[The high-tempo heavy guitar riff of Black Sabbath's "The Mob Rules" thrashes away as we see footage from previous RCW matches...] # Close the city and tell the people that # something's coming to call # Death and darkness are rushing forward to # take a bite from the wall, oh [...Paul Driscoll backing Johnny Pleasence into the corner with a flurry of forearms and punches... Pleasence stubbing out his cigarette on Driscoll's chest!... Driscoll breaks Pleasence's nose, causing blood to stream out of it...] # You've nothing to say # They're breaking away # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules # The mob rules [...Johnny Pleasence uses a steel chair on Driscoll's left leg, repeatedly hitting it and hitting it and hitting it... Pleasence hits two Johnny Spikes in a row on the Texan...] # Kill the spirit and you'll be blinded, # the end is always the same # Play with fire, you burn your fingers and # lose your hold of the flame, oh [...Owen Curtis emerges from under the ring and attacks Mark Coleman before the bell... Curtis with the STO judo sweep on Coleman... Coleman goes for a vertical suplex on Curtis, but his knee gives way... Curtis eventually hits the Front Page Mugshot on his opponent...] # It's over, it's done # The end is begun # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules [...Orin LeBlanc hits the Snowblind Guillotine face driver on Kolya Sudakov... Sudakov takes the red glove from Waterson and hits a spinning backfist on Danny Daniels, followed by his trademark high kick, leaving "Your Hero" lying...] # You've nothing to say # Oh, they're breaking away # If you listen to fools... [..."Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado jumps Vinny Carmazzi on his way down to the ring with a running bulldog... Dorado bounces from the apron to the top rope, then lands a legdrop on the throat of Carmazzi... Dorado hits a moonsault on Carmazzi...] # Break the circle and stop the movement, # the wheel is thrown to the ground # Just remember it might start rolling and # take you right back around [...Dorado goes for a missile dropkick -- that misses!... Carmazzi locks in the Kimuri Armbar for a third time... Dorado is forced to tap...] # You're all fools! # The mob rules! [...the logo crashes onto the screen in an explosion of sparks and flame:] ___ ______ __ ___ ___ __ ______ ___ _________ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / _ \/ _ | / |/ / _ \/ _ |/ ___/ __/ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / / , _/ __ |/ /|_/ / ___/ __ / (_ / _/ /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ /_/|_/_/ |_/_/ /_/_/ /_/ |_\___/___/ LIVE! Rose Garden, Portland, OR Thursday 6 April 2006 [And as the song reaches its thrashing climax, cut through to the interior of Portland's Rose Garden arena, lit up by volley after volley of fireworks in the rafters of the arena, exploding in showers of sparks high above the ring. Spotlights swirl over the excited fans, a cameraman tracking down the aisle picking out the faces of the lucky ones in the floor section, leaning over the barriers and cheering. The camera takes in the RCW ring, its blue ropes and black apron with bold RCW logo emblazoned on it. Amid all this, we hear the voice-over of RCW lead announcer Don Ditka.] DD: Welcome everybody to Portland, Oregon! Welcome to the world-famous Rose Garden! Welcome... to RCW RAMPAGE! [And finally the camera comes to rest in front of the broadcast table, where Don Ditka stands wearing his RCW sports jacket and open-necked shirt, next to "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, who still looks as if he could leap into the ring at a moment's notice and climb that mountain one more time... but tonight he wears a denim jacket and jeans, and smiles and waves to the fans clamouring for his attention in the front row.] DD: Ladies and gentlemen, we are coming to you *LIVE* from the heart of the River City, and you are witnessing history in the making -- because right here tonight we will see our very first RCW Champion crowned! I'm Don Ditka, and beside me, as ever, is my broadcast colleague, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. BS: Don, there's something in the air here in the Garden tonight, something I know well: the heartbeat of fate, the pulse of destiny. DD: "Henry V"? [Shakespeare smiles at Ditka.] BS: No, Don, that's all my own work. Speaking as one who was "Born To Perform," I have to tell you: nights like this make me want to get back into that squared circle. This is what it's all about, the big belt, the king of the mountain, the top of the heap. DD: Indeed, Billy Shakespeare. Before we leave the air tonight, folks, either Johnny Pleasence or Owen "Truth" Curtis will hold aloft the brand new RCW Championship belt, having reached his final destination on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD. But that's not all! BS: Definitely not, Don. Tonight's card is *stacked*. DD: We'll see "Your Hero" Danny Daniels take on the man who was forced to wrestle two men single-handed two weeks ago on our last RAMPAGE, Kolya Sudakov, momentarily. We'll see "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado take on Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. BS: In a Last Man Standing match, "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy will try to make the third time a charm when he tries to knock "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing out here tonight. DD: And we'll see Madrock The Irrepressible team with Bailey Fitzgerald... but who will they be facing? Jake Andrew's tag team partner, Ryan Faith, has not been seen since our last live event two weeks ago -- let's go backstage now to RCW President Daniel Spreadbury to find out how he's going to solve this little dilemma. [Cut backstage to RCW President Daniel Spreadbury's makeshift office, where the bespectacled, besuited official is sat behind a desk, shuffling papers. A polite pop is heard over the audio as the crowd in the arena sees the RCW's head honcho on the big screen, who now looks up to address the camera.] DS: Ladies and gentlemen, we have received word from representatives of Ryan Faith that he has been called away from Portland for personal reasons. As such, he will *not* be here tonight to tag with Jake Andrews. [A smattering of boos from the fans.] DS: Furthermore, the RCW Board of Directors has instructed me to follow the letter of the law in Faith's contract, which states that missing a booked engagement is sufficient cause for an indefinite suspension. So it gives me no great pleasure to announce that Ryan Faith is therefore suspended indefinitely from RCW competition. [A louder smattering of boos from the crowd.] DS: Which leaves us with something of a problem for tonight's tag team match, which was to have pitted Faith and Jake Andrews against Bailey Fitzgerald and Madrock the Irrepressible. So... [Spreadbury is interrupted by a banging at the door.] DS: Yes? Come on in. [In walks a very tired and disheveled Vinny Carmazzi. Dark rings below the eyes. Bloodshot within them. Angry expression on his face. A moment of embarrassment over how loud his arrival had been, but it quickly disappears when he remembers why he's there. What he's hoping to accomplish. The ends justify the means, or so he's been hoping for a long time.] DS: Mr. Carmazzi, can I help you? [Vinny scratches his head and adjusts the black hooded sweatshirt that droops off his left shoulder. The spot where champions place their belts when not around their waists. The dirty piece of clothing just hangs there, not doing anything to keep him warm.] VC: I have to wrestle tonight. I really need something to do. [The request forces additional humility from Vinny. Others barge into executive offices, not only in RCW but all over the world, and bluster, connive, and intimidate their way into getting what they want, be it a title shot, a grudge match, a raise, a slot on the next supercard, whatever. Vinny must not have learned that lesson, as he stands there quietly holding his sweatshirt and looking blankly at President Spreadbury.] DS: You need something to do, huh? [Vinny lowers his head to avoid eye contact and starts digging the toe of his worn-out sneaker into the carpet below.] VC: Give me something. Anything. I'll take what I can get. [He looks up again. The desperation on Vinny's face is evident. Spreadbury, on the other hand, has a kind of half-smirk on his face, and speaks as if he's humouring Carmazzi.] DS: But Mr. Carmazzi, it's crazy to come in here asking for any spot on the card. You don't know who you'd be facing. You haven't prepared. Frankly, it's suicide. [Vinny doesn't even flinch.] VC: I can't take the week off. I need to feel like I'm going forward. Standing still, to me that's going backwards. Can't accept the way things are. *That's* suicide. [Spreadbury doesn't miss a beat.] DS: Well, Mr. Carmazzi, as luck would have it, Ryan Faith isn't here tonight. I was going to make it a three-way between Madrock, Bailey Fitzgerald, and Jake Andrews, but I could probably put you in the match as Faith's replacement. [Vinny's eyes light up. Or at least appear a little less dejected.] DS: You'll be teaming with Andrews. I know the problems between you and him from last month got a little overshadowed by your issues with Driscoll and Dorado, but hopefully you both can put them aside for the sake of your match tonight. VC: Whatever I can get is fine. Better than being alone. Thinking. DS: Good, then. Best of luck tonight. [Vinny turns to leave.] VC: Thank you. [With his head down again, but focused on his upcoming match, Vinny closes the office door behind him. Spreadbury shakes his head with a smile, and goes back to the paperwork on his desk. Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside, who are now seated at the broadcast table. We can now see that the table is bedecked not only with the normal glasses of water, TV monitors, and so on -- but also with an array of yellow "YOUR HERO" t-shirts.] DD: Vinny Carmazzi is such a tremendous competitor, Billy Shakespeare. BS: He certainly is, Don. But to voluntarily walk into the ring to face Madrock and Bailey Fitzgerald... is that competitive spirit, or desperation? DD: Well, folks, we've got an absolutely packed show here tonight, so let's get up to the ring for our first match. BS: You're not going to mention the, uh, t-shirts, Don? DD: [through gritted teeth] No, Billy Shakespeare, I'm not. Take it away, Sy! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "Your Hero" Danny Daniels vs. Kolya Sudakov /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Cut to ring announcer Sy Simmons, standing in the ring.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... ["Afternoon Delight" plays over the PA System as Danny Daniels appears at the top of the aisle. His eyes are covered with wraparound sunglasses, his torso is covered with a 'Your Hero' yellow t-shirt, a cardboard box of t-shirts under one arm...] D'YH'D: GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS! [...and a cordless microphone in his free hand.] D'YH'D: "Your Undefeated Hero," Danny Daniels, has returned to Portland! [He grins and waves to the crowd] You're welcome! [Danny starts walking towards ringside.] D'YH'D: Tonight, "Your Undefeated Hero" puts his winning streak on the line against Koala Sudakov, who puts his winless streak against... ME! "Your Undefeated Hero," Danny Daniels. Now, some people might be upset about that whole 'Pimp Slap' thing that happened... but not me! I understand how frustrating it is, never to win a match. But you, Koala, get to bask in the glory that is... ME! And I put anyone in a good mood. I place a smile on everyone's face. I write the songs that the whole world sings... DD: Good grief. [Danny reaches ringside.] D'YH'D: But tonight's not about singing. Tonight's about me adding to my undefeated streak. And [he points to the fans] I know what you're asking... "What about the shirts?" Well, even "Your Hero" can't wrestle *and* sell these magnificent at the same time? [Danny sets the box of shirts... right on the announcers table. Ditka glares up at Daniels.] BS: Steady, Don. One of us could probably handle ourselves in a disagreement with Danny Daniels -- but it's not you. [Daniels is completely oblivious to Ditka's displeasure.] D'YH'D: ...so my good friends Danny and Bobby here are going to handle that tonight! DD: Are you kiddi... [Danny rolls into the ring.] D'YH'D: So be sure to approach Danny and Bobby during my match to pick up some of these classic shirts. One for $16 or two for $40. That way, you can look like "Your Undefeated Hero"... [Danny waves to the crowd.] D'YH'D: TOODLES~! [Danny continues to mug for the fans in the front row, pointing at his yellow "YOUR HERO" shirt and grinning.] BS: So what are we supposed to do with these shirts, Don? DD: I couldn't care less, Billy. [Simmons raises the microphone to his lips again.] SS: And introducing his opponent... ["Hunter Killer" by Quo Vadis kicks in over the PA, and almost immediately Kolya Sudakov appears at the head of the aisle to a heel pop, as usual wearing his plain black tights with the word "HUNTER" down one leg in white boldface type and the word "KILLER" down the other. Ben Waterson strides alongside the Russian, and points to the ring.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by "Agent to the Stars" Ben Waterson, hailing from Kemerovo, Russia, and weighing in at 230lbs... KOOOOOOOOOLLYAAAAA SUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDAKOOOOOOOV! [Sudakov walks calmly down the aisle, Waterson speaking to him and continuing to point at Daniels, who seems completely unaware of Sudakov's entrance altogether.] DD: These two men do *not* look happy. BS: Though when exactly have we ever seen either of them happy, Don? DD: A good point. But Sudakov is surely out to vent some frustration on Danny Daniels here tonight, and he certainly looks like he means business. [Sudakov arrives at the foot of the aisle, takes a couple of running steps and slides under the bottom rope into the ring... immediately springing to his feet and hitting Daniels from behind with a high kick, sending Danny sprawling! Heel pop! Simmons hurriedly leaves the ring as official Bobby Belshee signals for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Sudakov is wasting absolutely no time here, Billy Shakespeare! [With Waterson shouting encouragement from the outside, Sudakov unleashes a relentless flurry of offense on Daniels... he pulls Daniels back to his feet and kicks him twice in the midsection, doubling him over... then blasts him back to a vertical position with an elbow uppercut to the face... then knocks him back to the canvas with another kick... and then mounts him on the canvas, pounding away with palm strikes and punches! The crowd is rabid, jeering Sudakov, and Belshee puts the count on Sudakov, threatening to disqualify him!] DD: Sudakov is like an animal in there! The pro wrestling hunter/killer is absolutely unloading on Daniels! BS: Yes, and this *is* wrestling, not mixed martial arts. Belshee needs to impose himself on this situation, and in a hurry. [Belshee's count reaches four, then five... but instead of disqualifying Sudakov, he takes the unusual step of actually hauling the Russian off Daniels physically! Pop from the crowd as Sudakov looks at Belshee with wild eyes, and Belshee falls backwards, so afraid of receiving a similar beating to that just endured by Daniels. Sudakov's chest heaves up and down as he stares down at Belshee, backing away on his ass in the ring, and Daniels, who has rolled onto his side and puts a hand to his face, lifting his sunglasses for a moment to see that he has been busted open.] DD: Good god, Sudakov has busted Daniels wide open within moments of the start of this match! BS: His lip's definitely split, and he may have a broken nose too, Don. DD: Though he is, of course, still wearing his sunglasses. BS: Got to look good while having your butt kicked, Don. DD: And... what?! [The audio is interrupted by noises off; we hear a voice asking for a t-shirt.] DD: I'm trying to call a match here, sir. Just take a damned shirt. [More muffled noises off.] BS: Well, that's not something you see every day. DD: Good grief. Can we get somebody out here to get rid of these shirts, please? Can the producers send somebody out here? [In the ring, Daniels has rolled to his knees, and Belshee gets back to his feet. Sudakov stands, coiled like a spring... and then launches himself at Daniels again, grabbing him and *tossing* him with a release German suplex! Heel pop! Daniels lands heavily on his neck and shoulders, but immediately rolls to his knees... to be met by a running knee from Sudakov that sends him back to the mat. Daniels's yellow shirt is by now quite bloody.] DD: It's a good thing we're on late night, Billy Shakespeare. Danny Daniels is bleeding quite heavily in there. BS: Sudakov is just relentless in there. This really isn't a pretty sight. [Sudakov pulls Daniels to his feet and whips him into the ropes... big pop as Daniels ducks under Sudakov's attempted kick... but then a big heel pop as Sudakov blasts Daniels with a reverse elbow, staggering Danny. Sudakov whirls around and catches Daniels with a kick, knocking him into the ropes on the other side of the ring... Daniels bounces off the ropes and staggers forwards into the middle of the ring again -- only to be met by another kick to the head from Sudakov! Big heel pop!] DD: Sudakov is just *dismantling* Daniels in there. BS: It's certainly been one-way traffic so far. Daniels is in big, big trouble. [Waterson yells to Sudakov to make the cover, and the Russian does so, hooking Daniels's legs. Belshee drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Daniels gets a shoulder up! Big pop from the crowd! Waterson slaps the mat in frustration.] DD: Still gas left in Daniels's tank here! [Sudakov grabs Daniels and pulls him back to his feet again, and once again sends him into the ropes. As Daniels comes back, Sudakov hits him with a kick to the gut, doubling him over, then plants him to the mat with a gutwrench suplex! Heel pop! Sudakov *again* pulls Daniels back to his feet and sends him to the ropes. Sudakov lowers his head... Daniels leapfrogs over him... turns on the spot... and plants Sudakov with a bulldog! Huge pop!] DD: Danny Daniels hits his first offensive move of the match! BS: Unfortunately that bulldog won't slow Sudakov down a great deal -- Daniels needs to buy himself some more time. [Indeed, as the groggy Daniels wipes some more blood away from his mouth and nose, and pulls himself back to his feet, Sudakov rolls back to his feet -- and latches onto Daniels, cinching in an armbar, yanking Daniels painfully down to the mat. Big heel pop! Belshee checks Daniels for a submission, but Daniels refuses to give up.] DD: I'd be willing to bet that Daniels's face is screwed up in pain right about now, but due to the blood and the shades... we just can't tell. BS: Sudakov is just toying with Daniels in there, Don. He doesn't need to work on Daniels's arms -- he's practically knocked Daniels out on at least two occasions in this match already. He just wants to inflict more pain on him. DD: Sudakov is a sadistic character, that's for sure. [The crowd begins to clap and to chant "DAN - NY! DAN - NY!", encouraging Daniels to fight, to perservere... and indeed while Sudakov is wrapped around his arm... he pulls himself up, gets to one knee... and then stands up, Sudakov still hanging on with an armbar! Big pop as Daniels lunges at the ropes, and half-slams, half-drops Sudakov over the top rope to the outside!] DD: My goodness! Daniels just dumped Sudakov over the top rope to the outside! BS: Impressive strength from Danny Daniels! And he may have bought himself some precious time here! [As Daniels stumbles back down to one knees in the ring, Waterson immediately goes to tend to Sudakov, whose eyes betray his anger. Sudakov slides back into the ring, and looks at Daniels face to face... well, face to sunglasses. Daniels points to his bloodied yellow "YOUR HERO" t-shirt... and rips it off... to reveal another, clean, yellow t-shirt underneath. Huge pop!] DD: Give me a break! [The camera shows that Daniels's second shirt says "YOUR UNDEFEATED HERO" on it! The crowd laughs along! Sudakov shows no reaction -- presumably he doesn't read English -- but Waterson is livid, and shouts something to Sudakov, who *explodes* towards Daniels like an athlete at the start of a sprint race. Daniels and Sudakov in the middle of the ring, trading punches! The crowd is on its collective feet!] DD: A sign of defiance from Danny Daniels here! He may be busted open, he may have beaten from bell to bell -- but he's not going to give up! BS: But Daniels shouldn't try to go toe-to-toe with an MMA champion, Don -- he needs to rely on that power, on high-impact offense, pick his spots carefully. [The crowd cheer as Daniels has Sudakov reeling with a good shot, and then fells him with a clothesline that has Danny down to his knees! Big pop! Sudakov and Daniels both get to their feet, and Daniels wheels around and takes Sudakov down with a running kneelift! Big pop! Waterson is livid on the outside! Daniels puts one boot on the felled Sudakov's right arm... and then stomps on the Russian's hand! Big pop! Bobby Belshee steps in and forces Daniels to back off!] DD: An illegal stomp by Danny Daniels there -- but in a way you can't blame him. BS: Sudakov's nowhere near as dangerous if he can't use his hands for those strikes, Don -- but Daniels shouldn't forget that Sudakov's feet are just as dangerous. [As Belshee forces Daniels away, Sudakov gets back to his feet, clutching at his right hand. Daniels pushes Belshee aside and charges at Sudakov -- who takes Daniels down with a drop toe-hold, Daniels landing throat-first on the second rope! Big heel pop! Sudakov slides out of the ring under the bottom rope, and then unleashes an incredible kick from a standing position on the floor, kicking Daniels square in the face and sending him crashing back onto the canvas! Big, big heel pop!] DD: Good god! What an unbelievable kick from Sudakov! BS: Daniels could be out after that blow! [Sudakov slides back into the ring to the jeers of the crowd, and flicks some of his sweat down onto the fallen Danny Daniels, before dropping to make the cover. Belshee is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Daniels kicks out! Big pop!] DD: He got him! No! Daniels gets a shoulder up! BS: You have to hand it to Daniels. He is *tough*. [Waterson tosses something to Sudakov, who stands frustrated above Daniels in the ring, and nods at his proteg?.] DD: What has Ben Waterson just thrown to Sudakov?! Has a foreign object just been thrown into the ring? Brass knuckles? A roll of quarters? BS: How about a red glove, Don? [Indeed. Sudakov looks down at the red glove that has just been thrown at him by Waterson... and slips it on! Immediately, some of Owen Curtis's brothers from the Beta fraternity house start a chant of "PIMP SLAP! PIMP SLAP!"] DD: Give me a break. Not *this* again. [Sudakov clenches and unclenches his fingers, ensuring the glove is on securely... and pulls Daniels up to his feet. Daniels sways slightly, still groggy from the kick to his face... and as a small pocket of fans continues to chant "PIMP SLAP!"... Sudakov *unloads* with a spinning backfist on Daniels, a spray of sweat and blood flying from Daniels's face as he... as he... slowly... topples... to the mat! Big heel pop!] DD: Sudakov with the... uh, Pimp Slap. BS: Daniels could be out cold here, Don. [Sudakov drops to the canvas and covers Daniels again... 1... 2... ...No! Daniels's foot is on the bottom rope! Huge pop!] DD: Danny Daniels somehow has the presence of mind to get his boot on the bottom rope! Sudakov is *furious*! [Sudakov stands and shouts incomprehensible Russian at Belshee, who looks genuinely intimidated by Sudakov and backs away. Waterson shouts instructions to Sudakov.] DD: Sudakov having to be restrained by Ben Waterson there from attacking official Bobby Belshee for the second time in this match. BS: Strike two, Don. Sudakov had better try and keep his composure here -- he doesn't want to end up getting disqualified for attacking the official. [Sudakov stands above the diminutive Belshee, breathing heavily, his eyes showing the fire of anger. Belshee does his best not to cower... and then Sudakov is suddenly pulled backwards to the mat by a schoolboy from Daniels! Huge pop! Belshee drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Sudakov kicks out!] DD: Danny Daniels is still in this thing! BS: He may be doofus, Don, but is it just possible that underneath that crass, ignorant exterior beats the heart of a real wrestler? DD: ...I sort of doubt it, Billy. But Daniels isn't done yet! [Both men are back to their feet. Sudakov goes for a strike, but Daniels grabs his gloved hand -- and squeezes hard! Sudakov lets out a yelp of pain!] DD: That's the hand Daniels stomped on earlier in the match! And now Daniels has Sudakov in a wristlock! [Daniels keeps the wristlock cinched in -- and headbutts Sudakov repeatedly! Big pop!] BS: We always knew Danny Daniels was hard-headed, but perhaps not *that* hard! [Daniels releases the wristlock, and Sudakov staggers back. Daniels hits a kick to the midsection, and then plants the Russian to the mat with a gutwrench suplex! Big pop! Daniels drops to make the cover... 1... 2... ...and Sudakov kicks out! Big heel pop!] DD: Daniels with the near-fall! But after the beating he's taken in this match, you have to wonder how much he has left, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Daniels is wrestling smart here, Don, going for the high-impact moves that make the most of his strength and power advantage. [The crowd once again begins chanting "DAN - NY! DAN - NY!" as Daniels brings Sudakov back to his feet. Daniels tries to set up for a suplex... but Sudakov brushes him off, and hits a palm strike directly to Daniels's face, staggering "Your Hero"! Sudakov then shoves Daniels hard into the corner, the San Francisco native hitting the buckles at speed! Heel pop!] DD: Here it comes! VIOLENCE PARTY! [Sudakov follows Daniels into the corner and absolutely *batters* him with punches, kicks, elbows, knees, completely ignoring official Bobby Belshee's count... the crowd jeers and boos loudly as Daniels slumps to a sitting position in the corner... Sudakov backs off momentarily... and then *drives* a knee to the face of Daniels! Huge heel pop!] DD: Good god, Billy Shakespeare. Sudakov is an *animal* in there! [Official Bobby Belshee's count again reaches five -- and again Belshee elects not to immediately disqualify Sudakov, instead forcing himself between the Russian and Daniels in the corner! Big pop from the crowd!] DD: A courageous move from match official Bobby Belshee, inserting himself between Sudakov and the hapless Danny Daniels! [Belshee raises his arms, palms facing towards Sudakov, and speaks to Sudakov, pushing him gently away from Daniels, whose facial cuts appear to have been opened up again, blood once again dripping onto his yellow shirt. Belshee pushes Sudakov... Sudakov backs away... Sudakov backs away...] DD: Good for you, Bobby Belshee! Kolya Sudakov appears to be regaining his composure here, and... GOOD GOD! [Huge heel pop as Belshee is felled by a strike from Sudakov! Belshee clutches at his face with one hand and signals frantically for the bell with the other!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Kolya Sudakov has just got himself disqualified here! BS: I don't think he cares, Don! DD: Poor Bobby Belshee has just been attacked by Kolya Sudakov, and this Russian monster is... he's gone right back to attacking Danny Daniels! [Indeed, Sudakov is back in the corner, continuing to unload on Daniels. Waterson is now in the ring, directing traffic, and the crowd is on its feet, jeering, booing, going out of its collective mind in fury. The timekeeper rings the bell repeatedly...] * DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! * [...and blue-shirted security personnel stream down the aisle towards the ring.] DD: Come on! We need some help out here! Sudakov is completely out of control! [Four security guards slide into the ring, and immediately grab Sudakov, dragging him away from Daniels, who is still in the corner, still wearing his sunglasses.] DD: Get him out of there! Get that man out of there now! And Waterson too! This is disgusting! BS: It's hard to tell if Danny Daniels is even conscious in there, Don, with those glasses on... he's not moving right now. [The security guards successfully drag Sudakov from the ring, Waterson demanding that they don't touch him. Sudakov's eyes, still afire with fury, continue to drill a hole in the immobile Danny Daniels in the ring, even as he is forced up the aisle, the fans on either side shouting abuse at him. In the ring, official Bobby Belshee raises Daniels's limp arm.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen... the winner, by disqualification... "YOOOOOOUUUUUUR HEEEEEEEEEEERO" DAAAAAAAAAAANNNY DAAAAAAAANIELLLS! [The crowd cheer Daniels, who is now being helped to his feet by Belshee and another official.] DD: A hollow victory here for Danny Daniels, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Certainly this match hasn't ended the way he would have wanted, Don, but let's not forget that Daniels came back from an extraordinary beating at the start of this match, and nearly came away with a pinfall on a couple of occasions. DD: I would have to -- perhaps grudgingly -- agree that Danny Daniels showed us something in the ring tonight that he's not shown us before, Billy. Daniels is a competitor. BS: And he knows how to wrestle, Don. [Daniels is helped from the ring, and weakly manages a "thumbs up" to the fans in the front row, who cheer and applaud him as he is helped up the aisle. Cut to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: "Toodles," Danny Daniels. BS: And he is, of course, still our undefeated hero, Don. DD: I don't doubt that he'll remind us of that all too soon, Billy Shakespeare. Now, folks, later on tonight we'll see the two men who were knocked out of the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD tournament two weeks ago face each other in one-on-one competition. Earlier this week, our cameras caught up with both men, as they took advantage of Portland's, uh, unique hospitality. Let's take a look. ["LIVE NUDES!" "LIVE NUDES!" "LIVE NUDES!" The neon sign blinks on and off, on and off as the camera focuses on it for a moment, then down to the building it is propped on. Red brick and run down, but with garish flourescent colors bouncing off it at every angle. Some god-awful remix of Madonna pumps through the brick walls and can be heard five blocks away. Finally the shot fades in to the building, extra very careful not to show anything that might upset the censors. Instead of focusing on the stage, like any decent cameraman would, the shot wanders to the far left corner. Slouching in a felt chair and drinking rum and coke is one "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, wearing blue jeans, a black NRA shirt and a leather vest. A Dodgers cap is pulled low over his eyes, which are fixated on the stage as he talks.] PD: Of all the lowdown pieces o' s[BLEEP!] to have bad luck against, it had to be Johnny Pleasence. My knee? [Driscoll shrugs almost imperceptibly.] PD: Hurts. Always will. But I been 'round long enough to know what to do to alleviate the pain, and a lot of it involves sitting in a chair, watchin' titties and drinkin' something. Welcome to Driscoll Rehab. [Paul smiles and moves back in his seat, taking the cap off and sitting up.] PD: Now, no one's ever 'ccused Johnny Pleasence o' bein' the smartest man alive and I ain't gonna be the first. We'll cross paths again, ya limey twat, an' the next time that happens I guarantee the knee ain't gonna go out. I'll do some extra trainin' if I got to, swear to Jesus, my knee'll be in the best shape it's been in a damned sight. An' when the ol' knee don't go out next time, yer luck'll change boy, that's a sure thing. If that title still sits on yer shoulder, it'll be my pleasure to break that shoulder on my way to takin' that title. Ya stole from me, boy, an' as far as I'm concerned yer playin' with stolen property. That title shot b'longs to me, an' if you had to get help from God Almigty hisself to take it from me, I suggest ya grow eyes in the back o' yer head, cause miracles o' God don't happen without repercussions to follow. An' the repercussion you oughta be on the lookout for is *me*, tearin' yer goddamn head off. [From off-camera, a voice twanged with Southern is heard.] ??: Well, look what the proverbial cat dragged on in... [Without looking up, Driscoll nods his head and raises his glass.] PD: Biggest goddamn cat I ever seen, scared me half to death. [Standing slightly behind Driscoll, a man rapidly becoming familiar to wrestling fans everywhere. A big man, wearing jeans and a Tennessee Volunteers t-shirt with matching ball cap, looks down from his vantage point and nods to the "Pistol." And Mark Coleman says hello.] MC: Evenin', Paul. How you doin'? PD: Prob'ly 'bout the same as you, rook. After that sack o' trash beat me a few days ago, I ain't been able to look at myself in the mirror, so I'm tryin' to occupy my time. Doctor says free booze is good fer the knee, anyway. [Paul pats his knee and sets his glass down, then turns to Coleman.] PD: What the hell're you doin' here anyways? Ain't they checkin' IDs at the door? MC: Yeah, ain't my type of place. Can't lie, going to a strip club, to me, is like spending money at a nice restaurant, only to have them carry the food past your table and you ain't allowed to touch it, only smell and look at it. PD: Except instead of food, it's naked woman. And instead of smellin' like the produce department, it's more along the lines o' the seafood section. But jus' like filet mignon, it's too expensive to buy. Know what I mean? MC: Heh...you're gonna laugh, Paul. Apparently, this is the best steak in town here, according to some of the RCW staff. And I ain't gonna lie, the steak I just had was pretty damn good. Could do without the loud music and people asking me to buy a lapdance while I'm eatin,' but it was solid eatin'. [Driscoll nods without saying a word, then hooks a chair with his leg and pushes it to Coleman. Coleman accepts, sitting down in the chair and putting his own legs out.] PD: Since yer here, I figger we ought to talk about this a-here upcoming match on RAMPAGE. You an' me both know that we're better'n this. You run them matches a hundred times and ninety-nine o' them times we both win. An' now instead o' preparin' to knock each other silly fer that gold title, we're here throwin' dollar bills at high school drop-outs. Well, at least I am. Point bein', Curtis and Pleasence is about as low as it's gonna get fer Rip City... so I'm tellin' you man to man, 'cause you shown that you deserve at least that much... I'm tellin' you here and now that if I gotta, I won't hesitate to knock yer head off to get another chance at Pleasence. An' if it's Curtis who ends up with that belt, I'll run right through him too. [The veteran turns to the rookie and nods, all business.] PD: Ain't nothin' personal. [Coleman gives Driscoll a glare for a moment... ...before shrugging and settling back in his chair even further, adjusting the orange cap on his head.] MC: I wouldn't expect anything less, Paul. Have to admit, the BS level around here's a lot lower then a greenhorn like me expected comin' in. Bein' up front with me... as I said last week, appreciate that fact. So, don't take this the wrong way... gonna prove you wrong in a couple of days. PD: Didn't expect nothin' less from ya. But remember now, pup, this ain't my first barbecue. This ain't the first time my knee's been hurtin' me and it won't be the last. An' it ain't the first time a dog like Pleasence got lucky 'gainst me. A little tip for ya, rook: this business ain't about how much ya win, it's about how ya deal with losin'. I try to stay away from it altogether, but when it happens I know how to not lose my mind. [Driscoll motions to the stage and to the table full of empty glasses on his left.] PD: A lot o' other guys with twice as much talent as me never figgered it out, an' now they stock shelves at the Piggly Wiggly. MC: Fact. You've been around the block a few times, Paul, so you know the score without having to look up at the Jumbotron. You know what it's like to come close to somethin' in this business, only to have it taken away in a few short seconds. Guy like you, sure that feelin's familiar to you. [Driscoll's eyebrow cocks and he glances over at Coleman.] PD: Not as much as yer implyin', but I been there once or twice. MC: Well, comin' close last week, against Curtis, for just a shot at a shot at the RCW title... first time in my career anythin' like that happened. Gotta admit, it's a good feelin'. Makes you feel like you're accomplishin' somethin'. PD: An' then ya run into a jackass like Curtis or Pleasence, an' ya can't stand yerself fer three days 'cause ya somehow lost to a clown like that. Ya can't wait to get back in the ring to make the memory fade away... to prove to not jus' the people, but to yerself that it weren't nothin' but a hiccup along the way. It eats at ya, don't it? [Coleman nods in response.] MC: You know better than anyone else, then... next card, you and me? It may not mean much to the suits and the guys in the back. But, to you and me, it means one very simple thing. When the time comes, when the title shot is on the line... ...well, when it's me, and either Curtis or Pleasance, all I'll have to do is looking across that ring, stare into his eyes, and say to myself 'He beat Driscoll, and I beat *him*. He's mine and we both know it.' ["Pistol" Paul Driscoll just nods along and smiles, then leans out of his chair.] PD: Ya got confidence, no doubtin' it. But I beg to differ. Whoever it is that has the bad luck o' gettin' in the ring with both o' us in a few weeks time, he ain't nothin' but the window dressin' for what amounts to a rematch 'tween us. An' when whoever it is, Curtis or Pleasence, when he gets in the ring an' stares across at you, ya know what he's gonna find? A rook who's a rook in name only. But you know what he's gonna find when he looks at me? Someone who's seen 'em all before, an' who's beaten 'em all before. [Driscoll leans back and goes silent for a moment.] PD: Now shut up an' give that girl a dollar. She's gotta get through college, after all. [As Coleman reaches into his pocket, the shot pulls back, and we cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Driscoll and Coleman will lock it up within the hour, folks. We'll be right back after these messages. [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back to show Ditka and Shakespeare at the broadcast position.] DD: Welcome back to RAMPAGE! Now, folks, later on tonight we will finally discover who will be our first RCW Champion. Will it be angry young Brit Johnny Pleasence -- or will it be *this* man, Oregon's own Owen Curtis? [Cut to footage captioned "YESTERDAY", showing a room with a table draped in red cloth, and a lectern on it, with some folding chairs behind it and a Rose Quarter logo pattern as the backdrop. That's right -- it's the Rose Quarter press availability room! Reporters are milling about the room from various TV stations. Mostly cute skinny cheerleader types as the TV reporters and pock marked geeks as the camera shooters. Then there's the print reporters -- slightly older, slightly overweight, clutching notepads and cameras -- and the radio people, who are meant to be heard not seen, and who are dressed for it. Finally, there are Internet reporters -- even fatter than the print people, let alone the radio people -- and a smattering of fans who have been let in to help sweeten the noise. There's a murmur, which dies down when an older, bad fellow with a moustache strides out to the lectern that rests on the table.] MAN: Hello. Welcome to the Rose Quarter. I am Eugene Curtis, former professional wrestling broadcaster and current disc jockey on your oldies station, KISN FM. [The hipper-than-thou, iPod-wearing young media denizens could not care less about KISN, and the cracking of gum can be heard.] EC: You know, I'm very pleased that professional wrestling has returned to Portland. And I'm here tonight on behalf of Rip City Wrestling to introduce one of two men who will fight for the RCW heavyweight championship... my own nephew, hailing from the great state of Oregon... Owen "Truth" Curtis! ["Stranger than Fiction" starts to play, and quickly fades, as Owen makes the short walk out to the lectern, shaking hands with his uncle and giving a quick hug.] CHANT: [from some of the fans] COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! [Owen waves the chant down. He's wearing a suit this time -- pinstriped, charcoal in color, with light blue shirt and a gold and blue tie. He talks.] OTC: You know, I think pro wrestling is a lot of things. It's exciting. It's brutal. It's thrilling. It's heartbreaking. But the one thing it is not, and never should be, is boring. And so before all of YOU, start asking ME, questions, let me ask, why does Johnny Pleasence look so god damn disinterested in what he's doing? Let's face it... he looks, well, bored out there. Every time he talks, every time he walks. And let me tell you, that is not what pro wrestling is about. It's not what RCW is about. And it's not what Owen "Truth" Curtis is about. Ladies and gentlemen... the Truth... is compelling. And so no matter what attitude Johnny Pleasence brings to the ring when we go one on one, I am going to MAKE HIM take notice. There is no one here to do his fighting for him, or mine for me. It will be one on one; we're the only two left. I'm going to grab him by the collar, slap the smirk off his face, and knock the tobacco stains right off his crooked British teeth. And if that skank Matilda gets in the way, let's just say that her blood red lipstick might just end up on my blood red fist. You see, the RCW championship belongs to Oregon, and I am the _best_ that Oregon has to offer. I'm out to ensure that when Oregon once again has a wrestling champion, that championship comes back in style, and there's only one way it can do that. Around the waist of Owen "Truth" Curtis. I'm going to make that happen. And you all are invited to watch. Questions. [Owen points.] OTC: You. REPORTER [an attractive brunette wearing a women's business suit/skirt combo]: Audrey Sammons, KGW TV. You, um... didn't call me back after last Friday. OTC: No... no, I didn't. Next question. You, ma'am. [He points to a blonde, thirtyish gal in pants and a KOIN-TV jacket.] REPORTER: Christine Knowles. Owen, I know you as a colleague in the business. You had a dependable job, good benefits. Why give that up for independent contractor status, greater health risks, and more travel? OTC: Well, Chris, I did it because Rip City Wrestling was something I just could not pass up. You know, you retire from a sport at age 23 and you spend all your twenties wondering if that really was it, if in fact you couldn't have done just a little bit more. This is my attempt to answer that question. I'll admit, it's a gamble with my health. But the rewards so far have been great. The fact is, I loved my job, but I love this sport just that much more. And I'll have all my life to hold a pad and pen. Right now, I'll still tell great stories, but all of them will be on the canvas, not newsprint. How about you in the sweat pants and the Final Fantasy shirt? FAT GUY: Bradley Moore, www.grapplingdirt.com. Johnny Pleasence says your background is entirely made up. Is it? OTC: I can tell you have never been anywhere near a gymnasium in the last 20 years, which explains why you had to ask me that. Go to South Eugene High School and look in the lobby of the athletic building. The trophies are there with my name on them. Go into MacArthur Court at the U of O and look up. I'm on the banner. Stead of asking me if what I did is real, ask ol' Johnny what Goodwill dumpster he gets his clothing from. Or his girlfriends. FAT GUY: You can get clothing and chicks from Goodwill? I'm _so_ there! [The fat guy makes haste out the door, not noticing the way his ample hips endanger crews' nearby TV equipment.] OTC: Nice. One more. You, sir? [A dark haired guy in a "Rush is Right" T-shirt, packing poorly-concealed heat on three different places on his person, speaks.] RADIO GUY: Nels Nelson, from Oregon's talk leader, KXL. You know, I leave my houseboat every morning and drive my Jaguar to work, flipping the bird at the bums begging change on the on-ramps the whole way, and I tell myself, the government is not only paying for too many lesbian abortions, but it's overtaxing the fetuses and denying them their second amendment rights to use AK-47s for target practice while still inside the womb. I say it's the Mexicans' fault, and yet the government does nothing. It's just what you would expect from Oregon Gov. Hillary Clinton. And what do you intend to do about this if elected? OTC: I'd invade our dangerous and deceitful neighbor to the north. NELS NELSON: [clearly pleased] Yes! Finally a politician with guts! [He stops and considers a second.] NN: You _do_ mean Canada... right? OTC: No. I meant Vancouver, Washington. Where you live. Folks... I'm not even gonna count that as a question. One more. You. [Owen points. To a guy that looks a bit like Owen. Only younger. He's carrying a digital camera, and is dressed in slacks, a striped shirt and a mesh vest to hold photo gear.] MAN: Eddie "Flash" Curtis, freelance photographer. My question, isn't Matilda a dog's name? OTC: [laughing] Jesus, Eddie, you're just trying to get me in trouble. No... no it isn't. It's simply a human name that's been given to a real dog of a woman. Why, I heard she wanted to pose for Suicide Girls dot com, but they said she had too many piercings, too many tattoos in weird places, and just flat out too much ugly. Folks, that's all I have time for, but I do hope you have time to watch your hometown hero wrestle circles around Johnny Pleasence and bring the gold where it already is... home. You see, the Truth hurts, the Truth gives, the Truth takes away, the Truth flatters, the Truth exposes and the Truth never lets up. At the next RCW RAMPAGE, I'm never letting up. I'm going to expose Johnny Pleasence for his lack of talent, hurt his body, give him pains he'll feel in a month, take away his arrogance, and give MYSELF... the RCW title. Thanks for coming. Hope to see you there. [With that he heads out the door and the crowd murmur rises as the press conference breaks up. Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Stay tuned, folks -- Curtis/Pleasance promises to be an extraordinary match. BS: And speaking of extraordinary, how about our next match? DD: Indeed. The first hobo of wrestling, Liam Cassidy, is set to face submission specialist "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing in a Last Man Standing match momentarily. These two men have had their problems, with Lansing picking up a victory over Cassidy two weeks ago. Can Cassidy avenge that defeat tonight? Let's get up to Sy Simmons in the ring to find out. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / LAST MAN STANDING MATCH: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing [Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring, match official Jim Bright standing in one corner.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a Last Man Standing match! [Big pop!] SS: Introducing first... ["Miss You" by Mirwals kicks in over the PA, to a good pop from the crowd.] SS: ...hailing from Hackensack, New Jersey, and weighing in at 237lbs... "THE JEEEEEEEEEERRRSEY DRRIIIIIIIIFFFTER" LIIIIIIIIAAAAAM CAAAAAASSSSSIDDYYYYY! [Cassidy steps out from behind the curtain and into the aisle, wearing as usual his scruffy jeans, white wifebeater, and trademark fedora.] DD: And here comes the first hobo of wrestling, Liam Cassidy. BS: Look at him tonight, Don -- he doesn't seem as happy-go-lucky as usual. DD: You're right, Billy. He looks very serious indeed as he heads down the aisle tonight. [Cassidy slaps the hands of a few fans as he makes his way down the aisle. As usual, he stops at the foot of the aisle and begins making a little pile of his possessions, removing his fedora and putting it, brim up, on the arena floor, before starting to fill it with items from his pockets... some loose change... a Pez dispenser... a half-eaten apple...] DD: So, folks, while Cassidy performs his little ritual, let's review the rules of a Last Man Standing match. The contest will continue until one of the two men cannot answer the referee's ten count. There are no pinfalls, no disqualifications, no count-outs -- you simply have to knock your opponent out for the count of ten. BS: And you'd have to say that these stipulations favour Cassidy a lot more than they favour Lansing, Don. DD: Absolutely. This is only Cassidy's third ever wrestling match: he has hitherto eked out his living as a bareknuckle boxer. Knocking people out is what he has always done. BS: Whereas Lansing is a thoroughbred, a college-educated athlete with a chip on his shoulder about always being the smaller man. DD: Lansing may be short of stature, but he's long on talent, that's for sure. [Cassidy removes his wifebeater, revealing a dirty-looking vest, and folds it carefully, placing it next to the fedora. Cassidy pulls one final object out of his pocket and places it in the fedora... then thinks better of it, and picks it up again, slipping it back into his pocket.] DD: What was that, Billy Shakespeare? BS: It looked rather like brass knuckles, Don. DD: That's what I thought. This may be a no disqualification encounter, but we don't want to see knucks used in this match. [Cassidy rolls into the ring and stands facing the aisle, a serious look on his face. Cassidy throws a few shadow jabs in the ring, as "Miss You" fades and Simmons raises the mic again.] SS: And introducing his opponent... ["Revolution... Revolution" by Il Nino kicks in over the PA as the lights in the arena dim.] SS: ...hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 212lbs... "THE UNBRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEEAAKABLLLE" TRRRREEEEEEEEEEVOOR LAAAAAAANSING! [Heel pop as Lansing steps through the curtains at the head of the aisle and strides down towards the ring, as usual wearing his open cotton robe, checking the tape on his wrists.] DD: And here comes Lansing, once again looking like all business as he makes his way down to the ring. [Lansing nears the bottom of the aisle... and Cassidy dives through the ropes onto Lansing to a huge pop from the crowd! Official Jim Bright signals for the bell as Cassidy wails away on Lansing with fist after fist!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Good god, Billy Shakespeare, did Liam Cassidy just perform a plancha from the ring to the outside onto Trevor Lansing?! BS: I'd say it was more of a drunken stage dive, Don, but it was certainly effective! Cassidy is going at Lansing like an animal! [Official Jim Bright quickly leaves the ring and interposes himself between Cassidy and Lansing. Lansing rolls to his feet and throws his robe at Cassidy -- who launches himself back at Lansing with a shouldertackle to the midsection! Both men hit the concrete arena floor hard! Big pop!] DD: This match won't last long if it's conducted out in the aisle! [Cassidy and Lansing both get back to their feet. Lansing blocks a swing from Cassidy, and twists his arm into an armbar, spinning Cassidy around, then hoists him up and drops him in the aisle with an armbar suplex! Big pop!] BS: Smart move by Lansing -- do as much damage to that dangerous right hand of Cassidy here in the early going! [Cassidy picks himself up as Lansing makes his way back down the aisle to the more hospitable climes of the squared circle. But Cassidy is quickly back to his feet and charges Lansing from behind with an ugly sort of clothesline thing, sending Lansing tumbling onto the mats at ringside. Big pop! Cassidy is right after Lansing, mounting him and pulling his head up with his left hand, unloading with punches with his right fist!] DD: Cassidy could have Lansing's lights out here within moments. BS: A wrestling match this certainly is *not*, Don. [Official Jim Bright again intercedes, warning Cassidy about the use of the closed fist, though he's powerless to disqualify him. Cassidy stands, pulls Lansing back to his feet, and rolls him into the ring, before sliding in under the bottom rope himself.] DD: Finally these two men are both in the ring at the same time. BS: I still wouldn't hope to see this turn into a mat classic, Don. [Lansing has somehow rolled to his feet first and stomps away at Cassidy as the "Jersey Drifter" rolls into the ring. Lansing pulls Liam to his feet, and sends him for the ride, hitting him with a dropkick on the return! Heel pop! Cassidy gets back to his feet... and is met by a Northern Lights Suplex from Lansing! Another heel pop! Cassidy again gets back to his feet... to be met by a uranage from Lansing, that plants him firmly back to the mat!] DD: High impact offence from Lansing here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Cassidy's used to taking a beating, but how long can he sustain this? [Bright puts the count on Cassidy as Lansing backs away for a moment... 1... 2... 3... 4... ...Cassidy shows signs of life... 5... 6... 7... ...and Cassidy is back to his knees! Big pop! Lansing charges in, to be met by a blow to the groin from Cassidy! Big pop!] DD: Cheap shot from Cassidy, but it will do the job to slow Lansing down! [Cassidy gets back to his feet and starts bobbing, throwing some shadow jabs in Lansing's direction, waiting for "The Unbreakable" to straighten up... and as he does, Cassidy hits a right jab square to the jaw of Lansing, staggering him! Pop!] DD: This is *not* a boxing match! Jim Bright is not happy about this at all. [As Lansing staggers back towards Cassidy, Cassidy grabs both of Lansing's arms and hits him with repeated headbutts, the crowd counting along, before he releases Lansing, who slumps to the mat. Official Jim Bright makes the count... 1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... ...and Lansing rolls back to his knees! Cassidy continues to dance on his toes, fists raised and ready, as Lansing slowly comes back to his feet.] DD: Cassidy is waiting here, sizing up his opponent. Perhaps he's going for the knockout blow! BS: If you're waiting for Cassidy to use a La Magistral cradle on Lansing, you'll be waiting a long time, Don. [Lansing pulls himself upright once more... and is met by a thunderous right hook square on the jaw that sends him sprawling to the canvas! Huge pop as flashbulbs sparkle around the arena! Cassidy thrusts both his fists skywards!] DD: Oh my. That could be it for Lansing! That punch really connected! BS: Lansing's not moving, Don. We could have the first knock-out in RCW history right here. [Bright's count has already reached six, Lansing still motionless on the canvas, Cassidy walking around the ring drinking in the cheers of the crowd with his taped fists still held aloft! 7... 8... 9...] DD: Lansing still hasn't moved! This is it! [...10! Bright signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * [The crowd erupts as Liam Cassidy's arm is raised by official Jim Bright, who doesn't look happy about the outcome.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the match official has ruled that Trevor Lansing is unable to continue... therefore, here is your winner... "THE JEEEEEEEEEERRRRSSSEEEEEY DRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIFTEEEER" LIIIIIIAAAM CAAAAAAAASSSSSIDDY! [Big pop as Cassidy warmly slaps Bright on the back, a big smile now on his face, and hops out of the ring, stooping to start refilling his pockets with all his possessions at the foot of the aisle. Meanwhile, Bright stoops to tend to Lansing, who is starting to come round.] DD: My goodness, Billy Shakespeare. This one was over in a hurry. BS: Liam Cassidy has shown us that he's tough, and that he packs a mean right hook -- though this may be the only situation in which he can use it to win a match. DD: And you have to feel for Trevor Lansing. Talk about a clash of styles! BS: Lansing didn't deal with the threat of Cassidy well at all, Don. In my opinion, Lansing underestimated Cassidy here tonight after beating him two weeks ago. This match tonight serves as a warning to the rest of the competitors in RCW: underestimate Liam Cassidy at your peril. [Cassidy heads up the aisle, a big smile on his face, slapping the hands of fans on both sides of the aisle. In the ring, Bright has helped Lansing to his feet, and handed him a bottle of water. We cut to a hallway backstage where Orin LeBlanc, known as "The Lynx", can be seen walking along. The crowd's cheers are heard over the soundtrack, as they watch this on the big screen in the arena. As he turns a corner, however, he softly collides with someone whose curves and bumps are known for their suppleness... Rip City Wrestling's resident "cougar", Jodee Burwick, met by a chorus of boos from the distant crowd. LeBlanc steps back from the unexpected encounter and nods at the buxom blonde.] OL: Oops, pardon me, ma'am. [And with that, the big Canadian walks past the former cheerleader as her eyes flash with anger and she turns to follow his departure. Jodee's mouth falls open in shock for a moment before it morphs into a snarl of rage that reveals faint lines at the corners of her eyes that she'd never wish a camera to observe. Her muttered deprecation goes unheard by LeBlanc as he unknowingly walks on, unaware of the offense he has just caused.] JB: Did... did you just call me... "MA'AM"!?! I'm not that old, you... you... [Jodee glares at LeBlanc who can be seen halting in the distance as he confers with a stagehand. From behind her, "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado walks into view with a distracted expression on his face.] ND: C'mon, honey. I gotta find that Spreadbury character and talk to him about my schedule. Why the hell would he book me to face that... [Whirling on her (much) younger boyfriend, Jodee interrupts Dorado's complaining and points an overly manicured finger at the distant figure of Orin LeBlanc.] JB: Nolan, baby. I want you to go beat that ignorant lunk into a bloody pulp!! [Dorado stares down the hallway with a puzzled look.] ND: The overgrown Canuck? I'm already gonna beat him up in the ring in a few minutes. Why the hell would I waste my valuable time with him right now? JB: Because he... [Suddenly, Jodee pauses in mid-sentence as a knowing smirk spoils her manufactured good looks.] JB: ...he just called you a talentless loser for getting caught in a submission hold by a curtain jerker like Carmazzi! Twice!! [Dorado's face darkens in rage.] ND: He said WHAT?!? JB: He was laughing about it, honey. Said that he's going to have it easy in your match and that you couldn't win if your life depended on it! [Dorado growls and takes off down the hallway at full speed towards the oblivious LeBlanc. Without warning, the "Golden Boy" launches himself into a running dropkick that smashes into the much larger Canadian and drives him into the unforgiving concrete wall with a sickening impact. Big heel pop from the distant fans! LeBlanc is stunned and defenseless as Dorado jumps up and kicks him in the stomach, doubling "The Lynx" over. Grabbing his head in a front facelock, Dorado then drops to his seat using a snap DDT to force the top of LeBlanc's skull into a punishing collision with the floor. Caught off guard and pummeled into a daze, LeBlanc slumps on the ground as Dorado bares his teeth and stands over his semi-conscious victim.] ND: CALL ME A LOSER, WILL YA?!? I'M GONNA BEAT YOUR SORRY ASS ALL AROUND THE RING, YOU *BLEEP*!! [Into this scene of startling violence walks the smiling Jodee Burwick who stares down at the stirring form of Orin LeBlanc with a look of triumph on her face.] JB: That's it, baby. You don't have to take any garbage from a putz like him! [Delivering a final, vicious kick into LeBlanc's ribcage, Dorado storms off as Jodee giggles. Before she turns to follow in his wake, the former cheerleader bends down and whispers in a malevolent tone.] JB: Call *ME* "ma'am", will you?!? [As the peroxide blonde departs, the camera focuses on LeBlanc, who pushes himself up to his hands and knees with a look of pain and fury on his face. A trickle of blood can be seen dripping down the side of his face, which the Canadian wipes away, wincing and grimacing as he takes note of his blood now on his fingertips. And the Lynx's eyes narrow darkly.] OL: I do believe someone's fixin' to try an' start somethin'... [He flicks his tongue out, licking a little of the blood off.] OL: ...big mistake, Goldenrod. [The Lynx grunts softly as he finishes pulling himself off the floor, still slightly in pain from the sudden attack, and stalks off. Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: I think the stakes in tonight's match between Orin LeBlanc and Nolan Dorado just got raised, Billy Shakespeare. BS: You're not wrong, Don. DD: Folks, don't forget that before we go off the air tonight we *will* have our very first RCW Champion -- that's going to be an absolute barn-burner. But right now, let's find out just who will be teaming up with Jake Andrews to face Madrock The Irrepressible and Bailey Fitzgerald in the absence of Ryan Faith. Over to you, Sy! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Madrock The Irrepressible & Bailey Fitzgerald /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ vs. Jake Andrews & Vinny Carmazzi [Sy Simmons is in the ring, with head official Juan Morales stood in one corner.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following tag team match is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first... ["Tubthumping" begins to play over the PA, to a pop from the crowd.] SS: ...at a combined weight of 535lbs... the team of MAAAAAAAAADROOOOOOCK THE IRRREEPRESSSSSIBLE and BAAAAIIILLLLEEEY FIIIIIIITZGEEEEEEERALD! [The curtains at the head of the aisle are thrown aside, and the giant Australian Madrock the Irrepressible stomps out into the arena, clapping his hands to get the fans excited, Bailey Fitzgerald coming out in his wake, smiling and slapping the hands of the fans.] DD: Here's an odd couple, Billy Shakespeare. BS: I think Madrock the Irrepressible and *anybody* would be an odd couple, Don. DD: A fair point. This partnership was forged two weeks ago, when Madrock gave Bailey the encouragement he needed to defeat Ryan Faith in a one-on-one match. And, of course, Ryan Faith was supposed to be on the opposing team tonight -- but we have learned that he has been suspended indefinitely by the RCW Board of Directors, so he won't play any part in this match. [Madrock and Fitzgerald reach the ring, Madrock stomping up the ring steps, and Bailey sliding in under the bottom rope. Madrock continues to clap along to his theme song, while Bailey jumps to the second buckle in one corner and pumps his fist for the crowd.] DD: With both these men coming off a victory two weeks ago, their confidence will be high in this match. ["Tubthumping" fades over the PA, to be replaced by "I Stand Alone" by Godsmack. Big pop from the fans!] SS: And introducing their opponents... at a combined weight of 454lbs... the team of JAAAAAAAAKE AAAAAAAANNNNNNNDREEEWWWWWS and VIIIIIINNNNNYY CAAAAAAAAAARMAAAZZZZI! [The spotlights pick out the forms of Vinny Carmazzi and Jake Andrews stepping out into the aisle. Andrews appears very animated, yelling at Carmazzi, who is doing his best to focus on making his way down to the ring.] DD: This doesn't look good, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Vinny Carmazzi volunteered to wrestle tonight because he simply doesn't know what to do with himself if he doesn't -- but he's ended up on the same team as one of his opponents in the first-round Fatal Four-Way match several weeks ago. DD: And these two men couldn't be much more different. Carmazzi, the twelve-year veteran with experience, respect for the business, a work ethic -- and Andrews, a rookie from New York City who lives the party lifestyle. BS: It's certainly not clear how they're going to get on, Don. It looks like Andrews is annoyed at Carmazzi that it's Carmazzi's music they're playing, and not his. [Carmazzi and Andrews make their way down the aisle, Andrews's face showing a very dark mood indeed. Carmazzi rolls into the ring, accepting the cheers of the crowd, with Andrews behind him as "I Stand Alone" fades. Andrews shoves Carmazzi towards their corner -- and Carmazzi, eyebrows raised, puts his palms up and steps out of the ring.] DD: Jake Andrews making it perfectly clear that he'll be the one starting things off here! [Meanwhile, Madrock slaps Bailey heartily on the back, and steps out of the ring himself. Fitzgerald and Andrews circle each other in the middle of the ring as official Morales signals for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * [Andrews and Fitzgerald lock up in the ring, Fitzgerald sending Andrews for the ride, Andrews ducking under a clothesline attempt, bouncing back off the ropes, and hitting a reverse kick on Bailey on the rebound! Heel pop! Fitzgerald bounces right back up and runs at Andrews again, who hits an armdrag! Bailey bounces up again, and runs at Andrews, this time ducking a clothesline attempt, and jumping up on Andrews with a crucifix, bringing Andrews down to the mat with a pinfall attempt! Morales makes the count... 1... ...and Andrews kicks out! Both men get to their feet, and stare at each other across the ring, chests heaving, as the fans applaud.] DD: A fast-paced start to this encounter from these two young guns, Billy Shakespeare! [Andrews and Fitzgerald lock up again, Bailey getting Jake into a side headlock... and Andrews jams a thumb into Fitzgerald's eye to break the hold. Carmazzi shouts at the ref and pantomimes the thumb jab!] DD: Look at that, Billy Shakespeare. Carmazzi informing the ref about an infraction of the rules by his *own* partner! BS: Carmazzi's a stand-up guy, Don. He won't stand for cheating, even if it's by his own partner. [Morales nods to Carmazzi and warns Andrews over the use of the thumb. Andrews points towards Carmazzi and yells, a scowl on his face... and Fitzgerald cinches up Andrews from behind and drops him on his head with a German suplex! Pop!] DD: Fitzgerald taking advantage of Andrews's distraction there! [Fitzgerald pops up and goes over to Madrock to tag in the big man -- Morales signals the tag -- while Andrews marches over to his corner, and slaps Carmazzi right around the face! Big heel pop! And Morales signals for a second tag!] DD: That wasn't a tag, Billy Shakespeare! Jake Andrews just slapped Carmazzi around the face! [Andrews yells his frustration to the official as Carmazzi shrugs off the slap and steps into the ring through the ropes, Morales forcing Andrews out of the ring as Carmazzi squares up with Madrock. Madrock signals for a test of strength, which Carmazzi -- perhaps foolishly -- accepts... and Carmazzi is immediately forced down to his knees. Madrock releases the pressure a bit, allowing Carmazzi to get back to his feet, and then locks in an armbar. Pop as Madrock lands a clubbing blow across Carmazzi's shoulders, dropping him to the mat.] DD: What power from the big Australian here, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Madrock may be a genial giant, but he's not a gentle one, Don. [Carmazzi rolls back to his feet, and Madrock greets him with a ham-sized uppercut, staggering him backwards. Madrock sends him to the ropes, and as Carmazzi comes back off the other side of the ring, hoists him up into a Giant Swing, releasing him and sending him flying across the ring, as flashes sparkle around the arena! Big pop! The camera catches Carmazzi looking wide-eyed at Madrock as he pulls himself back to a sitting position.] DD: I don't think Carmazzi was prepared for this kind of strength from Madrock. BS: It's hard to prepare a counter for a move like that. Carmazzi needs to try and neutralise that power advantage. [On the outside, Fitzgerald calls for the tag, and Madrock -- perhaps keen to build Bailey's confidence -- goes to the corner and makes the tag, Fitzgerald stepping through the ropes and moving to Carmazzi, the two men meeting in the middle of the ring as Madrock acts as a giant, hairy cheerleader on the apron. Andrews, by contrast, leans grumpily on the top turnbuckle, apparently not interested in the match now that he is playing no active part in it.] DD: Fitzgerald and Carmazzi now locking up in the centre of the ring, and this should be a slightly more evenly-matched contest. [Carmazzi encourages Fitzgerald to lock things up, and Fitzgerald again goes for a side headlock. Carmazzi pushes Fitzgerald into the ropes, and Bailey gets caught with a drop toe-hold. Carmazzi rides him amateur style, and then allows him to get up, nodding to Fitzgerald and encouraging him to come on again.] DD: Carmazzi just showing Fitzgerald here that he can control this match very easily. BS: Carmazzi has wrestled thousands of matches over the past twelve years. Fitzgerald has wrestled maybe a few dozen. Bailey should look at this as a learning experience. [Fitzgerald and Carmazzi lock up again, Fitzgerald going for an armbar. Carmazzi reaches around and tosses Bailey to the mat with a throw, and then applies a front headlock on the young man. Fitzgerald throws his legs up and rolls out of the headlock, rolling back to his feet and catching the approaching Carmazzi with a hiptoss, grapevining Carmazzi's arm on the return. Pop from the crowd!] DD: Great catch-as-catch-can wrestling here between these two competitors! BS: Bailey's showing Carmazzi he's already done a fair bit of sitting under the learning tree, too. [Carmazzi uses an elbow to force Fitzgerald to release the hold, and both men stand up. Carmazzi nods appraisingly at Fitzgerald, and the two men approach each other again. Fitzgerald sends Carmazzi to the ropes -- and Andrews, who has apparently been growing bored by all this, hits the blind tag! Morales signals for the tag, but Fitzgerald is unaware of it as Andrews jumps to the top turnbuckle and launches himself at Bailey, hitting him with a missile dropkick from the top buckle! Heel pop!] DD: Andrews apparently doesn't care much for the wrestling clinic being put on by these two, Billy! BS: And Carmazzi's not happy -- look at him shaking his head as he takes his spot back on the apron. [Andrews starts taking Fitzgerald apart, dragging him back to his feet and hitting him with punches and kicks, much to the dismay of Madrock on the outside, who shouts more or less incomprehensible encouragement to his proteg? on the inside. Andrews sends Fitzgerald into the ropes, and hits him with a spear on the return! Heel pop! Andrews goes for the pin... 1... 2... ...and Bailey gets a shoulder up! Pop from the crowd! Andrews pulls Fitzgerald back to his feet, sends him for the ride again, and this time hits a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker on the young man! Heel pop! Andrews doesn't go for the cover, instead pulling Bailey back up to his feet, and cinching him in... hoisting him up...] DD: TIGER DRIVER! Andrews with the Tiger Driver on Fitzgerald, and this young man needs to make the tag sooner than later! [Andrews picks Fitzgerald up again and sends him to the ropes -- this time Bailey ducks under the clothesline attempt, and launches himself at Madrock in the corner, making the tag! Morales claps his hands to signal the tag, and in comes Madrock like a house afire! Big pop as Madrock fells Andrews with one clothesline... then another... and then as Andrews pops up for the third time -- Andrews drops to his knees and brings a fist up right into Madrock's tender region! Big heel pop!] DD: Low blow! Low blow from Andrews on Madrock! And Carmazzi is beside himself! [Indeed, as Madrock is doubled over, Carmazzi storms into the ring, grabs Andrews, and sends him for the ride... hitting him with a devastating leg lariat on the return! Big pop!] BS: Trouble in paradise! DD: Good God! Carmazzi nearly took Andrews's head clean off with that leg lariat! [Carmazzi accepts the telling-off he receives from Morales, and rolls from the ring as Madrock moves to pick up the stunned Andrews. Madrock sends Andrews for the ride, and then, with a roar, tosses him up and over for a backdrop -- but hangs onto Andrews legs, and jumps up, driving Andrews down behind him with a back-to-belly piledriver! Huge shocked pop from the crowd!] DD: COMING DOWN ABBOTT'S PEAK! Madrock hits his patented piledriver! BS: That's got to be it for Andrews. [Madrock leans back and drapes an arm over Andrews, not even bothering to hook his opponent's legs. Morales drops for the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He got him! Jake Andrews was turned on by his own partner, who disapproved of his rule-breaking, and ended up paying the ultimate price! [As Bailey jumps into the ring to congratulate Madrock, Morales raises the big Australian's arm in victory.] SS: Here are your winners, by pinfall... BAAAAILEY FIIIITZGEERAAALD and MAAAAADROOOOOCK THE IRRREEPRRREEESSIBLEEEE! [Pop as "Tubthumping" once again kicks in over the PA. Carmazzi, standing by ringside, rolls his eyes and applauds the victorious team, before making his way back up the aisle.] DD: Well, Carmazzi came out on the losing side here tonight -- but he stuck to his principles. BS: Vinny Carmazzi has never taken a shortcut in his whole career, Don, and he wasn't about to start here tonight. [Morales checks on Andrews in the ring as Madrock and Bailey exit the ring and start to head back up the aisle.] DD: I understand there's a disturbance backstage, folks -- let's go back there now. [We cut to the back, where the victorious Liam Cassidy is wandering around the halls. He seems to have found himself a victory bottle of Jack Daniels and takes a swig of it as he walks.] LC: Where's he at? [The Jersey Drifter pokes his head inside a locker room.] LC: Bondie? You in here? [A woman screams. Cassidy smirks.] LC: Sorry, ma'am. [He quickly shuts the door. He takes a swig of his drink and then thinks for a moment. He turns back and pokes his head in the door to get another peek. We here the same shriek.] LC: Sorry again. [He shuts the door and continues looking around.] LC: Jamie boy?!? Where you at? [Walking past a group of RCW officials, including the President, Daniel Spreadbury, The Jersey Drifter makes no attempt to hide the open bottle of Jack Daniels he's drinking.] LC: Hey, boss. DS: Liam. [The President actually has an impressed look on his face. He reaches out and offers his hand to the hobo turned boxer turned wrestler.] DS: Just wanted to say, nice work out there tonight. LC: No problem, bossman. You just set 'em up, and I'll keep knockin' 'em down. [Cassidy raises his fist and smirks, giving it a quick fist.] LC: Now where's that lil' runt at? [Cassidy leaves, continuing on his quest for his friend. He turns the corner and comes across the young intern, Jamie Bond. Jamie is preparing for an interview with another RCW superstar.] LC: Hey, lad! [The intern looks up at Cassidy like a deer stares at an oncoming car.] LC: Been lookin' all over for you. Let's say you and me get out of here and head on over to the Riverside Corall again. Bella said she was lookin' forward to seeing you again. [Cassidy sports an all-knowing, dirty smirk. Bond's eyes widen in holy terror.] JB: Oh God... Not again! NOT AGAIN!!! [The intern drops his mic and bolts for the door.] LC: Atta boy, Jamie. Get the car started... [Another *huge* swig of Jack Daniels... and a goofy looking grin.] LC: It's gonna be a long night. [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at the announce position, both men wearing their headsets as fans behind them in the front rows of the floor section waving at the camera and holding up signs.] BS: I wonder what Cassidy will spend tonight's winning purse on, Don? DD: I'm sure I have no idea, Billy Shakespeare. Folks, we are less than one hour away from crowning our very first RCW Champion. Let's see how one of the two men who have earned the right to compete for the belt, the Big Bad himself, Johnny Pleasence, booked his spot in tonight's final. [Cut to footage captioned "RCW RAMPAGE - 9 March 2006", with Ditka providing the voice-over... Johnny Pleasence using a steel chair to subdue Ryan Faith and Nickolai Trevianski... Matilda handcuffing Faith and Trevianski to each other around one of the ropes... Pleasence hitting Bailey Fitzgerald with the Johnny Spike and picking up the pinfall...] DD: Pleasence defeated Nickolai Trevianski, Bailey Fitzgerald and Ryan Faith in his first-round Fatal Four-Way match -- thanks in no small part to the intervention of his main squeeze, the frankly unhinged Matilda Agutter, who handcuffed two of his opponents together, allowing Pleasence to pick up the win over Bailey Fitzgerald. [Now cut to footage captioned "RCW RAMPAGE - 23 March 2006"... Johnny Pleasence is sent flying from the ring by Paul Driscoll, receiving a hard landing on the steel barriers at ringside... Pleasence hits Driscoll with a DDT... Driscoll backing Pleasence into the corner with a flurry of forearms and punches... Pleasence drops the Pleasantries from England elbowdrop on Driscoll, then stubs out his cigarette on Driscoll's chest!... Driscoll lands a shot to Pleasence's face that breaks his nose, causing blood to stream out of it... Pleasence uses a steel chair on Driscoll's left leg, repeatedly hitting it and hitting it and hitting it... Driscoll goes for a spinebuster, but his leg gives way... Pleasence hits two Johnny Spikes in a row to pick up the pinfall victory over Driscoll...] DD: And in his second-round singles match, Pleasence bested second-generation Texan "Pistol" Paul Driscoll -- but as in the first round, Pleasence's win was cheap. BS: Pleasence used a steel chair to soften up Driscoll's leg, yes -- but in the end, it was two Johnny Spikes that put Driscoll down for the count. DD: Pleasence is a despicable human being, Billy Shakespeare. RCW deserves a better champion -- a better *man* -- to be the first recipient of the belt. [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Earlier tonight, Pleasence had some words for our cameras. Let's hear from him now. [We cut to a shot of Johnny Pleasence standing in front of a RCW backdrop, dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black Doc Martens. He's busy smoking away, and just nods at the camera before he speaks...] JP: Notice how I'm not wearing my usual ring gear... ducks is off doing God knows what, which just leaves you and I, children -- face to face. [Pleasence stubs out his cigarette and lights up another one.] JP: This is not a match tonight... this is going to be a fight. A battle to save this godforsaken place... in one corner, you have me -- the Big Bad, the Savior of All Things, the Lord of Darkness, He Who Will Not Be Denied -- and in the other corner we have... [Pleasence just looks at the ground.] JP: _A writer_. A man that lives exclusively in his own head. He admitted just as much himself, Curtis did... his intentions aren't for this place, but just to craft some sort of story... which, as we all know, is a load of bollocks. All this talk about what Oregon was to this sport doesn't make a bit of difference... this is _not_ the IIWF, no one gives a damn about what happened before, mate. The only thing we care about is the here and now. Blood. Sweat. Glory... and in your case? Failure. [Pleasence studies the cherry of his cigarette as he continues.] JP: Facin' people like you tends to get me to be a bit introspective... I start thinkin' about why I got into this sport besides the fact that I like to kick the squids outta people... and when it comes down to it, the thing that gets me comin' back time and time again is that in the end... there's honor involved. Two men puttin' everything to the side just to see who's better than who... the rational side of me digs that... But, when facing folks like you, Curtis... that's when the Big Bad comes out to play... and it ain't gonna be pretty. You've done nothin' of value in this sport when it comes down to it, mate -- all the self-penned editorials in the world ain't gonna change that fact neither. The men you've beat in the ring? Not even footnotes in the history of this industry. Your frat buddies? Feed them enough beers and they won't give a damn about you... hell, Rip City can't even stand you, but you're too stupid to realize that fact. Which means that it's up to me to prove it to you. [Pleasence takes another drag off his cigarette.] JP: You're _nothing_, Curtis... which means that in the grand scheme of things, it's gonna be an _honor_ to rip you to shreds in that ring. Everything you thought you knew about me? You've got no soddin' idea of what I'm capable of... you got no clue as to how far I'm willin' to go to end you, and when it happens... _I will enjoy it_. [Pleasence smiles.] JP: This is how the "story" is gonna end, mate -- you're never touching the soddin' World Title. It's mine. All mine... and if you try to deny me my God-given right? I'll rip out your bloody heart with a smile on my face and a song in my heart. [And with that, we cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside. Ditka shakes his head.] DD: Hoo, boy. That's our main event here on RAMPAGE, folks. Don't you move one muscle. Now, earlier tonight, RCW's resident Canadian, Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc made the faux pas of addressing Nolan Dorado's valet, Jodee Burwick, as "ma'am." BS: One good turn deserves another, Don, as well we know. Nolan Dorado blindsided LeBlanc backstage -- and LeBlanc promised to return the favour on the "Golden Boy" in their match tonight. DD: With Dorado still bent out of shape over two losses at the hands of Vinny Carmazzi, will he be able to channel his anger in the right direction tonight? He'll have to be on top of his game to defeat the in-form Lynx, who was very impressive two weeks ago. Let's get up to the ring to our announcer, Sy Simmons. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado [Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring, official Pat Nickrick behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... [The hip hop rhythm of Jurassic 5's "What's Golden?" begins thumping over the loudspeakers as a shower of golden sparks cascades down over the entrance. Through the 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 hot pants outfit.] SS: Accompanied to the ring by Jodee Burwick, hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 236lbs... "GOOOOOOOOLDEN BOOOY" NOOOOOLLLAAAAAAN DORAAAAAAAAAADO! [Heel pop for Dorado as he flashes a smile at the nearest camera -- and then suddenly he is knocked flying by a figure storming through the sparks behind him, Burwick shrieking and leaping out of the way!] DD: What the hell...?! Is that Orin LeBlanc?! It is! LeBlanc has jumped Dorado in the aisle! BS: After their altercation backstage earlier tonight, I'm not too surprised: LeBlanc has a very fiery temper, and never more so than when he sees his own blood. [Indeed, LeBlanc is doing a number on Dorado in the aisle, pulling Dorado's golden robe over his head to disorientate him, and hitting him repeatedly in the head with punches. Official Pat Nickrick jogs up the aisle to try and separate the men, but to no avail. LeBlanc tosses Dorado into the steel barriers that separate the fans from the aisle, fans behind the barrier scattering as the growling Canadian prowls after the felled Dorado, who struggles to divest himself of his robe.] DD: LeBlanc is fired up like I've never seen him, Billy Shakespeare! BS: And this crowd seems to be loving it! [Dorado staggers to his feet, his wraparound shades still wonkily on his face. With a grin, LeBlanc pulls them away from his face, allowing the elastic to snap them back onto Dorado's face, drawing a pop from the crowd. Burwick steps in to stop LeBlanc trying to attack Dorado, weakly clawing at his back.] DD: Jodee Burwick appears to be more concerned about breaking a nail than truly helping her charge here, Billy Shakespeare. [LeBlanc turns to face Jodee, who quickly begs off, tottering backwards on her ludicrous heels -- allowing Dorado to charge at LeBlanc from behind, hitting him with a double axe-handle to the shoulders. LeBlanc, bemused, turns around, and the cameras pick up him asking, "Is that it?!", before nearly taking Dorado's head off with a clothesline in the aisle! Big pop!] DD: Good God, the power of the Lynx is downright scary at times! [LeBlanc picks Dorado up again, and starts forcing him down the aisle towards the ring, peppering him with the odd punch for good measure. Dorado begs off, but LeBlanc keeps right on top of him, ensuring that the "Golden Boy" can't escape. As the two men near the foot of the aisle, LeBlanc whips Dorado into the ring apron, Dorado hitting his back painfully on the apron. As he arches his back in pain, LeBlanc is right on top of him again, now whipping him... right into the steel ringpost! Big pop as Dorado topples like a tree that's been felled.] DD: LeBlanc picking Dorado up again -- and blasting him into that ringpost a second time! This is getting ugly in a real hurry, Billy Shakespeare! BS: It certainly is, Don -- and Dorado looks to be busted open from that shot! [The camera shows that the groggy Dorado is indeed bleeding from a wound on his forehead, somewhat matching the wound on LeBlanc's own forehead inflicted by Dorado earlier in the evening. LeBlanc yet again drags Dorado back to his feet and finally, finally... rolls him into the ring. Burwick approaches gingerly as LeBlanc rolls into the ring himself, official Pat Nickrick signalling for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Well, this match is now officially underway -- but I suspect it may not last very long. Dorado is in bad, bad shape. BS: Dorado's head wasn't in this match right from the outset -- he's still bent out of shape about losing to Vinny Carmazzi two weeks ago. DD: It looks like he'll be able to go back to thinking about Carmazzi pretty shortly, because LeBlanc is going to make short work of him here. [LeBlanc whips Dorado into the ropes, the "Golden Boy" getting caught in a fireman's carry on the return... and then cameras flash all around the arena as the crowd rises to its feet with a big pop!] DD: DEATH VALLEY DRIVER! LeBlanc with the DVD on Dorado! BS: That could be it right there! [LeBlanc makes the cover, and Nickrick drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...NO! Dorado kicks out!] DD: My goodness, Nolan Dorado kicked out! Dorado kicked out! [On the outside, Burwick claps her hands in glee as LeBlanc shakes his head in frustration. LeBlanc brings Dorado back to his feet and throws one of Dorado's arms over his shoulder, hooking one of his legs...] BS: The Lynx is going for a Fisherman's Suplex here, and... DD: Low blow! Dorado with the low blow! [Indeed, Dorado doubles LeBlanc over with a low blow outside of Nickrick's field of vision, and rolls the Lynx up with a schoolboy... 1... 2... ...and LeBlanc kicks out! Relieved pop from the crowd!] DD: Dorado with the desperation low blow and roll-up there, but LeBlanc able to kick out! [LeBlanc still looks a little winded from the shot to his private parts, but is wise to Dorado trying to roll to the outside, and cuts off the Tacoma native. Big pop as Dorado begs off, blood dripping down his face. But LeBlanc shows no mercy, *blasting* the "Golden Boy" with a clothesline that takes him down to the mat hard!] DD: What impact from LeBlanc! Dorado's on borrowed time in this encounter! [LeBlanc drops to the canvas and puts his feet on Dorado's legs and grabs both of Dorado's wrists, locking him up into an inverted surfboard and applying an inverted facelock! Big pop!] DD: That looks *incredibly* painful, Billy Shakespeare! BS: He calls that the Missing Lynx. [Indeed, Dorado yells out in pain as his body is stretched in all kinds of improbable directions. Nickrick checks on Dorado, who refuses to submit. After twenty or so seconds of this, LeBlanc releases the hold, Dorado crumpling to the mat in a heap. The big Canadian stays right on top of him, sending Dorado into the ropes with Irish whip, and catching him on the rebound, lifting him up...] DD: TILT-A-WHIRL BACK.... No! Dorado grabs LeBlanc's head... TORNADO DDT! [Big heel pop as LeBlanc finds himself planted to the mat by a Tornado DDT from Dorado! Both men are laid out on the canvas as Nickrick puts the count on both men... 1... 2... 3... 4...] DD: Dorado may have bought himself some time here, but one move does not momentum make... BS: True, Don, but look at Dorado now -- he's going to the outside! [Indeed, Dorado has broken Nickrick's count and groggily climbs to the top turnbuckle, cameras flashing all around the arena as the "Golden Boy" balances there, waiting for LeBlanc to come to his feet...] DD: This is a very high-risk strategy from Dorado -- he's up there waiting, and... BS: Missile dropkick connects! [Dorado takes LeBlanc back down to the mat with a sweetly-hit missile dropkick, immediately rolling onto the Canadian to make the cover... 1... 2... ...and LeBlanc kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Beautifully executed from Dorado, but not enough to put the Canadian away! BS: Dorado's back up again, and once again he's going to the buckles. This kid reminds me of me early in my career, Don -- always going for the big moves, even when something more basic would do just as well. [Dorado approaches the corner, jumps cat-like to the top buckle, and bounces back with a split-legged moonsault, again hitting LeBlanc squarely! Heel pop! Dorado *again* makes the cover... 1... 2... ...Big pop!] DD: No! LeBlanc gets a shoulder up! LeBlanc kicks out again! BS: So far this high-risk strategy is paying off for Dorado, but his luck could run out at any time! [Dorado, frustrated, pulls LeBlanc back to his feet, and sends the Canadian to the ropes with an Irish whip, jumping up with an attempted hurricanrana... but LeBlanc is too strong for Dorado, and drops him with a sit-out powerbomb! Big pop!] DD: That could be it! Powerbomb from LeBlanc! BS: As usual, Dorado went to the well once too often, and now he may pay for it. [Dorado groggily gets back to his feet, his back to LeBlanc... and then finds himself wrapped up in a half-nelson, then his other arm wrapped across his face by the Lynx...] DD: BEAST'S BURDEN!! BEAST'S BURDEN!! [Huge pop as LeBlanc throws Dorado with his patended cobra clutch suplex, Dorado hitting the canvas *hard*! LeBlanc drops to make the count... for one, two, three, four...!] DD: Where the heck is the referee?! BS: He's, uh, a little *preoccupied* at the moment, Don! [While LeBlanc still has Dorado's leg hooked, waiting for the count to be made, we see that Jodee Burwick is up on the apron and has grabbed Nickrick in a hug, trapping his face in her ample cleavage!] DD: Good grief. BS: Don't pretend you wouldn't give your right arm to be Pat Nickrick right now, Don. DD: This is ridiculous -- Burwick is preventing LeBlanc from picking up a deserved victory here... and here comes the Lynx! [As LeBlanc works out what's going on, he gets to his feet and stalks over to the side of the ring where Burwick stands. Seeing him coming, she shrieks and releases Nickrick, and goes to jump down from the apron -- but LeBlanc grabs her before she can, and there is a pregnant pause as Burwick looks up into the Canadian's eyes, fearful of what he may do...] DD: Would LeBlanc hit a woman?! BS: It has been known, Don! [But LeBlanc doesn't strike Burwick -- instead, he plants a big kiss on her lips, drawing a huge pop and wolf-whistles from the crowd!] DD: Greco-Roman lip lock on Burwick! BS: Don't call that like it's a real hold, Don. [LeBlanc releases Burwick, who has a dumbfounded and... pleased?... look on her face. She drops down to the floor from the apron as LeBlanc turns back to his opponent behind him... only to see that he is no longer there! The crowd jeers as LeBlanc turns again, to find that Dorado has rolled out of the ring and is staggering up the aisle! Nickrick puts him under the count!] DD: It looks like Dorado is happy to take a count-out loss here rather than mix it up with LeBlanc any more tonight! [Nickrick's count reaches 10, and he calls for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big pop from the crowd as Nickrick raises LeBlanc's arm in victory!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by countout... OOOOOOOORRRIN "THE LYYYYYYYYYYNX" LEBLAAAAAAAAAANNC! [Dorado beckons for Burwick to catch up to him, and the camera shows her shooting some admiring glances back at LeBlanc.] DD: Jodee Burwick didn't seem to mind that kiss too much, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Once you've gone Canuck, you never go back... or so they say. DD: They say that?! Folks, we'll be right back after these messages. [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back up to the locker room in the Rose Garden, where Paul Driscoll sits on a steel folding chair and relaxes. We hear the distant mixed pop of the crowd in the main arena, who are watching this as we are on the big screen. Already dressed to wrestle, Driscoll's head is tilted back, his arms are crossed and soft growl of serenity escapes from him until...] VC: Hey. [...he is snapped out of his pseudo-trance by a recently-showered Vinny Carmazzi, fresh from his own match earlier tonight. He's standing by the door with his arms folded across a solid black t-shirt. He glares at Driscoll from under his black bandana.] PD: Yeah, waddya want? VC: You did well in the tournament. But now you're out and time to settle things between us. [Driscoll doesn't move from his seat, just looking up at Carmazzi and staring through him.] PD: An' jus' what have you got in mind, Vin? VC: I made Dorado tap two weeks ago on Rampage. The only unfinished business I have from that four-way is you. PD: An' you wanna finish it. [Carmazzi nods, arms crossed.] VC: So tonight you're either a possible #1 contender or out of the title picture completely. Fact is, you never got past me. If you beat Coleman, how about you put your shot on the line against me. Prove who's the better man. And who should be the first to challenge the champ. [Carmazzi takes a short pause.] VC: Or even if you don't beat Coleman, we step in the ring next Rampage and finish this. [The Texan rises out of his seat and kicks it away, then takes off his vest and throws it across a nearby bench.] PD: There's nothin' to finish, Carmazzi. You can't handle that I beat ya to the punch in that four way a few weeks back... that's not my problem. Since I last seen ya, ya grew up a lot, kid. Ya went from enhancement talent... to jus' plain talent. Good fer you. [Driscoll scowls at Carmazzi.] PD: In some bass ackwards way, I'm proud o' ya... but that don't mean I like ya. I seen ya last week watchin' the match, ya show up on my door step this week... I wasn't born yesterday Carmazzi, it ain't a match yer after. So what is it? What's yer problem? [Vinny glares right into the eyes of Driscoll.] VC: You think you're better. I think you need to tap out. PD: I think you need to remember who yer dealin' with 'fore yer head gets too big to fit in the door. VC: Don't care if you like me. Don't care if you respect me. Don't care if you're proud of me. All I'm after is a result. I beat you in the center of the ring. Or give my all and come up short. No questions left. Started in Florida but continued in Portland. This thing ends next Rampage. PD: Then make it happen, ya got my 'pproval. You better check yer tone though, Carmazzi, or ya might get a one-way ticket back down memory lane to the Sunshine State. An' I won't wait till next week, I'll bounce ya 'round this locker room like a pinball. VC: We're a long ways from Florida. You'll see that in two weeks. PD: The only thing you'll be seein' is the lights, jus' like old times. You can fool some o' the people some o' the time, but you can't never fool me. Ya came along way, that's true... but if ya ever dreamed o' bein' on my level you'd have to 'pologize to me when ya woke up. [With that, Driscoll turns around and picks up his vest.] PD: Now get the hell out. [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside, both men wearing their headsets and the fans in the section behind them waving signs -- "COLD HARD TRUTH", "GO HOME MADROCK", "THROW ME A SHIRT" -- as they address the camera.] DD: Folks, Paul Driscoll will be in action in just a moment. Later on tonight we're going to see our first ever RCW Champion crowned. We've already seen how the Big Bad, Johnny Pleasence, booked his place in tonight's tournament final -- now let's see how his opponent, Oregon's own Owen "Truth" Curtis, got one hand on the brass ring. [Cut to footage captioned "RCW RAMPAGE - 9 March 2006", as we hear Ditka's voice-over... Madrock The Irrepressible throwing Trevor Lansing at Curtis, who catches him... Curtis chopping Lansing into the corner... Curtis hitting a groggy Liam Cassidy with the Front Page Mugshot for the pinfall victory...] DD: Curtis advanced from the first-round Fatal Four-Way, leaving Madrock the Irrepressible, "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing, and "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy in his wake. [Cut to footage captioned "RCW RAMPAGE - 23 March 2006"... Curtis emerges from under the ring and attacks Mark Coleman before the bell... Curtis targets Coleman's knee, hitting it with kicks and chop blocks... Coleman goes for a vertical suplex on Curtis, but his knee gives way... Curtis eventually hits the Front Page Mugshot for the pinfall... Curtis celebrates with his drunken frat boy fans in the front rows...] DD: And two weeks ago, Curtis defeated Tennessee rookie Mark Coleman after a hard-fought match-up to advance to tonight's final. [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare.] DD: That match is coming up later on tonight -- don't miss a second of the action as RCW crowns its first ever champion. BS: But ahead of that match, the man Curtis defeated last week is going to be facing the man Pleasence defeated last week. DD: That's right, Billy. Last week on our magazine show, On The Wire, RCW President Daniel Spreadbury announced that the match between "Pistol" Paul Driscoll and Mark Coleman -- the two second round losers -- would help to establish the #1 contender for the new champion, with the winner of this match going on to face the *loser* of tonight's championship match in two weeks' time. And the winner of *that* match will be the #1 contender! BS: I hope you were following along at home, fans. DD: The main thing is: both Driscoll and Coleman will want to get back to winning ways here tonight -- but only one of them will come out of this match victorious and take a step back towards the RCW Championship. Let's get up to the ring! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "Pistol" Paul Driscoll vs. Mark Coleman /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Ring announcer Sy Simmons once again brings the microphone to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall! [Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road" kicks in over the PA, to a big pop from the fans!] SS: Introducing first... [The curtains at the head of the aisle are thrown aside as the burly form of Mark Coleman, dressed as ever in his grey wresling trunks, steps out into the arena, thrusting both arms above his head. Coleman, as ever, has a big smile upon his face.] SS: ...hailing from Memphis, Tennessee, and weighing in at 251lbs... MAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRK COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOLLEMAAAAAAAN! [Coleman makes his way down the aisle, slapping the hands on either side of the railings, and as usual looks to be pumped up and energised on his way to the ring.] DD: Mark Coleman, as ever, looks happy to be here! BS: And why not, Don? After the disappointment of two weeks ago, Coleman has a great chance to put himself right back in the championship picture with a win over Paul Driscoll here tonight. [Coleman jogs the remainder of the way down to the ring and slides in under the bottom rope, immediately bounding to one corner and jumping up onto the buckles to take the cheers of the fans! Big pop!] DD: This young man turned 21 just two weeks ago. What a tremendous career is ahead of this rookie! [Coleman bounces down to the canvas as "Copperhead Road" fades out.] SS: And introducing his opponent... ["Walk All Over You" by AC/DC kicks in over the PA, to a decidedly mixed reaction from the crowd.] SS: ...hailing from Odessa, Texas, and weighing in at 263lbs... "PIIIIISTOL" PAAAAAAAUUUUUUUL DRRRRRRRRRRRISCOLL! [Driscoll steps out into the aisle, wearing black trunks, black kneepads, and black boots, his brown wavy hair slicked back, wet with the water of a recent shower. Driscoll doesn't show much in the way of emotion as he makes his way down towards the ring.] DD: And here comes the second-generation Texan, Paul Driscoll. But he doesn't look too thrilled to be here tonight. BS: He looks like he's feeling a bit sorry for himself, Don, following that loss to Johnny Pleasence two weeks ago. A man like Driscoll lives for the recognition of his peers -- not to mention in his case, the recognition of his family -- and there's no greater recognition than being a champion. DD: You may well be right, Billy Shakespeare -- but Driscoll should remember that he's still potentially just two matches away from a shot at whoever walks out of tonight's main event with the RCW Championship belt. What better motivation could he need? [Driscoll walks down to the ring and leadenly climbs the ringsteps, then steps into the ring through the ropes. Match official Jim Bright signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell and start the match.] * DING! DING! DING! * [Coleman is still bouncing on the spot, apparently overflowing with energy, while the man across the ring from him is decidedly more stoical. Coleman and Driscoll lock up in the centre of the ring, Coleman easily sliding Driscoll into a side headlock and then pushing him towards the ropes, Driscoll coming back and getting hit by a clothesline! Pop! Driscoll comes back to his feet and is met by an armdrag, which takes him back to the mat. Pop! Driscoll rises again, only to be met this time by a brace of forearm uppercuts, staggering him. Coleman sends him to the ropes, and...] DD: Big backdrop from the rookie! BS: Driscoll's head really doesn't seem to be in this match, Don. This is Wrestling 101, and Driscoll wouldn't even get a pass on this form. [Coleman waits for Driscoll to rise again, then once more hits his opponent with a forearm uppercut, to slow him down. Driscoll is staggered... and then felled by a standing shoulderblock from Coleman! Big pop! Driscoll pops up again.] BS: Driscoll's head may not be in this match, but notice how he doesn't stay on the mat long. He's got good wrestling blood and even when he's not 100 per cent, he knows that he can't get beaten while he's on his feet. DD: Great point, Billy Shakespeare. And Coleman looks almost bewildered that he's meeting absolutely no resistance from the Texan out here tonight. [Coleman sends Driscoll to the ropes again, and this time meets his opponent with a spinning sidewalk slam! Big pop! Coleman makes the cover... 1... 2... ...and Driscoll kicks out! Mixed pop from the crowd!] DD: Driscoll's still alive in this thing! [Coleman stomps on Driscoll's left knee, causing the Texan to grimace. Coleman rolls Driscoll over, and then applies a half Boston crab. Pop from the crowd as Coleman leans back, cinching in with more pressure. Driscoll suddenly pushes himself up on his forerams and lunges for the bottom rope. Official Jim Bright forces Coleman to release the hold. Mixed pop!] DD: A burst of life from Driscoll here! Coleman starting to work on Driscoll's knee, and the Texan was out of that hold in a hurry. [Driscoll gets to his feet as Bright forces Coleman away. Coleman charges at Driscoll... who backdrops Coleman out of the ring over the top rope! Big pop as Coleman lands nimbly on the apron behind Driscoll, then wheels back and drives a shoulder into Driscoll's midsection between the ropes. Then Coleman slingshots himself over the ropes with an impressive sunset flip! Big pop as Coleman has Driscoll's shoulders down on the mat again... 1... 2... ...NO! Driscoll kicks out!] BS: Perhaps Driscoll is still feeling the after-effects of his big night out earlier this week, Don. He really needs to pick up his game here, or Coleman might just turn out to be hungrier than he is! [Coleman brings Driscoll back to his feet and whips him to the ropes, a section of the crowd now chanting "LET'S GO COLE-MAN!", and then brings him down to the mat with a drop-toe hold, before dropping an elbow on the small of Driscoll's back! Big pop! Coleman returns to Driscoll's left knee, lifting it and then *ramming* it into the canvas. Mixed pop from the fans as Driscoll quickly rolls onto his back and catches Coleman with a monkey flip. Big pop as both men pop back to their feet, and meet in the middle of the ring, Coleman swinging with a big right hand and catching Driscoll sweetly on the jaw! The crowd hushes a little as Driscoll takes a step backwards, and brings his hand to his lip. When he takes it away -- he sees the crimson of his own blood.] DD: Coleman has bust Driscoll's lip open with that haymaker! BS: That could be the wake-up call Driscoll needs out here! [Indeed, Driscoll *explodes* at Coleman with a flurry of right and left hands of his own, forcing the Tennesseean to the ropes. Driscoll sends Coleman for the ride, then meets him in the middle of the ring with a big spinebuster! Pop from the fans! Coleman comes back to his feet, only to be sent straight back to the canvas by a lariat from the Texan! Another pop! Coleman comes back to his feet again, a little more slowly now, only to find his arm thrown across Driscoll's shoulder!] DD: Driscoll going for the uranage -- but Coleman powers out! [Coleman lifts a knee into Driscoll's midsection, then sends the Texan into the ropes again. On the way back, Coleman lifts him... and hits a kneebreaker, which he follows up quickly with a clothesline! Big pop from the crowd!] DD: That kneebreaker-clothesline combo is quickly becoming a Coleman trademark! [Driscoll rolls to his feet and goes for a clothesline -- but Coleman sidesteps, grabbing Driscoll's loose arm and applying an armbar, taking him down to the mat and quickly transferring to an anklelock! Big pop as Driscoll again immediately heads for the ropes, causing Bright to step in and force Coleman to release the hold.] BS: Driscoll is very wise not to spend too long in those submission holds. That left knee of his took quite the beating last week from Johnny Pleasence, and he needs to protect it as much as possible tonight. [Driscoll pulls himself back to his feet, and launches himself again at Coleman, hitting him again and again with blows, the ferocity of which catch the rookie off-guard. Driscoll forces Coleman back into the corner, and the Texan continues to unload on Coleman with rights and lefts, rights and lefts, rights and lefts... the crowd is getting hotter and hotter as Driscoll is just relentless in the corner... Finally, Driscoll backs off, and Coleman, dazed and confused, steps out of the corner and then topples face-first to the canvas! Big pop!] DD: What an onslaught from Driscoll! Coleman has awoken the beast within the Texan! [Driscoll rolls his opponent over and goes for the cover... 1... 2... ...NO! Coleman kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Mark Coleman just narrowly kicking out there! The rookie's in trouble! [Driscoll pulls Coleman to his feet, and sends him to the ropes. As he comes back off the ropes, Driscoll again catches him in readiness for a uranage... but again Coleman shrugs it off, hitting Driscoll with a shot to the midsection! Coleman slings Driscoll's arm over his neck, grabs his tights... and hoists him up! Cameras flash all over the arena as Coleman holds Driscoll up, over his head...] DD: My goodness! Look at the strength of Mark Coleman, holding Driscoll up for this vertical suplex! [He holds him... holds him... holds him... but Driscoll wriggles, and as Coleman topples backwards, Driscoll somehow lands on his feet. Mixed pop! Coleman, stunned, pops back up, and is caught once again facing Driscoll and... Big mixed pop!] DD: URANAGE! Driscoll hits it at the third time of asking! [Driscoll makes the cover, and Bright is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * [The crowd is on its feet, cheers and jeers almost evenly split amongst the fans.] DD: He got him! He got him! Driscoll pins Coleman -- and you'd have to say that, on the strength of this match, it's something of an upset! BS: Coleman made a rookie mistake, Don -- showboating for the fans with a display of his strength at a crucial point in the match. [Driscoll rolls to his feet as Bright raises his arm in victory, a mixed reaction raining down on him from the fans.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen... here is your winner... "PIIIIIIIIIIIISTOL" PAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUL DRRRRRRRRRRIIISCOLLLLLLL! [Driscoll wipes the dried blood from his mouth and steps between the ropes, climbing down to the floor and backing away from the ring, looking back at Coleman, who has got back to his feet, holding the back of his head.] DD: So it's Paul Driscoll who will meet the loser of tonight's main event to determine the number one contender to the RCW Championship. And the look on the face of Mark Coleman says it all -- two losses on the bounce, and he will have to wait a little longer for his opportunity to wrestle for the title. BS: Coleman was really impressive in this match, Don, but he needs a little more seasoning before he'll be wise to all of the tricks of veterans like Driscoll. But I see nothing but good things in his future, Don. DD: Absolutely, Billy Shakespeare. Hard luck tonight, but he'll be back, and back better and stronger than before. [The following graphic appears on the screen, accompanied by pictures of each wrestler.] ====================== TALE OF THE TAPE ====================== CURTIS PLEASENCE Eugene, Oregon Hometown London, England 241lbs Weight 236lbs 6'2" Height 6'5" 31 Age 30 Technician Style Brawler Front Page Mugshot * Signature * The Johnny Spike The Obituary * Moves * Manchester Driver ============================================================== [Over the image, we hear Ditka and Shakespeare's voices.] DD: Now, the moment we've all been waiting for: we're about to crown the first ever RCW Champion -- and what a match it promises to be. Pleasence is an 11-year veteran. Curtis is an 11-year veteran. BS: But the career trajectories of these two men couldn't be much more different, Don. DD: Right. Curtis is the nephew of Pacific Coast Wrestling announcer, Eugene Curtis. He was North American Champion in EWA down in California. But his title reign was cut short by a career-threatening knee injury. That was eight years ago -- and despite a successful career in journalism, Curtis was drawn back to the ring. It's in his blood, folks. BS: I do question, though, whether Curtis has that killer instinct, the real will to win at all costs, which Johnny Pleasence has demonstrated on the road to tonight's final. DD: Pleasence keeps his background a secret. But we know he started wrestling in the United Kingdom when he was 19, and that he has spent most of the past ten years travelling around various leagues in the midwest. We also know that he didn't last long in any of those promotions -- because he's arrogant, self-centered, disrespectful... and those are his good qualities! BS: But don't be fooled by that cocky exterior. Pleasence is a fighter -- and I wouldn't bet against him. DD: The time for talking is over, folks. Stay with us here -- we will be on the air until we have crowned our first RCW Champion! Let's get up to Sy Simmons for the introductions. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD Tournament Final: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Owen "Truth" Curtis vs. Johnny Pleasence /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ (Winner is first ever RCW Champion) [Spotlights above the ring swirl as Sy Simmons takes his place in the centre of the mat.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is tonight's main event... and it is the final match on the RCW ROAD TO THE GOLD! [Big pop from the near-capacity crowd!] SS: This contest is scheduled for one fall, and the winner of this match will be crowned the first... ever... Rip City Wrestling... CHAMPION! [Big somebody's-going-to-take-the-title pop!] SS: Introducing first... [The lights dim a bit as the beginning of "Into the Night" by Tommy Iommi & Billy Idol begins to play throughout the venue. Big heel pop!] # 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... # [The lights go back up to full power as the song kicks in, with Johnny Pleasence walking out from the back to a loud chorus of boos.] SS: ...making his way to the ring, accompanied by Matilda Agutter, hailing from London, England and weighing in at 236lbs... he is the Big Bad... he is the Lord of Darkness... he is... JOOOOOOHHHHHNNNY PLEEEAAAAAAAAASSAAANNNNCCE! [The crowd keep up a high volume of jeers as Pleasence and Matilda step out into the aisle, Matilda skipping behind Pleasence like a deranged little girl, Pleasence himself wearing a black t-shirt and black jeans.] DD: And here he comes, Billy Shakespeare... and he's come dressed for a fight, not a wrestling match. [Pleasence still has his trademark smirk on his face as he heads down the aisle, tapping a cigarette out of his ever-present pack of Camel Turkish Gold and lighting it up.] # 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... # 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 remains completely oblivious. Head official Juan Morales immediately begins checking Pleasence's person for foreign objects.] BS: Make sure you check everywhere, ref! Pleasence is devious! DD: You have to wonder what's going through Pleasence's mind right now, Billy Shakespeare. Undoubtedly the biggest match of his career: his mind has got to be going at a thousand miles per hour. BS: You wouldn't guess it from looking at him, Don. [Morales takes Pleasence's cigarette from him and tosses it to the outside, where the timekeeper douses it with a drop of water from a jug on his table. Pleasence merely smirks, and turns to face the aisle as the lights in the arena start swirling green and the drunken frat boys at ringside immediately take up the chant.] 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, to a mixed pop from the crowd.] SS: And his opponent... 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 the 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. Some fans on either side of the aisle reach out, but Curtis is focused on the ring.] DD: Here comes the hometown boy, Owen Curtis. Not the most loveable man, perhaps, Billy Shakespeare, but you have to assume that these fans are going to be on Curtis's side here tonight. BS: You could be right, Don. These fans seem to like Johnny Pleasence about as much as you do. DD: And can you blame them?! [Owen reaches the ring and rolls in. He twirls in a circle, arms spread, his cape flying up. The crowd responds with a decent pop!] # The world is scratching at my door, # My morning paper's got the scores, # The human interest stories, and the obituary, oh yeah [Owen tosses his cape to the corner, drops, and rolls out. He removes his green eyeshade and offers it to Matilda... who accepts it with a sickly-sweet smile -- and then as soon as Curtis turns his back, drops it on the floor and stomps all over it in pantomime fashion. Curtis turns back, and Matilda again gives a sweet smile. Curtis receives a bit of encouragement from his usual section of frat brothers, and then rolls back into the ring as the music fades. Curtis and Pleasence stand across the ring from one another, Curtis's eyes locked onto Pleasence as Morales checks Curtis for any foreign objects.] DD: This is it, folks. This is the match we've been waiting for. This is where one of these two men reaches up and grabs that brass ring. This is the night! This is the moment. Can you feel it? BS: Worthy of the Bard himself, Don! [The crowd start to clap and a chant of "LET'S GO CURTIS!" breaks out. Curtis nods in acknowledgement, but keeps his eyes locked on Pleasence, who stares right back. Morales finally seems satisfied that the two men are fit to face each other... and signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: And we are underway! [Curtis and Pleasence continue to stare each other down at a distance of maybe eight or ten feet... Curtis moves in... and Pleasence rolls straight to the mat and out of the ring! Big heel pop!] BS: Stalling tactics here from Johnny Pleasence! [Pleasence stalks around the ringside area, happening upon Matilda, who is now seated on the bottom ringstep, apparently chewing on Curtis's green visor. Pleasence takes a cigarette from her and lights it up as he continues to stalk around the outside, Morales reluctantly counting him out.] DD: Oh, come on! Get that man back into the ring, and let's have a match here! [Morales's count reaches 7, and Pleasence rolls back into the ring, the cigarette still hanging from his mouth. He signals to Curtis that he's ready to lock up, and Curtis stares right back at him, apparently unfazed.] DD: Owen Curtis is supposed to wrestle a man smoking a cigarette?! Give me a break! [Curtis reaches out with one hand, feeling out Pleasence's extended hand... the two men touch fingers... ...and then Pleasence rolls out of the ring again! Another heel pop, as Curtis breathes deeply, clearly trying to keep his composure.] BS: We'll have to see how effective this tactic of Pleasence's is going to be here, Don. This isn't Curtis's first intermezzo, as I believe the saying goes. DD: If you say so, Billy Shakespeare -- but I would like to go out there and remind Johnny Pleasence that these great fans paid to see a wrestling match, not a man walking around the ringside area smoking a cigarette! [Again, Morales's count reaches 6 before Pleasence deigns to roll back into the ring. He offers his cigarette to Morales, who again takes it from him and tosses it outside to the timekeeper, who again douses it.] DD: Perhaps Pleasence is suitably fortified to actually begin this match now. Give me a break! [Again Pleasence extends one hand to Curtis, Curtis reaching out with outstretched fingers... and finally the two men lock up, collar and elbow in the centre of the ring! Big pop! Curtis quickly gets the better of the first exchange, applying a wristlock on Pleasence, who twists himself free, only to find himself caught in a hammerlock by Curtis. Pleasence again twists himself free, only to be taken down to the mat with an armdrag... Pleasence pops up... another armdrag! He pops up again... Curtis with a hiptoss! Pleasence immediately rolls back out of the ring, and the crowd cheer!] DD: These two men feeling each other out in the early going -- and Pleasence not enjoying the experience! [Pleasence throws his hands down in disgust and starts to make his way back up the aisle, the fans growing absolutely livid!] BS: If Johnny Pleasence gets counted out here, Curtis will win the title! But I know he doesn't want to win it this way -- he wants to pin Pleasence in the middle of the ring! [Pleasence is halfway up the aisle before he stops with his hands on his hips, jawing with the fans on either side of the barriers. In the ring, Morales's count has reached 6, and Curtis intercedes to slow the official's count, giving Pleasence the chance to come back to the ring. Pleasence eventually relents, and strolls back down the aisle, still in no hurry to get back to the ring. He goes to roll back in under the ropes, but Curtis makes a move for him, and Pleasence begs off, yelling to Morales to keep Curtis away from the ropes.] DD: This is unreal, Billy Shakespeare. Pleasence has spent all of twenty seconds in the ring in this match so far. Don't tell me he's *afraid* of Owen Curtis! BS: He's not afraid, Don. He's trying to frustrate him as much as possible, rile him up, get him angry. [After Morales forces Curtis to back away from the ropes, Pleasence pulls himself into the ring under the bottom rope, and gets back to his feet. Curtis makes a move, and again Pleasence yells to Morales to keep him back. Curtis charges in, Morales gets between the two men -- and Pleasence jabs a thumb into Curtis's right eye, above the referee's head! Big heel pop as Curtis staggers backwards, Pleasence shoving Morales out of the way and then *nailing* the Oregonian with a clothesline that takes Curtis down to the mat, Pleasence immediately stomping away on his opponent! Heel pop! And then...] DD: Curtis grabs Pleasence's boot! And takes him down to the canvas with a dragon screw leg whip! [Big pop from the crowd as Curtis keeps hold of Pleasence's leg, grapevining it with his own legs and wrenching on the Brit's ankle. Pleasence immediately grabs the ropes, and Morales forces Curtis to relinquish the hold, Pleasence again rolling to the outside, once more to the jeers of the crowd!] DD: Pleasence knows Curtis has the measure of him, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Perhaps, Don, but I think Pleasence's primary plan is to prevent Curtis from achieving any kind of rhythm. [Once more, Pleasence goes to leave the ringside area, and head up the aisle.] DD: Contrast this man's behaviour with the men who didn't make it to the final in the tournament, men we saw earlier tonight give it their all, men like Paul Driscoll and Mark Coleman. And this man, Johnny Pleasence, won't even stay in the ring. This man is no champion! BS: Not yet, at any rate. [Morales again puts the count on Pleasence, who stands halfway up the aisle, hands on his hips. A fan tosses a beer at Pleasence, narrowly missing him. Pleasence unleashes a volley of abuse in the general direction of the fan in question, then runs his fingers through his hair and starts to head back down to the ring. Pleasence starts to climb into the ring, breaking Morales's count, but again Curtis is too close to the ropes for Pleasence's liking, and he drops back down from the apron, and stalks around the ring.] DD: Pleasence is rounding on Curtis's frat boy fans -- they won't be shy in letting him know how they feel about him! [Indeed, Curtis's fans jeer, make obscene hand gestures, and are generally objectionable as Pleasence approaches them. Pleasence gives a smirk -- and then turns around, like a flash, picking up the top half of the nearby steel ring steps... and *throwing them into the crowd*! Shocked pop from the fans!] DD: Good God! Johnny Pleasence just tossed the steel steps into the crowd! Good God! BS: But wait -- they're coming back! [Though a few of Curtis's fans were knocked for six by the flying steps, several of them now hoist them up... and throw them right back at Pleasence! Big pop as the Big Bad is staggered back to the apron by the steps, which clatter to the floor -- and Curtis now pounces on Pleasence, grabbing him by the hair and dragging him up onto the apron, before tossing him into the ring to a big pop! Curtis immediately applies a front facelock on the felled Pleasence!] DD: Curtis finally has Pleasence in the ring. My goodness, Billy Shakespeare, those steps have got to weigh a hundred pounds! What in hell's name does Pleasence think he's doing, throwing those steps into the crowd? Folks could be seriously injured out there! Morales should disqualify Pleasence here and now! BS: It doesn't look like those fans are too badly hurt, Don -- but I'd have to agree with you that Morales should disqualify Pleasence. DD: I can only think that match official Juan Morales -- himself a decorated champion of lucha libre in his time -- wants to see the RCW Championship contested in a proper match, not awarded on a cheap decision like a disqualification or a count-out. Pleasence now, fighting his way to his feet... [Pleasence has made his way to his feet, Curtis still hanging on to the facelock... and Pleasence tries to send Curtis to the ropes, but the Truth hangs on. Pleasence tries again... but this time Curtis plants Pleasence back to the mat with a bulldog! Big pop! Curtis rides Pleasence amateur-style, and then springs up to the cheers of the crowd as Pleasence picks himself up to one knee, a very dark look indeed on his face.] DD: For all of Pleasence's mind games here, Curtis is showing remarkable focus, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Curtis has his eyes on the prize, Don. [Curtis approaches Pleasence again, and Pleasence strikes quickly with a low blow! Big heel pop! Curtis is bent double, while Pleasence gets to his feet, ignoring the remonstrations of Morales, and then bounces off the opposite ropes, hitting a dropkick on Curtis's left knee, taking the Truth down to the mat hard! The crowd boos as Pleasence drags Curtis by the leg to the ropes, lifting his left leg up onto the bottom rope and kicking it repeatedly, before launching himself into the air with the aid of the top rope and landing with *both feet* on Curtis's knee! Pleasence revels in the jeers of the crowd as Curtis clutches at his left leg.] DD: Pleasence may have just broken Owen Curtis's leg! He may have snapped it in half! BS: That knee is certainly Curtis's Achilles heel, so to speak. You can't blame Pleasence for wanting to take advantage. [Pleasence stomps on Curtis's leg a couple more times for good measure, then flips him onto his belly, and locks on a half Boston crab, Curtis crying out in pain! Curtis reaches for the bottom rope... reaches... reaches...] DD: This crowd is hot for Owen Curtis here! He needs to get to the ropes! [...and Curtis reaches the bottom rope! Morales puts the count on Pleasence, who refuses to break the hold! The crowd jeer... until Morales steps in and physically forces Pleasence to break the hold, drawing a big pop from the fans!] DD: Folks, we are now well over our allotted one-hour slot here on KPDX 49, but I am assured that we will be here until we have a winner -- make sure you stay tuned! [While Morales and Pleasence exchange words in the middle of the ring, Curtis pulls himself to his feet on the ropes... only for Pleasence to charge past the official with an almighty kick that sends Curtis in a backwards flip back to the canvas! Big heel pop! Curtis's left leg dangles over the apron... and Pleasence slingshots himself over the ropes, landing hard on the leg as he comes down on the other side! Big heel pop!] DD: My goodness, Pleasence is really doing a number on that left