mouth may write the check, but you ain't got enough in your account to cash it. That's not a cliche. That's The Truth. After all, you know what they say. Into each life ... [Owen feigns a startled look, and glances up. A raindrop has hit him. Then another. Then another and another and another and another and another and... we lose track. But by now he has his black umbrella up. The raindrops make a pattering sound.] OTC: ...a little rain must fall. Welcome to Portland, kid. [He smirks at the camera, which slowly zooms in and goes into a soft focus, then blurry ... and then black. We cut to a gym. It's not much of a gym. There's a treadmill in one corner, two stationary bikes in another, a rowing machine set against on wall, and in the middle, there's a combination workout set, with various stations and weights that can be used in various exercise routines. Currently, the routine being used is an overhead pulldown. Someone sits at the station, his hands about his head, grasping a metal bar. His broad back, to the camera, is covered in sweat, and a grunt of effort is audible as the person in question sets his feet and pulls down on the bar... causing an impressive amount of weight to be lifted off the ground in front of him. A few seconds pass after he pulls the bar behind his neck, holding it there for a second, before he slowly lets the bar raise again, the weights descending in front of him. This process is repeated a few times, each one a little slower but just as impressive. Finally, with a loud *CLANG*, the man releases the bar, setting the weights back down on the pile. And, with one arm bearing a Stars and Bars tattoo, Mark Coleman reaches and grabs a nearby bottle of water. He takes a long pull, pouring a little bit over his face and head, before putting the top back on and replacing the bottle in his hand with a nearby towel.] MC: Motel 6 doesn't have the best gym in the Portland area, but my Daddy always said you gotta make do with what you got. [Coleman wipes his face and neck off with the towel, before standing up, putting the towel around his neck. He now turns to face the camera, his easy grin evident on his face.] MC: After this next card, gonna look around and find myself a real gym to work out at. Been too busy this past week to even make it out of my darn motel room. Apparently, what happened on the opening night of RCW shocked a whole lot of people. People talkin' about how the openin' match was an upset. How there was a lot of confusion how LeBlanc, Sudakov... and even Danny Daniels couldn't possibly be going on to the second round of the tournament. Basically, people were shocked that I won that match. Don't see why they would be. Told everyone last week, I was goin' to be goin' on to the second round, on my way to winnin' the RCW Heavyweight title. Only way people should have been shocked would be if I hadn't had won. Since I did, though, ain't no reason to fuss about it. [Coleman laughs a little bit.] MC: Maybe it's just a new way 'round these parts. Seems you got a lot of people runnin' their mouth about what they're gonna do, but when push comes to shove, sure as hell, they can't back it up. Well, based on what I said two weeks ago and what I did last week, safe to say then, when I say somethin', it's stone cold gospel. Said I was gonna win, and I did it. So, you can take this to the proverbial bank. I'm gonna win my match on this upcoming RAMPAGE, and come the finals, it'll be Mark Coleman walkin' out of the Rose Quarter with that RCW title belt around my waist. And that's the truth... [Coleman pauses after he says that word, before chuckling in a low tone for a few seconds, shaking his head the while.] MC: Truth. That's a funny thing. Didn't mean to bring it up quite yet, but now that the long-tailed cat's out of the bag, might as well mention my opponent, one Owen "Truth" Curtis. Funny nickname for a guy who just spent some time in Portland's sewers to drive a point home. Hell, funny nickname period for this guy. Owen, since you're walking around with the handle "Truth," how about I just do what Mark Coleman does best. Since you talked a few weeks ago about how RCW is full of "waste" and "poop," I'll do you a small favor and cut through the "crap" to give you the straight "truth" about how our match is going to work a few days from now. It's gonna work out like this. You're gonna lose, and I'm gonna win. See, Curtis, you were right in that everyone knows your one big weakness. Your knee. We all knew you blew it out a couple of years back, and you had to rehab like Old Scratch himself to just be able to walk like a normal person again, let alone climb back into the squared circle and compete again. Anyone steppin' into the ring with you knows to go right for that knee of yours if they want to win. And, of course, being a clever fella like yourself, you're gonna do everything you can to protect that knee of yours. Make sure your opponent can't get to it and do anything to it. Sound plan. Just one problem with it, Owen. You ain't never met a wrestler like me, and you ain't ever met someone like me who will, no matter what you try to do, still completely and utterly render that knee worthless. Protect it all you want, Owen, it ain't gonna matter a damn. You're lookin', right here, at the most talented mat technician RCW will EVER see. Sure, I'm green as grass in April. Don't matter a lick, since I'm backin' up more talent then THREE of you would have combined. Anything you got planned to protect your knee, I'll blow right through. You got your years, Owen. I got talent you wouldn't believe. And as I said before, when I say something... ...well, it's the truth. And there's your other weakness, Owen. Yeah, your knee's the big one. But I bet you, right now, you're underestimating me. Even though I'm standing right here, in front of an RCW camera, in front of all the fans who are tuning in to see this promotion, in spite of me flat out TELLING you what I plan to do, you're blowing me off. Making jokes. Probably standing back in the sewers again calling me a "waste" that you'll "flush" out of RCW. I don't even HAVE to see your promo to know what you're up to. You're just spittin' in the wind and looking forward to whoever walks away from Pleasance and Driscoll, thinkin' it's gonna be YOU takin' that guy on in the finals. Go ahead, Owen. Just keep thinkin' I'm a speed bump and not worth your time. Bein' underrated's underrated anyway. I shocked damn near everyone but myself last week. This week, ain't gonna be no surprises, because I'm callin' it right now. Owen, you ain't gonna see the finals of this tournament. The only thing you're gonna be seein' next card worth a damn is the lights of the Rose Quarter Arena, and the only important thing you're going to be hearin' are three words. [Coleman makes a fist with one hand, and with each spoken word, he smacks it into his other hand] MC: One. [*SMACK*] MC: Two. [*SMACK*] MC: Three. [*SMACK*] MC: Well, you're also gonna be hearing the ring announcer callin' out my name as movin' on to the finals. And that, Owen... is the truth. [Cut back to Ditka in the studio.] DD: This match is sure to be a doozy, folks. Make sure you don't miss the opportunity to be a part of it, either in person or live on KPDX 49. [Now the faces of Paul Driscoll and Johnny Pleasence are shown on either side of the RCW championship belt.] DD: And in our other second-round match, wily Texan "Pistol" Paul Driscoll goes one-on-one with unhinged Brit Johnny Pleasence, who will, as ever, have his even more unhinged main squeeze Matilda Agutter on hand. Let's hear from both of the men in this match, beginning with Johnny Pleasence: [Cut to a shot of Johnny Pleasence standing in front of an RCW backdrop. Pleasence, dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans, idly stubs a cigarette out on the backdrop before speaking...] JP: This is what it comes down to, huh, Rip City? Me versus a guy nicknamed... "Pistol" for the soddin' right to wrestle for the bloody World Title? Bollocks. This just... [The Big Bad just shakes his head.] JP: ...this just isn't right. It's almost unconstitutional -- here I am, an upstanding guest in your country, just makin' my way across this great land for a bit of fortune and glory... and I'm denied that which I want the most. _Bollocks_. [Pleasence spits.] JP: I'd be a great champ, you know -- I'd bring some real prestige to the belt and show everyone around here what it's truly like to be a "fighting champion." Unfortunately, I gotta fight ol' Driscoll, first. [Pleasence grimaces.] JP: It's not my fault that he's as boring as a box of rocks with twice the charisma of a bag full of hair... he honestly needs to look in the mirror and blame that fact on his parents and his upbringing. Let's face it children, the world ruined Driscoll long before I had the opportunity to kicks the squids out of him. It won't be a blight on my conscience if I end his soddin' career, let me tell you... because I'd be doing the world a bloody favor. Seriously! [Pleasence looks at the camera like he's watching a child eat a wonderful meal of paste and bugs.] JP: Do you really want a guy like Paulie D. as your World Champion, Rip City? The man has absolutely _nothing_ going for him... I mean, he admits he's from Texas, his nickname is slightly phallic... what kind of a man calls himself a dick all the time? I mean, really! What's the logic behind that? The man strives to be a penis in this sport, and possibly in life as well. He spews piss and pretty much nothing else, embarassing his family and all they represent. So, I'm gonna do the Driscolls a favor. I'm gonna make sure that Driscoll Number Three doesn't tarnish Rip City's greatest prize and sully his family's good name any further. In the long run, this'll be the best for Rip City -- in me, they'll have a fine, upstanding champion of the highest calibre, while Driscoll'll go back to wrestling in whatever five dollar "two beers and a lapdance at intermission" dive'll hire him back. As for the Savior of All Things? _Gold_ is in my future, children. Fifteen pounds of fortune and glory will be all mine soon... And Paul Driscoll is going to find out first hand that I will _not be denied_... _Not ever_. [Pause.] JP: What, you bloody want me to go on a rant? Sod off, morons! That title's mine! Enough said about it! On with the show! [And with that, we cut to the exterior of the Rose Garden, in the back by the loading docks. Paul Driscoll stands around talking to the workers, in jeans, boots and a plain black shirt. As the camera rolls up, Driscoll veers off from his conversation and ambles toward the camera, slowly walking with his hands in his pockets.] PD: If las' week taught us anything, it's 'at Paul Driscoll tells the truth. Them three kids tried to all ever'one who'd listen 'at they was gonna run me over, they was gonna claim that gold for 'emselves. An' what happened, when push came to shove? Dorado's sac went back inside his body like the dog 'at he is, Andrews got a bad case of the shanks, an' Carmazzi... well, he's Carmazzi. Poor kid's still got nightmares 'bout the time in '97 that I cracked two o' his teeth. Nice try Vinnie, but there's a big difference 'tween shadow boxing fer the cameras an' fightin', you know, real people. But you'll get there one day kid, I got faith in ya. An' I know yer too damn dumb to give it up. [Driscoll just shakes his head, and cracks a half smile.] PD: But ya got life kid, no mistakin' it. Ya got some getup to ya. An' while yer probably cursin' yer bad luck that the ref seen me punch that kid in the face before he saw you make the other kid tap the theme to M*A*S*H on the mat, I'm tellin' ya to look at it this way: you was one second away from actually gettin' yer hand raised in victory. An' that, my friend, is as close as yer _ever_ gonna get. [Paul leans against the brick wall and produces a pack of Camel Lights from his pocket. He quickly lights one up and exhales a puff of smoke.] PD: John Pleasence, I'd like to stand here an' read ya the riot act fer bein' a no good, dirty son of a bitch. An' I'm sure there's a million people from yer past who'd back that assessment o' you up wholeheartedly. That yer a no good, dirty son of a bitch. But I don't know ya, John, don't know anything about ya. I seen the two videos ya sent in to Spreadbury, an' it seems to me that aside from that drugged up spare whore ya got clingin' to yer leg, yer pretty harmless. Hell, I even tried to do a little research on ya to find out what yer story was, but all I found was that you keep showin' up in some promotions an' quittin' a little later, not really doin' a whole lot. Ain't none o' my business, that's yer lot in life, hoss. But when ya won that four way match and got yerself paired up with me in the second round, ya became my business. Yer standin' directly 'tween me an' the brass ring. Yer forcin' me to wait fer what I want, an' a Driscoll waits fer no man. Right now yer on the train tracks, whether ya know it or not... but you will. One week from today yer gonna have to get in that ring with someone willin' to do what he's gotta do to win. If that means beatin' yer head in until they need an ambulance to drag yer dead carcass out o' the ring, I'll do it. If that means punchin' yer human cartoon sidekick in the mouth the firs' time she looks at me cross eyed, consider it done. It's a matter of how far yer willin' to go to get what you want, and I'm willing to bet the RCW Title that you ain't gonna go as far as me, if it gets down to it. [Driscoll pushes off the wall and walks away.] PD: Holdin' that belt means that yer among the elite o' wrestling, it means ya done somethin' worthwhile. Not to mention the bigger paychecks. What you've been charged with is lookin' me right in the eye an' tellin' me that I ain't the best o' the best. That's _yer_ draw, Pleasence. You gotta get in that ring an' beat me down until I can't lift my shoulder off the mat within three seconds, an' b'lieve me the men who can lay claim to that are few and far between. This may be all fun an' games fer you an' that banshee, but it's life an' death fer me. That title is _mine_, Pleasence, at any cost. That title not only gives me financial security, it gives me a little mental stability. That title means I did the right thing by comin' up here, by leavin' my whole life behind. Fer me, personally, it means the world. An' for RCW, me holding that title means that everything is right in the world. It means that the best wrestler under the current employee of Daniel Spreadbury is holdin' the top prize. It's hard to put into words exactly what that title stands for, so I ain't gonna try. But when ya find yerself starin' at the lights fer the long three, when yer whore's dead on the outside and the referee is raising my hand, you'll get a first hand look at what the RCW Title is all about. What it takes to be the man. [Driscoll exhales another puff of smoke and throws it down on the ground, stamping it out.] PD: An' then it's down to one more obstacle I gotta overcome, one more mountain to climb, river to cross and burden to answer. Yer standin' between me an' destiny, Johnny Pleasence. ["Pistol" Paul Driscoll picks up two diffle bags from the ground and starts walking toward the rear entrance, back toward the techies.] PD: You ain't never had a chance, John. An' there ain't nothin' you can do about it. [Cut back to Ditka in the studio.] DD: We'll be right back, folks, after these messages. [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back to Ditka in the studio.] DD: That'll just about wrap it up for this week's edition of On The Wire, folks. Don't forget: tickets are still available for next Thursday night's big show at the Rose Garden -- click onto www.ticketmaster.com or get down to the box office in person. Otherwise, my broadcast colleague "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare and I will be coming at you live at 10pm on KPDX 49. Don't miss it! Until then, this is Don Ditka for Rip City Wrestling, wishing you a very good night! [The lights in the studio dim as Semisonic's "F.N.T." once again kicks in and the credits roll. Fade to black.] ____________________________________________________________________ / Copyright (C) 2006 Rip City Wrestling, Inc. All rights reserved. / / www.ripcitywrestling.com / /___________________________________________________________________/