[Open on footage captioned "Earlier Today."  The besuited and
bespectacled RCW President Daniel Spreadbury stands before an RCW
backdrop.]

DS: Good evening, everybody.  I have a number of important announcements
to make.  Firstly, concerning Owen "Truth" Curtis's unwarranted attack
on my special guest "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder on last week's RCW
RAMPAGE.  Mr. Curtis was summoned to a disciplinary hearing last Friday
morning in front of the RCW Board of Directors.  He has been suspended
for 28 days and fined an undisclosed sum.  As a result, Mr. Curtis will
be ineligible for in-ring competition until the 18 May edition of RCW
RAMPAGE.  It has also been impressed upon Mr. Curtis that the conduct he
displayed last Thursday night is unbecoming of one of RCW's contracted
wrestlers, and he is officially now on probation.  Thanks to the efforts
of his legal representation, a pre-recorded statement from Mr. Curtis
will be aired tonight on this programme.  Negotiations concerning Mr.
Curtis's other contracted appearances are... ongoing.

[A beat.]

DS: Secondly, the RCW Board of Directors has expressed its concern to me
over the number of wrestlers interfering in each other's matches.  While
we applaud intense competition, we have concerns about fan safety, and
arena security at the Rose Garden has shown itself to be insufficient to
ensure the safe enjoyment of RCW events for fans and other RCW staff. 
Effective from our next live event on 4 May, we have engaged a new
security team, headed by my old friend and colleague, Dennis "Griff"
Griffing.  We are also instituting a new penalty system for talent who
involve themselves in matches in which they are not active participants:
an instant fine of $10,000 on the first infraction, rising to $20,000 on
the second, and $30,000 on the third.  After a third infraction, talent
will face a disciplinary hearing before the RCW Board of Directors.  We
are confident that this will improve the safety and enjoyment of fans
attending RCW live events, and improve the level of sportsmanship and
fairness of RCW's competition. 

[Spreadbury's expression finally lightens.]

DS: Finally, on a happier note, I am delighted to announce that RCW will
present its first ever Pay-Per-View event on Sunday 16 July.  Over the
coming weeks and months we will begin rolling out national marketing for
this event.  We are working to engage big-name talent to help build
RCW's brand recognition -- and although the actions of Mr. Curtis last
week look to have soured one important relationship -- and next week,
live on RCW RAMPAGE, legendary British wrestler Lord Byron will be on
hand in the Rose Garden with a big announcement concerning our first
Pay-Per-View.  We're very much looking forward to welcoming Lord Byron
back to the United States after several years away.  That's all for now.
 Enjoy the show.

[Cut to the credits:]

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                                            Thursday 27 April 2006


[As "Don't Fear The Reaper" by Blue Oyster Cult plays, we zoom in on the
RCW studio.  The lights rise, and we see the "voice of RCW" Don Ditka
standing in his sports jacket in front of his glass-topped desk,
checking a sheaf of papers in his hand.  As the camera comes to rest on
Ditka, he smiles at the camera and the music fades.]

DD: Good evening, everybody, and thanks for joining us here tonight for
RCW On The Wire, the world of professional wrestling in sixty minutes! 
I am, as ever, Don Ditka, and in this hour we'll be discussing those
blockbuster announcements that we've just heard from the RCW President,
we'll be talking about all the controversial events of last Thursday
night's RCW RAMPAGE live event, and we'll be looking ahead to next
Thursday's show.

[The camera cuts to a closer shot of Ditka.]

DD: We've got a lot to get through here tonight, so let's get right to
it!

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/_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/


[Ditka is now sat behind the desk, as always; the plasma screen behind
him and to his left displays the RCW RAMPAGE logo.]

DD: Folks, we've already heard from the RCW President at the top of the
hour, and we've already alluded to it -- last Thursday night in the
Garden was the wildest night in RCW's short history to date.  And it all
kicked off with the return of a legend of the squared circle.

[Cut to footage of "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder striding out into the
aisle, pausing to accept the cheers of the crowd... RCW President Daniel
Spreadbury going to present a commemorative plaque to Thunder... Owen
"Truth" Curtis and Eddie "Flash" Curtis coming down to the ring... Eddie
posing Thunder, Curtis and Spreadbury for a photo... then Curtis
slapping the Good Night and Good Luck sleeper on Thunder, then
performing the Obituary suplex-piledriver on Thunder, onto the plaque,
busting him open... A bloodied Thunder making his way back up the aisle
under his own power.  Over these scenes we hear Ditka's voice over.]

DD: I honestly thought the roof would come off the Rose Garden when
"Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder made his return to Portland after eight long
years, as a special guest of RCW President Daniel Spreadbury.  The near
sold-out crowd welcomed back wrestling's most famous cowboy, and one of
its most decorated champion, with open arms, back to the city where he
made his name nearly a decade ago.  But the bitter and twisted Owen
"Truth" Curtis -- together with his brother Eddie -- couldn't allow
Thunder to simply come to Portland, receive the thanks of the fans and
the RCW President, and be on his way.  Curtis blindsided Thunder and
laid him out with his Obituary suplex-piledriver.

[Cut back to Ditka in the studio, the screen behind him now showing the
face of Owen Curtis, covered by a rubber-stamp-style graphic that reads
"SUSPENDED".]

DD: You heard it at the top of the hour -- by way of punishment, Owen
Curtis has been suspended for 28 days from in-ring competition.  If I
may editorialise for a moment here, folks, this punishment doesn't go
far enough -- particularly as Curtis's expensive lawyer was able to get
assurances from the RCW Board of Directors that Curtis would be allowed
to appear on TV during his suspension, despite being suspended from
actually wrestling a match.

[The graphic behind Ditka shows a still of a bloodied Thunder making his
way back up the aisle to the back.]

DD: And what of Brody Thunder?  With Curtis scheduled to wrestle
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll in the night's main event in a match to determine
the number one contender to Johnny Pleasence's RCW Championship, we
wondered whether we'd see the Arizona native again.  And he didn't
disappoint.

[Cut to footage of the Curtis vs. Driscoll match... Curtis and Driscoll
get into it on the outside of the ring, Driscoll sending Curtis to the
ringsteps, then swinging a steel chair at him, but missing... Curtis
kicks the chair back into Driscoll's face... Driscoll wears a heavy knee
brace on his left knee, and drives it into Curtis's forehead, felling
him... Driscoll goes for the Discus Punch, but Curtis rolls out of the
ring... Curtis crotches Driscoll with the ringpost, then applies a
ringpost figure four leglock... Curtis applies another figure four
inside the ring, and Driscoll reverses it... Driscoll powerbombs
Curtis... Curtis hits Driscoll with the Front Page Mugshot, but before
he can pin him, he is distracted by Brody Thunder making his way down
the aisle, being held back by security... Driscoll capitalises on the
distraction, hitting Curtis with a Death Valley Driver and pinning
him... security try to keep Curtis and Thunder apart after the match...
while Driscoll celebrates, RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence rolls into the
ring with a steel chair and lays Driscoll out...]

DD: It was a hard-fought match between Texan Paul Driscoll and Oregon's
least favourite son.  Curtis targeted Driscoll's knee, but Driscoll
sensibly kept the match predominantly high-impact, high-power, making
the most of his explosive style.  In the end, Curtis could have won it,
but for the return of Brody Thunder, who made his way down to the ring,
providing enough distraction for Driscoll to hit his DVD on Curtis for
the pinfall.  After the match, Thunder and Curtis were kept separate by
security -- and Driscoll ended up on the receiving end of a beating with
a steel chair from the man he won the right to face for the RCW
Championship, Johnny Pleasence.

[Cut back to Ditka in the studio, the screen behind him still showing
Thunder's face.]

DD: Brody Thunder left Portland after the show last Thursday night, and
he wasn't happy.  He left this stark warning for Curtis before he left
the Garden.

[Fade in to a shot of red and white. As it comes into focus, it's now
clear that the red is bloodstains and the white is a shirt. As the
camera steadies itself on the blothes of crimson, a gravelly voice
breaks the silence...]

BT: Take a good look.

[The camera tightens in on a large dried splotch on the shirt.]

BT: I'm talkin' ta _you_, Owen Curtis. Take a good gawdamned look.

[The camera now slowly pulls back to show Brody Thunder holding up the
blood-splattered shirt in front of him. He stares at the camera with a
fierce glare.]

BT: This.... THIS right here...

[Thunder now grips the shirt in a tightening grasp with both hands as he
clenches his teeth in anger. His words seem to escape his mouth instead
of being spoken.]

BT: THIS is yer mistake, my friend. It's a mistake you get a second
chance ta commit again. Now I don't know you from Adam, ace, but I do
know _this_ much.

You got on the _wrong_ hoss in _this_ rodeo.

[Thunder throws the shirt to the ground in contempt. He begins to speak
again but suddenly throws his head back as if trying to understand
something that's incomprehensible.]

BT: Lemme... lemme jus' get this whole deal straight. I come here ta
Portland as a favor ta an ol' friend. I'm out there havin' a nice lil
shindig an' the next thing I know I'm bein' dropped on my melon an' the
lights go out. Am I missin' somethin' here, ace? I mean... did I kick
yer ass in some bar somewhere in the past? Or maybe I stole a kiss from
yer ol' lady? Or maybe... jus' maybe I took yer money in a card game one
night an' ya figgered ya owned me fer that? Is that it? I need ya ta
spell it out fer me, kid, cuz I don't get it.

[Thunder rubs his stubbled chin with the back of his right hand.]

BT: What on God's green earth would make you come down ta that ring an'
do what you did to me?

[Thunder juts his jaw out as if he may have the answer now.]

BT: Y'know what I think? I think you had a problem. You had a problem
with the fact that the spotlight wasn't on you. I think you had a
problem with someone else gettin' some face time.. someone who you
didn't think deserved it. I think you had a problem with this here
cowboy bein' in the spot you'd like ta be in yerself. I think that's
what it all boiled down to.

Jealousy.

Well, ace, if you think you had a problem with me before...

[The camera cuts to a tight slose-up of Thunder's face, his eyes now
narrowing as he clenches his teeth again.]

BT: It's _nothin'_ compared ta the problem you got _now_.

[Cuit back to a waist up shot.]

BT: Did ya think I'd jus' let ya bleed me an' jus' take it? You think
I'd let you or anyone else do THIS ta me...

[Thunder rips off the wide patch of white athletic tape on his forehead,
reveal several red gashes on it. He pokes an angry finger into his
forehead which causes a trickle of blood to stream from on of the cuts.]

BT: ..and get away with it?! Runt, I don't care if it's in the parkin'
lot... I don't care if it's in the locker room... I don't care if it's
in the flamin' middle o'downtown Portland... the next time I see yer
ass, I _promise_ you... I'll leave you face down an' fragged up.

[Thunder takes an angry swipe at the blood which streams down into his
left eye now.]

BT: I started out this lil piece sayin' ya made a mistake but I was
wrong. Y'see, interruptin' my lil swaree wasn't yer mistake. Leavin' me
laid out colder'n a dead fish wasn't yer mistake. Hell, even leavin' me
busted open like a ripe melon wasn't yer mistake. Nah, it's very simple.
Y'see the truth is yer mistake was...

[Thunder smiles a wry grin, the blood now dribbling down over his lips,
staining his teeth a crimson red.]

BT: ...leavin' me _alive_.

You had an opportunity an' ya took a shot. Trouble ius, you should've
finished the job, runt, cuz I swear ta the Almighty, kid... I get the
shot? I ain't gonna make no mistake, Curtis.

I'm gonna _take_... _you_... _out_.

Bank on it.

[Thunder storms off camera.  Cut back to Ditka in the studio.]

DD: My understanding is that Brody Thunder had been fingered by the
Board of Directors to help promote RCW's first Pay-Per-View nationally
rather than just here in the Pacific north-west, and Thunder left with a
sour taste in his mouth, to say the least.  Without the clout of
Thunder's name behind RCW's first Pay-Per-View, Curtis's actions may
just end up hurting the whole company.  Though Curtis doesn't care -- as
these comments attest.

[Cut to black.]

VOICE: You know something, President Dan?

Sometimes, the Truth hurts... and this just might be one of those times
for you.

[As the camera fades up from black, it pans slowly upward, revealing
more as it goes... from the wooden surface of an oak desk; to a pair of
hands clutching a stack of papers; to the blue suit, light blue shirt
and yellow tie of the man holding the stack; and finally to the face --
a face framed with shaggy blond hair and coated with stubble. 'Tis
Owen... Owen James Curtis. The man they call "Truth."]

OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: Welcome, gentle viewer. Notice how you see no sewer
pipes, no aerial trams, no shots of the Portland waterfront, and no
interiors of the Rose Garden or the old Memorial Coliseum. All you see
is my office. And why is that? It's because I'm not here to deliver the
news... although what I'm about to announce definitely WOULD qualify as
news.

No, we're here in my office because I'm here to do business. And dear
viewer, you should listen, because this affects you -- at least
potentially.

[Owen clears his throat.]

OTC: I'm here today to bring Dan Spreadbury to the table. And since he
won't come to the table of his own free will, I have decided to use a
little... leverage. What I hold here in my hands is a little document.
Let me begin by reading the first few words. "Tort Claim Notice, Owen
James Curtis and Edward Eugene Curtis, plaintiffs. Daniel Spreadbury and
unnamed investors, dba Rip City Wrestling, Inc., defendants."

Pretty much tells you everything you need to know, doesn't it?

My attorney is not here to speak on my behalf, but let me elaborate
nonetheless. In this tort claim notice, my brother and I make two claims
against the defendants. One, that Edward was a fully credentialed media
representative at the time when he was wrongfully removed by defendant
Spreadbury from the Rose Garden arena during a Rip City Wrestling event
of one week ago, namely Rampage. We further claim that Edward did not
interfere or act wrongfully, as defendant Spreadbury claimed he did on
two separate occasions; that in fact, plaintiff Edward did PREVENT
cheating in the title match of Owen James Curtis versus John Pleasance,
and during the fracas between plaintiff Owen Curtis and one Broderick
Thunder, plaintiff Edward merely was doing his job documenting the
historic and momentous occasion, while carrying out his valid and
assigned duties as a fully credentialed media representative.

[Owen looks at the camera. He has not broken a smile during the
foregoing; in fact, he looks dead serious.]

OTC: Our second claim is that Owen James Curtis, plaintiff, was
wrongfully suspended, fined and singled out for public humiliation, in
contrast to the wrongful actions by others during sanctioned
competition, which have resulted so far in no similar punishments or
humiliations.

It is offered forth as stipulation that Owen was involved in an
altercation with Mr. Thunder. However, Mr. Thunder was not and is not a
member of the Rip City Wrestling roster, nor has he ever been, nor was
this sanctioned competition, and therefore the actions of Owen James
Curtis cannot be considered interference in a sanctioned match. On the
other hand, individuals such as John Pleasance and Matilda Agutter, not
to mention Mr. Thunder himself, HAVE become involved in matches which
WERE sanctioned competition, which did NOT include them, and therefore
their actions DID constitute clear interference, and yet they have not
been punished. To wit, Ms. Agutter interfered against Mr. Owen James
Curtis, and in numerous other matches, and it was documented both on
film and on still camera. Further, Mr. Pleasance interfered immediately
following the match featuring Mr. Curtis and Mr. Paul Driscoll, and a
third individual, Mr. Thunder, also interfered in the Curtis versus
Driscoll match. All three were unpunished, even though Pleasance and
Agutter are contracted talents, and Mr. Thunder did receive a
promotional fee for his non-contracted appearance and therefore he could
have been fined and his compensation could have been garnished.

[Owen stops, and looks up from his paperwork.]

OTC: We contend Mr. Spreadbury has evinced, as shown by the foregoing, a
clear bias against Mr. Owen Curtis as a contracted competitor in RCW, as
well as against Mr. Edward Curtis as a fully credentialed media
representative. We also believe the evidence shows, overwhelmingly, that
this bias has led Mr. Spreadbury to make improper decisions that clearly
are not just illegal, but were made in bad faith, and were deleterious
towards the careers and livelihoods of Mr. Owen James Curtis and Mr.
Edward Eugene Curtis. This is merely part of a long-known pattern of
mistreating, or in the vernacular, "screwing" the talent ... a habit
which has earned Spreadbury the backstage nickname of "Spread and
buried."

We therefore have made a series of demands which shall at this time
remain undisclosed. You see, this lawsuit is not yet public record,
because it has not been filed. Mr. Spreadbury, his unnamed investors,
and Rip City Wrestling, Inc., now have one week, until Thursday, May 4,
2006, to negotiate with myself, my brother and our appointed legal
counsel, namely Charlton J. Chesapeake, Esquire. And if our demands are
not satisfactorily met... then appropriate legal action can and shall be
taken by us.

Specifically, the lawsuit I hold in my hands will be filed in Multnomah
County District Court, and Spreadbury, et al, shall be forced to defend
their inexcusable actions. Furthermore, certain... uncomfortable facts
about Mr. Spreadbury will be revealed if the lawsuit is filed, because
once we file it... it's a public record, available for media
representatives to utilize as they see fit as they reveal to the public
the incompetence and malfeasance of Mr. Spreadbury.

Finally, I no longer will be obligated to appear as scheduled on the May
4 edition of RCW Rampage.

[A slight smirk creeps across Owen's face.]

OTC: Now that's some pretty good work by my attorney, Mr. Chesapeake,
who some of you know specializes in a sports entertainment practice of
law. And if you out there think that this lawsuit is nothing but an
empty threat... keep this in mind. Our first demand was that this
videotape be shown, unedited, on the first available edition of On the
Wire, scheduled for April 27. Since you are watching this tape now, and
today IS April 27... you know that this initial demand has indeed been
met unconditionally by Mr. Spreadbury.

How confident is your RCW president now? I think you all know the, um, 
"Truth" on that one.

[Owen pauses for a long time, letting that sink in. He breaks his
silience suddenly.]

OTC: Mr. Spreadbury, you now have a week to meet our remaining demands.
And there are three words you told ME, that now _I'm_ telling you.
Namely... "Don't be late."

You see, violating the Truth... has its legal consequences.

[Owen straightens out his stack of papers, then lets them drops flat on
the desk. He folds his hands together, and looking at the camera with
his head slightly cocked, smirks ever so slightly while staring a hole
into the camera. From there, we fade out, and cut back to the studio.] 

DD: Well, folks, this got out of a hand in a hurry.  I've been asked by
our producer not to make any editorial comments on this issue, so I
won't.  We're still hoping that we'll hear from Owen Curtis live and in
living colour next Thursday night in the Garden -- but I won't be
holding my breath to see the "Lone Wolf" in attendance.

[The screen behind Ditka now shows the faces of Driscoll and Pleasence.]

DD: And what of Paul Driscoll?  The number one contender will get his
shot at the championship on Sunday 16 July at the big Pay-Per-View show,
in the night's main event.  And don't think for a moment that Johnny
Pleasence -- despite his devil-may-care attitude -- isn't taking
Driscoll seriously.  Why else would the champion have wasted no time in
trying to take Driscoll out right after the match with a steel chair?

[The screen behind Ditka now shows a still of Pleasence standing above
the prone form of Driscoll, clutching a dented steel chair.]

DD: My broadcast colleague Billy Shakespeare and I had the pleasure of
Johnny Pleasence's company at the broadcast position during that match,
and let me tell you, our champion has a chip on his shoulder the size of
a two-by-four.  Pleasence may not like the way that Billy and I talk
about him and the way he carries himself: well, newsflash, champ -- I'm
paid to call it the way I see it.  And the way I see it, Johnny
Pleasence is a disrespectful thug who treats the fans and his opponents
like garbage.  We'll hear from the number one contender and the champion
later on tonight.  We'll be back in a few moments, after these messages.

[Fade to commercials.]




[Fade back on footage of Madrock the Irrepressible wrestling Orin
LeBlanc... Madrock fells LeBlanc with a big clothesline... Madrock ducks
out of a hammerlock from LeBlanc... LeBlanc drops a leg on Madrock's
throat... Madrock gets armdragged twice in succession... Madrock tosses
LeBlanc with an underhook suplex... Madrock goes for a splash in the
corner but LeBlanc dodges out of the way, and Madrock eats turnbuckle...
LeBlanc fells Madrock with a Thesz press... Madrock launches LeBlanc
into the buckles with a tremendous giant swing... LeBlanc brings the
crowd to its feet with a Tiger suplex on Madrock... and as Danny Daniels
climbs up onto the apron, Madrock collides with the t-shirt hawking
dork, allowing LeBlanc to hit him with a Death Valley Driver for the
pinfall... after the match, Madrock is jumped by Ryan Faith, who hits
him with the Test of Faith...]

DD: Welcome back, folks.  Last week on RAMPAGE, in a match that pitted
two of the most powerful competitors here in RCW against one another,
Orin LeBlanc won a hard-fought victory over Madrock the Irrepressible
after "Your Clueless Hero" Danny Daniels -- with whom Billy Shakespeare
and I had the inestimable pleasure of sharing the announce position
during the match -- got up on the apron to show off his t-shirt, and
ended up colliding with Madrock, slowing down the Monster from Almunster
long enough for LeBlanc to hit a Death Valley Driver for the victory. 
Now, can it be a coincidence that Danny Daniels chose to be at ringside
during Madrock's match and make such a big deal of his "YOUR HERO"
t-shirts when Madrock has been making in-roads into merchandising here
in RCW with his Grinning Wallaby Bandanas?  Personally I'm not sure how
much credit to give to Daniels, who is practically the definition of
obliviousness, but Daniels has shown us in the ring that he has hidden
depths -- perhaps he has hidden intellect, too.

[The screen behind Ditka shows a still of the sneering face of Ryan
Faith.]

DD: In any case, things went from bad to worse for Madrock, who was
jumped after the match by angry young man Ryan Faith.  Faith hit Madrock
with his Test of Faith Tiger Driver, laying out the big Australian. 
What did Faith want with Madrock?  We'll hear from the Massachusetts
native later on in the hour.

[Cut to footage of Kolya Sudakov wrestling Vinny Carmazzi... Sudakov
stomps on Carmazzi before the bell... Carmazzi is staggered by a flurry
of blows from the Russian... Carmazzi grabs the Kimuri armbar out of
nowhere, and Sudakov is forced to grab the ropes... Sudakov whistles
speculative Thai kicks past Carmazzi's face... Carmazzi fells Sudakov
with a clothesline... then hits him with a chickenwing suplex!...
Carmazzi with three rolling wristlock armdrags... Sudakov backs Carmazzi
into the corner and unleashes the Violence Party... Carmazzi somehow
counters with a Tornado DDT... Sudakov hits the High Left Kick on
Carmazzi... but as Sudakov goes for the Pimp Slap, Carmazzi grabs the
approaching fits and slaps on the Kimuri armbar again... Sudakov resists
the hold as long as he can, but eventually is forced to tap out...]

DD: Submission specialist Vinny Carmazzi picked up perhaps his most
impressive victory yet in RCW when he defeated pro wrestling
hunter/killer Kolya Sudakov with his Kimuri armbar in another intense
match-up last Thursday night.  Carmazzi just continues to go from
strength to strength, and next Thursday night he gets the opportunity to
cement his rise by wrestling Paul Driscoll for the chance to become the
number one contender for the RCW Championship.  We'll hear from Carmazzi
later tonight.  Unfortunately, though, we won't be hearing from Kolya
Sudakov any time soon.  RCW officials granted Sudakov and his agent, Ben
Waterson, with releases from their contracts last Friday.  I've been
doing some digging to try and figure out what did for Sudakov, but my
sources in the front office aren't talking.  Either way, Sudakov's
departure is a loss for RCW.

[Cut to footage of Nolan Dorado wrestling "Supercat" Salvador Maeso...
Dorado snaps his shades into Maeso's face... Maeso hits a standing
dropkick on Dorado... Maeso hits a springboard bulldog on the "Golden
Boy"... Dorado jams a thumb in Maeso's eye, then hits a clothesline,
followed by a belly-to-belly suplex... Maeso hits Dorado with a jumping
Mexican armdrag... Maeso does a standing backflip, landing with both
feet driven into the prone Dorado's gut... Maeso sends Dorado to the
outside, then launches himself off the top turnbuckle with a stunning
corkscrew suicida, lighting up the crowd... both men come off the ropes
and launch themselves at each other with flying cross-body blocks,
colliding inn mid-air... Dorado brings Maeso down into the ring with a
superplex, then executes a stunning hanging brainbuster on the
"Supercat"... But then Orin LeBlanc runs down to the ring, and Dorado
takes off into the crowd, losing the match on a countout...]

DD: Fans in the Rose Garden were treated to a tremendous, high-flying,
high-paced encounter when veteran luchador "Supercat" Salvador Maeso, 
competing on a one-night contract, battled it out against "Golden Boy"
Nolan Dorado.  Dorado, as ever, was mighty impressive in the match --
but once again it was his temperament that got the better of him, his
on-going problems with Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc and Vinny Carmazzi
costing him another match when LeBlanc came running out, chasing Dorado
into the crowd.  And I don't think I was the only one to notice that
Dorado's main squeeze, Jodee Burwick, is developing quite a penchant for
LeBlanc.  Let's go to comments from Burwick and Dorado now.

[Cut to an exterior view of a crowd of children rushing towards a high
mesh fence.  A large sign attached to the mesh reads: "WELCOME TO THE
OREGON ZOO'S PRIMATE EXHIBIT" and the children squeal in delight as they
catch sight of a number of monkeys and chimpanzees wandering through the
enclosure.  Behind the children, a man and woman walk into view, quickly
becoming recognizable as "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado and his buxom
girlfriend, Jodee Burwick.  Both are wearing matching jeans and jean
jackets but while Dorado's face is disfigured by an unhappy scowl,
Burwick giggles as she teeters along on impossibly high stiletto heels. 
As they pause by the side of the primate exhibit, Dorado begins speaking
in a decidedly surly tone.]

ND: Remind me why in hell we've come out here, Jodee?

JB: Oh pooh, baby!  You were being such a sourpuss in the apartment that
we just had to get out and enjoy some fresh air.  Ooh, look!  An
orangutang!

[Burwick points excitedly but Dorado's reaction is one of churlish
disdain as he sneers at the children.]

ND: Hell, I'm not sure which ones are the monkeys and which ones are the
damned annoying brats!!

JB: Baby!  Don't be like that.  You know that you're the one and only
"Golden Boy" so why don't you flash me one of those brilliant smiles of
yours, huh?

[Dorado's teeth flash but in a snarl and not a smile as he glares at his
(much) older girlfriend.]

ND: "Golden"?  How "Golden" can I be with a zero-and-four record, Jodee!
 That's two losses I owe that overgrown Canuck to match the deuce I owe
Carmazzi!  I'm fizzlin' out here and all you can do is ogle LeBlanc's
fat butt as he waddles past you!

[The children nearby edge away from Dorado's visible menace as Jodee
Burwick's smile vanishes as she presses her bee-stung lips together into
an impressive pout.]

JB: Honey!  Honey!  I wasn't staring at his butt!  I was watching to
make sure he wasn't going to get his greasy paws on you, that's all! 
Don't listen to those rumor-mongers, baby.  You're the only man for me,
you know that!

ND: And just what kind of man am I, huh?  OVERLOOKED!  THAT'S WHAT!

[Dorado's angry shout causes the nearby children to leave the area
quickly as the adults in the vicinity glare at him angrily.  Dorado
ignores his unwanted audience as he stares at a mandrill who bares its
impressive fangs in a massive yawn.  Growling low in his chest, Dorado
bares his own teeth revealing the gold caps on his incisors -- but this
display fails to impress the baboon who merely scratches its
hindquarters before sauntering away.]

ND: Do you know how badly it burns in my craw that Carmazzi gets a match
against that crippled Texan for the #1 contendership?  AND I'M NOT EVEN
ON THE CARD!

[A zoo security guard marches toward the couple causing Jodee Burwick to
adjust her jacket so that it reveals as much cleavage as possible while
flashing a megawatt smile at the grey-haired guard.  The guard ignores
her obvious ploys as he steps in front of Dorado.]

G: Excuse me, sir.  But I'm going to have to ask you to keep your voice
down.  There are children present and we don't want to cause a
disturbance, do we?

[For a moment, it almost looks as if Dorado is about to lash out at the
paunchy security guard but his eyes flicker down to the walkie talkie on
the man's belt and he visibly reconsiders the idea.]

ND: Fine!  We're getting out of this dump, anyway!  Come on, Jodee!

[Dorado grabs Burwick's arm and drags her away as her protesting voice
can be heard.]

JB: But baby!  I wanted to see the monkeys!!

[The camera focuses on Dorado and Burwick's backs as they march away
before panning over to the primate exhibit where a chimpanzee can be
seen idly picking its nose.  After a moment, we cut to more footage from
last week's RAMPAGE, as Ryan Faith takes on Mark Coleman... Faith
attacks Coleman as he enters the ring, stomping away on the rookie...
Coleman fells Faith with a big lariat... Coleman hotshotting Faith on
the top rope... Coleman goes for the early pin, but Faith kicks out...
Faith drops Coleman with a dropkick to the knee, then a chop-block, then
a leg grapevine... Faith drives his knee into Coleman's back... Coleman
holds Faith up for a delayed vertical suplex... Coleman fells Faith with
a drop toe-hold, and then drives his elbow into Faith's back... and then
Coleman is jumped by a large Japanese man, who hotshots him throat-first
onto a steel chair in the ring... the Japanese man then applies a dragon
sleeper on the felled Coleman... Coleman manages to make his way to the
back under his own power...]

DD: RAMPAGE got off to a flying start as Ryan Faith, returning from
suspension, faced Mark Coleman.  Faith clearly had something to prove
after his open criticism of the RCW officials who suspended him -- and
Coleman likewise felt that he hadn't been going the extra mile to pick
up every victory, and that was about to change.  The two men tore up the
Rose Garden in the night's opening match -- until a mysterious Japanese
man, whom we soon discovered was new RCW combatant Akitoshi Ogawa,
vaulted the barriers and attacked Coleman in the ring, brutally
hotshotting him onto the back of a steel chair before applying a dragon
sleeper.  We'll see what Ogawa can do when he's not jumping somebody
from behind when he makes his first appearance in an RCW ring this
coming Thursday night -- but in the meantime I am happy to tell you that
Mark Coleman did not suffer any long-term injuries as a result of
Ogawa's attack -- though he did have to take a trip to the hospital. 
Let's take a look.

[The camera opens in a white room.

It's a brightly lit room, illuminated by flourescent lights set into the
ceiling.  The gray tile floor is highly polished, and immaculately
clean.  Cabinets line the walls, filled with various supplies.  After a
few moments, the camera settles on the medical sofa that sits against
one wall.  Black leather, topped with white crinkly paper, the couch
holds one occupant...

...who swings one leg idly, breathing with a soft raspy sound...while
reading a copy of "Sports Illustrated."  A copy which bears the logo
"2005 NHL PREVIEW - CAN HOCKEY MAKE A COMEBACK?"

He flips through the magazine for a couple of seconds, until we hear the
door open to the room.  At that point, Mark Coleman, wearing a pair of
blue sweatpants along with his wrestling boots, leaving him
bare-chested, raises his head slowly to look at who's stepped inside.]

JF: Mr. Coleman?

[A older woman dressed in a long doctor's coat, with a stethoscope
hanging around her neck, swings the door shut behind her.  Caucasian,
with black hair holding a few hints of grey, the doctor tucks a
clipboard under one arm as she walks to where Mark Coleman is sitting,
nodding his response to her question.]

JF: I'm Doctor Franconia, I'll be taking care of you this evening.  How
are you?

[She stops in front of him as Coleman holds a hand up into the air and
gives a see-saw motion, a small smile on his face.]

JF: I would imagine.  So, the nurse tells me you suffered trauma to your
throat and upper chest...and I see, she was right.

[Franconia takes a look at Coleman's chest as the camera focuses on it
for the first time.  Indeed, a nasty yellow-and-black bruise is evident
on his tanned chest, spreading downwards from a large patch on his
throat, with hints of red along the outside.]

JF: That looks nasty, Mr. Coleman.  If you don't mind me asking, how did
this happen to you?  Did you run into something?  Were you involved in a
fight?  Did you have...

[As the doctor talks, her fingers are slowly probing along the edges of
the bruise.  Coleman winces a little bit as she applies light pressure,
checking the depth and severity of the wound.]

JF: ...something heavy dropped on you?

[She pushes a little further in, and it's accompanied by a sharp intake
of breath from Coleman.]

JF: Sorry, Mr. Coleman.  I'm just concerned... this could be a very
severe injury that you've suffered.  From the looks of this, you're
lucky your windpipe or throat wasn't crushed.  What happened?

[Coleman's response is a low, rasping whisper, as he slowly focuses on
each word with a sharp intake of breath.]

MC: Guy dropped... me on a... chair...

JF: A man.  Dropped you on a chair.

[Coleman nods in return, and the doctor shakes her head.]

JF: Typical.  Big strong young man like yourself, and you have to get
yourself in trouble.

MC: Didn't... start it...

JF: Sure, I'm sure you didn't.  But I'm sure you probably did something
to instigate it.  People don't normally drop other people throat first
across chairs for the fun of it.

[Coleman actually laughs for a second, before his eyes close tight and
he grunts as Franconia gently puts her fingers on either side of his
throat.]

JF: That hurt, huh?  Well, that's to be expected... I wouldn't recommend
laughing for the next few days, though I worry about the kind of man who
would find being dropped on a chair funny.

MC: Not my... idea of fun... either.

JF: Yes, well, what were you doing when this man dropped you?  Did you
know him?

MC: He's... I didn't know... him then... Akitoshi Ogawa is... his name. 
Was just... doing my thing... he came from nowhere and...proceeded to
hand me... my butt.

JF: Oh.  Well, at least you're not showing blind machismo.  Well, Mr.
Coleman, let me give you the good news.  It appears you haven't suffered
any cracked cartilage.

[Franconia points to a spot on Coleman's throat as she talks.]

JF: Right there, above your Adam's Apple... that's where we would have
to cut you if we had to ever perform an emergency trachea procedure.  It
looks intact, but we're going to take an X-Ray, just to be on the safe
side. You're also to get an esophageal scope... it's a fiber-optic
camera inserted to look for active bleeding.  Active bleeding in the
airway going into the lungs can cause aspiration pneumonia, which would
kill you.  But I don't think we'll find anything, Mr. Coleman.  You're
young, you're strong, and you're still breathing.  Unless something pops
up during your X-Ray, you should be leaving here in a couple of hours. 
Is somewhere waiting for you out front?

MC: Taxi.

JF: Okay, then.  Now, it's going to be a few minutes until the X-Ray
machine is warmed up, so I'm going to go over a few things.  Your bruise
will fade over time.  By next week, it will look like a 5 o'clock
shadow.  You won't be able to eat all that much, so I recommend
milkshakes.  Just make sure they're cold, the colder, the better.  I'll
be prescribing you Motrin and plenty of cold drinks.  Just don't get
dropped across any more steel chairs, and avoid smokers.

[Coleman nods, and Franconia takes a step back, and crosses her arms.]

JF: So, Mr. Coleman... why did this Mr. Ogawa drop you across a chair
throat first?

[Coleman shakes his head, exhaling softly as attempts to make a noise of
amusement.]

MC: Wanted to... get attention...

JF: Really.  He just could have tapped you on the shoulder, you know?

MC: Well... it got... the boys in the back...

JF: Boys in the back...

[Franconia pauses for a moment.  Before she sighs and rolls her eyes
skyward, shaking her head.]

JF: Dammit.  You're a pro wrestler, aren't you?

[Coleman nods.]

JF: Ah.  Well, congratulations, you're the first professional wrestler
I've treated in nearly nine years, Mr. Coleman.  I should have known...
no one gets dropped across a steel chair without wrestling being
involved.

[Coleman begins to laugh softly as Franconia continues to talk.]

JF: Ever since I was a surgical intern here, I've been putting wrestlers
back together.

God... Dan Kauffman, had to stich his head up one time.

Joe Petrow?  Cut his hand open on a bottle of whiskey.

Steve Kowalski?  I don't know how many times he was dragged in here by
two policemen to be checked out before they booked him for disorderly
conduct.

Serge Annis?  Minor burns.

Simon O'Neal?  The bastard HIT on me while I was setting his arm!

And don't get me started on Derek Mota.  He was in here so often, we
almost put in an express lane for him!

I suppose now we're going to be getting a flood of people in here
again... especially if this Ogawa guy keeps dropping you across chairs.

[Coleman narrows his eyes, and he holds up his index finger.]

MC: Only... once.  Not... again.

JF: Sure.  Just don't hurt yourself too badly getting your revenge.  I'm
really not in the mood to perform a esophageal probe on you in a few
weeks.

[Now, Coleman puts on his easy smile as best he can with a bruised
throat.]

MC: You won't... on Ogawa... maybe.

JF: Sigh.  And there's the machismo.  Come on, Mr. Coleman, let's get
you X-Rayed, and let's get all of your information on file, so the next
time you come in, we can just cut right to the exam...

[Coleman now rolls his eyes as we fade back to the studio.  The screen
behind Ditka now shows the RCW RAMPAGE logo.]

DD: Folks, things are really heating up here in RCW.  Next Thursday's
RCW RAMPAGE show will once again be coming *live* from the Rose Garden
in beautiful downtown Portland, and you need to be a part of this
amazing action.  Some tickets are still available for our next live
event, on Thursday 4 May, just seven nights from tonight.  Get down to
the box office or click onto www.ticketmaster.com to make sure you're
there in person!  When we come back, we'll run down the card, and hear
from all the RCW superstars scheduled to be in action.  Don't go away!

[Fade to commercials.]




[Fade back from commercials.]

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/_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/


[Ditka is sat behind his desk again, with the Ticketmaster logo on the
screen behind him.]

DD: Welcome back to On The Wire, everybody.  Let's talk about RCW's next
exciting live event, coming at you as ever from the jam-packed Rose
Garden here in beautiful downtown Portland.  You can be a part of
another night of unforgettable wrestling -- click onto
www.ticketmaster.com or get down to the Rose Garden box office in person
to ensure you don't miss out.

[The screen behind Ditka now shows the face of the legendary Lord
Byron.]

DD: One of the main attractions of our next show will be the first
appearance in the US for some five years from the legendary Lord Byron. 
Byron will be at the Garden to make some blockbuster announcements about
RCW's first-ever Pay-Per-View event.  Don't miss out -- make sure you're
there in person.

[The face of Owen Curtis, complete with red rubber-stamped "SUSPENDED"
logo, appears on the screen.]

DD: We've talked a lot tonight about Owen Curtis.  The suspended Curtis
is still scheduled to be in the Garden -- and with tensions between "The
Truth" and the RCW President rising by the hour, there's a good chance
that, if Curtis shows up to explain why he attacked Brody Thunder last
week, there will be fireworks.

[The RCW Championship belt is shown on the screen, with champion Johnny
Pleasence's face shown on one side, and challenger Danny Daniels's on
the other.]

DD: But, of course, it's all about the wrestling.  Next week's huge main
event sees RCW Champion, Johnny Pleasence, make the first defence of his
title.  Let's hear first from the challenger, "Your Hero" Danny Daniels,
and then from the champion.

[The camera fades in to see Danny "Your Hero" Daniels.  Besides his
usual attire -- wraparound sunglasses, long flowing blonde hair, the
famous "Your Hero" yellow t-shirt -- he's added a new item. 
Specifically, a replica title belt.  On the belt is a piece of masking
tape with R.C.W. written on the front.  Danny has the title belt slung
over his left shoulder. 

He's not facing the camera, though.  Instead, he's watching himself in a
tall mirror that is a few feet away.  He poses with the belt on his
shoulder... looks at himself... shakes his head, then switches to put
the belt on his right shoulder.  As he poses again, Danny begins
speaking.]

D'YH'D: Greetings and Salutations, fans!  I'm Danny "Your Hero" Daniels.
 Look what has happened to me.  I can't believe it myself.  Suddenly I'm
on top of the world.  And why should it be someone else?

[Danny shakes his head again, then wraps the replica title around his
waist and snaps it on.]

D'YH'D: Believe it or not, I'm walking on air.  I never thought I could
feel so free.  Flying away, on a wing and a prayer.  Who could it be? 
Believe it or not, it's just...

[Danny turns away from the mirror and looks at the camera.]

D'YH'D: ME!  "Your Hero", Danny Daniels.  And the next RCW Champion. 
Finally, after countless matches without a loss, "Your Undefeated Hero"
will be changing into "Your Undefeated Champion"!  And from there, I'll
be a bigger inspiration to you!  A brighter bulb for your heartlight!  A
greater wind beneath your wings!

[Danny gives a "thumbs up" to the camera.]

D"YH"D: You're Welcome!

[Another grin as Danny looks at himself in the mirror.]

D'YH'D: It's not going to be easy, of course.  Jacky Pleasure is one
tough foreigner.  Plus, he's going through nicotine withdrawl, so it's
made him a little cranky.

[Danny shakes his head again, unsnaps the belt from around his waist,
and puts it diagonally down his chest.  He checks himself out in the
mirror.]

D'YH'D: And, just between you and me, I think his girl Millie wants to
be with "Your Hero".  And she is a hottie to-toddy with naughty pilates!
 So it's no wonder that she wants no one else.  When she thinks about
me, she touches herself.

[Danny starts to nod, but realizes that the belt is blocking his
t-shirt.  He quickly takes it off his chest and holds the title belt in
the crook of his left arm.]

D'YH'D: But I can't do that to my dear friend Jesse.  Sure, you know
that I'd like to have Jesse's girl.  Where can _I_ find a girl like
that?  [shakes his head]  But I'm already taking Jesse's title.  I can't
take his girl as well.  That's just not right.

[Danny takes the belt off of his arm and slings it over his left
shoulder, its original position.  He flexes in the mirror, and nods
approvingly.]

D'YH'D: So I'm looking forward to having all of my beloved fans watch
ME! "Your Hero" Danny Daniels, win the RCW title and become "Your
Champion".  I will see you at the ring, and after my glorious vicotry
we're gonna party like it's 1999!

[Danny faces away from the mirror, waving to the camera.]

D'YH'D: TOODLES~!

[We cut to a shot of Johnny Pleasence, RCW World Champion, stomping down
a hallway, mighty pissed.  He hauls ass into his locker room, as the
cameraman somehow manages to follow him in.  Pleasence slams the door
and pauses with his back towards the camera, collecting his thoughts...]

JP: ...bloody hell!  Son of a bitch!  Damned Daniels!  Damned Rip City!
Goddamned biased place this is!

[Pleasence kicks the door frame and slowly turns around.]

JP: Nobody gets it!  Nobody understands!  This is how it is! I don't
change for _anyone_!  I'm not your damned poster boy, and I'm not a
soddin' saint!  I'm the Big Bad!  I do what has to be done, I...

[Pleasence, looking at a curvy brunette standing before him, raises an
eyebrow.]

JP: ...ducks?  Care to explain?

[Matilda Agutter slides into the shot, throwing an arm around the RCW
World Champion.]

MA: Darling, we have made a most _amazing_ discovery!

[Pleasence looks at the brunette and raises an eyebrow.]

JP: ...that being a rat'll get you a bit of fame?

[The young woman speaks.]

?: Only way I could get to you, champ.

[The Big Bad adjusts the belt on his shoulder and scratches his head.]

JP: And you are?

?: Dinah.  That's all you really need to know.

[The champ chuckles as he taps out a cigarette, lighting up and blowing
a cloud of smoke into the air,]

JP: Listen, sweets -- you can't muscle me around.  Ducks -- yeah, she'll
chat with anyone -- but me... well...

[Pleasence leans in close.]

JP: I don't give a damn about your agenda.

D: I'm making it your damn, short pants.

[Pleasence frowns as Dinah continues.]

D: Portland, Oregon, born and raised... I still have a poster of Requiem
on my wall.

JP: I'm sorry.  They sold Marky Mark posters back then, right?  Surely,
you could have done something better.

D: You're a couple of years late on your timetable, snags.  Anyway, I
grew up with this...

[Dinah motions to the locker room.]

D: I want _this_.  This business... to be a part of it...

[Pleasence smirks.]

JP: So you come to the Big Bad for your way in?

D: ...yeah.  Either you or Curtis.  Guess I came out on the side of the
devil.

JP: The devil ain't got nothin' on me, honey.

[Pleasence leans in and blows smoke into Dinah's face.  She doesn't
flinch.]

JP: You want something, but you won't get it now, hon.  Not from me...
I'm a one-woman man, you see.  Ducks has my heart.

MA: But she's cute when she shimmies and shakes!

D: Not you...

[And as if on cue, walks in the what many would considered troubled
youngster of the RCW, Ryan Faith. Ryan walks up to the eclectic trio and
looks at Pleasence and then to Matilda.]

D: Him.

[Pleasence just blinks.]

RF: Well, look what we have here. Hello champ, seems the last time I saw
you... you were busy handcuffing me and costing me a chance of holding
that title you got there. But no matter. You did what you had to do.

JP: Finally...

[Pleasence takes a drag off his cigarette.]

JP: Somebody sees it my way.

RF: The events after my match with Bailey sure lead some people to
wonder about what exactly happened to Ryan Faith.

[Ryan looks at Dinah who just gives a wry smile.]

RF: You see I made my way to the back, all bummed out and upset and what
have you. And just as I was about to beat the crap out of some stupid
backstage attendant asking me all these stupid questions, I saw her.

MA: Grand, isn't it?

JP: Cue the violins.

RF: As touching as this all sounds, I did whatever any smart, virile
young man would do. I invited her back to my room.

[Ryan smirks.]

D: I opened his eyes to a whole new world. I enlightened him. I gave him
what he needed most. I gave him his swagger.

RF: That and a night that I won't certainly forget. We hightailed it out
of here faster than bats out of hell. And you really must be wondering
where all of this is going don't you?

JP:  Yeah, mate -- what the bloody hell's going on here?  What'd this
bird do that's got you totin' a pair these days 'sides you gettin' a bit
of the pink?  And what the hell does this all have to do with me?!

D: I showed him the way.  Gave him a reason and a purpose besides
gunning for that big belt of yours... and you get to benefit from it.

[The Big Bad looks at Matilda and raises an eyebrow.]

MA: She's got a plan.

JP: Is everyone in on this damn thing but me?!

[Pleasence thrusts a finger at Dinah.]

JP: Start spilling!

D: Wouldn't it be nice to have a safety net?

JP: I got my safety net, pet -- my fists and my feet and what's rattlin'
'round in my gourd.  It got me to the top and it's gonna keep me there.

RF: You going to keep yourself at the top with all these no talent hacks
coming after you? When you have guys like Curtis, Driscoll, Madrock...
whomever thinks they can hold a candle to you.... coming after you?

JP: So what?!  Of course they're gunnin' for me, kid -- I'm the soddin'
champ!  The Big Bad!  A Number 1!  Big bullseye on my chest and all of
that, and you know what?!  That's how I like it... because no matter
what they do, they ain't gonna take me out!  I'm goin' down in history,
mate... and it seems to me that you and the broad wanna be on the
winning side.

D: Gotta start somewhere.

RF: See, I'd rather be riding with the Big Bad then being run over by
him.

JP: Hell, kid -- you might do all right.  Girl's given you a bit of
heart --that's good.  But, when it all goes down... and it _will_ go
down, it's gonna take more than me, you, Jugs, and Ducks to keep those
buggers off _our_ backs.

D: Oh, that's going to be the fun part.

[The Big Bad chuckles.]

JP: Yeah... it always is.

D: Now if you'll excuse us... we got some things to take care of before
Ryan runs that crackhead Aussie back to his country.

[Dinah grabs Ryan by the arm as the youngster waves to JP and Matilda as
they exit.]

JP: ...

[Pleasence sighs and pulls out another cigarette, lighting up.]

JP: ...gonna have to teach that git that men don't wave at other men. 
Talk about bein' a damned poofter.

MA: But he's so charming!

JP: ...bloody hell.  Looks like I've got things to do...

Daniels?

Time for you to be famous... for all the wrong reasons.

[Cut back to the studio.]

DD: Well, folks, I'm not quite sure what to make of that.  Ryan Faith --
and his new ring rat... I mean, valet, Dinah -- aligning himself with
the champion.  Only time will tell what this will mean for the other
competitors in RCW.  We'll find out next week at RAMPAGE!

[Behind Ditka, the words "#1 CONTENDERSHIP AT STAKE" appear on the
screen, together with the faces of "Pistol" Paul Driscoll and Vinny
Carmazzi.]

DD: Another big match next week pits two men who are developing quite a
rivalry here in RCW against one another.  On last week's RAMPAGE,
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll earned the right to be called the #1 contender to
the RCW Championship -- and next Thursday night he puts it on the line
against submission specialist Vinny Carmazzi.  Let's hear from both men,
beginning with Driscoll.

[Cut to a dive bar, midday. The sun peers in through partially closed
blinds, and onto the broad back of one Paul Driscoll. The Pistol sits on
a stool, Marlboro in one hand and empty bottle in the other, pushing it
forward to the edge of the bar. He watches the television in front of
him, studying the episode of M*A*S*H for a moment, and then bowing his
head to collect his thoughts.]
 
PD: They tell me that ya reap what ya sow, least that's what the ol' man
always said. What ya put into it in the beginning, ya get out of it in
the end. So I don't wanna hear no bulls[BLEEP!] outta yer camp, Owen
Curtis, because ya lost that match all on yer own. Ya hadda go an'
innerject yerself into Brody's business, an' hey, I ain't condemnin' ya
for it... but ya hadda figger that Mr. Thunder wasn't gonna take that
lyin' down.
 
An' you went from lookin' at a rematch fer the strap to bein' suspended,
just like that.
 
[Paul snaps his fingers, which the bartender mistakenly takes as a
beckon.]
 
PD: You know what we call guys like you back in Texas, Owen?
 
[Driscoll lets it sit for a moment.]
 
PD: Dumbasses.
 
[Driscoll rolls his eyes and shakes his head, taking a drag of the
Marlboro and flicking away ashes.]
 
PD: But ya reap what ya sow... an' I guess that means I do too. A few
years ago on a tour through Florida, I beat some kid up pretty bad. Not
outta malice or nothin', I jus' didn't know 'ny better. Well fast
forward five years, an' that kid from Florida is back aroun' to take me
up on it.
 
See I didn't think nothin' of it then, Carmazzi. I was doin' my job and
you was doin' yours, an' that's that. But yous all grown up now, hoss,
yer back fer vengeance on all o' us who looked down on ya. An' I ain't
backin' down from it, I know what I did. But back then, it was jus'
business, as said. Jus' one guy beatin' up another. I didn't have no
opinion of ya, so it weren't like I was really fixin' to put a hurtin'
on ya... I jus' did.
 
But you took it 'pon yerself to reopen them wounds. Ya never fergot that
I dropped ya on yer head all them years ago, an' God only knows the luck
ya must have to track me down an' get the chance to take me up on it.
'cept this time... it _is_ personal. If I didn't have an opinion on ya
then, I sure do now. An' it ain't a good one, ya little bastard.
 
[Driscoll stubs out the Marlboro and runs a hand through his wet hair.]
 
PD: You must have a horseshoe lodged up yer ass somewhere, Ace, 'cause
not only didja find me to take out yer repressed anger, but ya get to do
it with _my_ shot at the strap up fer grabs. You been sellin' everyone
on yer song and dance about bein' the world's kicktoy, but I think ya
got a better'n average deal in the end. Yer poised to take away that
title shot from me, an' all ya need is three more lucky seconds.
 
An' yer _golden_.
 
But like I toldja the first time I knew you was even in the same state
with me: you can fool everybody in Rip City about what a badass ya are,
an' ya have, but you can't never fool me. 'Cause I knowed ya when you
weren't nothin' but an openin' match charity case. I knowed ya when the
name Vinnie Carmazzi meant another easy night at the office, another
early night at the tavern. An' when you find yerself in the court o'
last appeals called a wrestling ring, an' yer tryin' to ferget all them
bad memories, tryin' to battle with yer own head to remember that you
ain't that little punk no more...
 
...I ain't lettin' ya ferget. It's back to the future fer you, little
man, an' back to the therapist's chair. All the advances ya made in
formin' a positive mental attitude, that'll be done with when I kick yer
ass back down the aisle. Everything'll come floodin' back an' _this_
time, you little son of a bitch, it _will_ be on purpose.
 
[Driscoll spits to the side and snarls, a low growl emitted.]
 
PD: Ya dug yer own grave on this one, Junior, an' I can't keep givin' ya
free handouts. Ya gotta learn to not piss off people you can't beat, an'
I, little man, am at the top o' that list. But I s'pose ya fergot that,
along with the rest o' yer past.
 
Only problem is... I didn't. An' I ain't never lettin' ya ferget it. An'
I'm gonna enjoy _every_ _second_ of it.

[As Driscoll takes another draw on his cigarette, we cut.  Fade in to a
rather more serene setting. A Portland park in the springtime. One that
looks out on the Willamette River. A line of trees as far as the eye can
see. They rustle occasionally due to a slight breeze, but for the most
part remain quite calm. Countless joggers go by, following the paved
path that travels alongside the tranquil water. Other people choose to
sit on benches and take in all the beauty of their immediate
surroundings. One man, however, is doing neither. Despite being out and
amongst his new "neighbors," the expression on his face communicates
that he is still very much caught in his own world. With the hood of a
plain black sweatshirt over his head, dirty blonde locks poking out at
awkward angles, and dark brown eyes gazing deep into the river, Vinny
Carmazzi is clearly not enjoying the peace. The change in scenery,
likely forced, does nothing to interrupt his usual routine of brooding
and waiting for the next opportunity. The camera comes up close to where
he stands.]
 
VC: Every day, for the last twelve years, I have pictured myself as the
World champion. It's the image that drives me. To get up from every
beating. Fight back against the odds. Rehab every injury. Refuse to
quit. Work harder than anyone I know. Prove every doubter wrong.
 
[Vinny looks down at his dirty sneakers, which squirm below.]
 
VC: It's why I do what I do. Kick out of pins. Take my opponent's best
shot. Struggle out of submission holds. Fight through agony. It's not
magic. It's a choice I make. To help me get what I desperately want.
That second, third, fourth wind, or that devastating move that I find a
way to come back from, it's because I'm not thinking about the pain. I'm
thinking about the title. Every goddamn waking moment.
 
[His eyes fixate on the frayed cuffs of his jeans, but they get redder.
His expression becomes angrier.]
 
VC: And when I find I'm not thinking about the title, I get pissed off
at myself. It's like a betrayal. How could I? What else could be so
important?
 
[Vinny looks up at the camera.]
 
VC: I've had these goals, these dreams, since I was 17. And I've never
in my life been closer to finally fulfilling them than I have been in
the last seven weeks.
 
[Vinny grabs a hold of his hair from under the hood.]
 
VC: I think about what the belt would feel like. What the announcement
would sound like. My reaction to hearing the news. How the referee would
act. The faces of people at ringside. Those in the locker room. What it
would be like to wake up the next morning.
 
[Lost in imagination again.]
 
VC: What would I do? What would I say? Would I say anything? Could I
hold my emotions in check? Would I even want to?
 
[Just as he's about to smile, Vinny blinks his eyes twice. He snaps
himself out of it. He's back standing beside the river.]
 
VC: For a chance at the RCW Championship, I need to win one more match.
Fittingly, it's against the man who took my only other opportunity away
from me. Back on Day 1.
 
[Vinny takes a deep breath. He's still recovering from his last
daydream. They always end harshly.]
 
VC: Since then, I made Dorado tap out. I evened the score with Andrews.
I beat Sudakov at his own game, so much so that he left RCW for good.
Only one loose end from Day 1. That's you, Driscoll.
 
[Even half of the name is enough to make Vinny bristle.]
 
VC: I gotta beat you. But it's not a four-way match this time. This
means you gotta go through me as well. Unlike last time, you can't
surprise Andrews from behind and I can't make Dorado scream like his
little bitch. This match ends when one of us counts the lights for three
seconds. Or preferably, taps the mat when they can't take it anymore.
 
[Vinny cracks his wrists.]
 
VC: Because if that happens, I move on to face Pleasence for the belt.
The match that I might have been dreaming about for going on twelve
years now. Every goal and hope can become realized in one night. Be it
Rampage. Be it the Pay-Per-View. I walk into the ring and don't leave
until I'm the RCW Champion. Survive everything he throws at me. Kick
that damn cigarette down his throat if I have to. Anything to make him
tap. Anything to make my dreams and reality the same for just one
moment.
 
[He takes a moment to catch his breath. More talking and emotion than
he's used to.]
 
VC: But to get there, Driscoll, I have to knock you down. Someone who
thinks I can't beat him. Ironically, you're the man who made one hell of
a name for himself down in Florida at my expense. I haven't forgotten
about that, and I know you haven't either. You know you're not facing
the same wrestler from all those years ago. Or even from a few weeks
ago. Those dreams have only been fueled in that time. They're all I
think about. And as a result, this match is all I've thinking about
since you agreed to it.
 
[Vinny looks right down the center of the lens.]
 
VC: I started a trend a few weeks back by going for your bum knee. But
I'd be surprised if I actually went back to it this coming week. You
see, I've learned where you're weak. Where you're really vulnerable.
That's what I did when I was out of the title picture. Because I knew it
was going to go through you again. And here we are.
 
[The anger begins to subside slightly. An air of confidence begins to
emerge from deep inside him.]
 
VC: But this time, I get to use you as a springboard.
 
[Vinny takes a few steps towards the camera.]
 
VC: Bring everything you got, Driscoll. But make no mistake, this time
*I* emerge victorious and leave *you* behind.
 
[Carmazzi quickly steps between a pair of joggers and disappears from
view.  Cut back to Ditka in the studio.]
 
DD: I am really looking forward to this match.  Driscoll -- powerful,
aggressive, high-impact -- and Carmazzi -- technically sound, tough,
submission specialist -- going one-on-one to determine the number one
contendership for the RCW Championship.  Neither man will truly feel
that this issue is settled until it has been settled in the ring, one,
two, three.

[The faces of Madrock the Irrepressible and Ryan Faith are shown on the
screen behind Ditka.]

DD: Speaking of issues, last week Ryan Faith attacked Madrock the
Irrepressible after his match with Orin LeBlanc, and next week the two
men will meet one-on-one.  Let's hear from both competitors, beginning
with Ryan Faith, who is clearly out to make a name for himself here in
RCW.

[Scene opens up with Ryan Faith sitting in a director's chair in front
of a generic RCW backdrop. Ryan rarely gives us his time outside of the
arena or RCW owned properties. Ryan likes to keep to himself. Anyhow,
Ryan sits there wearing a black T-shirt with "Got Faith?" written in
bold white print and a pair of shredded up, jean shorts. Ryan sits
there, continuously flipping his shaggy, brown hair out of his face.
After a few moments, Ryan looks into the camera and prepares to speak.]
 
RF: What do you want to hear? You want to hear me complain about how the
giant goof who ruined my chance of getting my first pin fall here or
about why I did what I did to Madrock the Incorrigible?
 
[Pauses as if really waiting for an answer to his question.]
 
RF: Well, let's start off with what transpired during my match. Let's
talk about how I slipped out of Coleman's grip and was about to plant
him down with the Test of Faith.... when some one who had no business
sticking their nose in my business showed up. And what did he proceed to
do?
 
[Shaking his head.]
 
RF: He attacked Coleman and cost me the match. Now, I'm all about
freedom of speech and doing whatever you want. But you don't walk into
_my_ match and disrupt it. You kept me from finishing off Coleman. You
might ask me, why did I roll out of the ring?
 
I signed to fight one man, not two. I'm not stupid. I'll walk away
unscathed and live to fight another battle. But mark my words, you will
get yours.
 
[Now he manages to break a smile.]
 
RF: Now as for Madrock... the apparent hero of the masses.
 
[Ryan raises a finger.]
 
RF: I'm sorry, the "zero" of the masses. The biggest running joke in the
entire sport. Every week I get sick to my stomach when I look out on the
video screen and I see this clown parading around and stealing my
spotlight.
 
Yea, you heard it... _MY SPOTLIGHT_! NOT SOME CRACKED OUT AUSSIE WITH
THE PEOPLE SKILLS OF A GARBAGE MAN!
 
[Faith composes himself]
 
RF: You shouldn't be worrying about where your so called protege Bailey
Fitzgerald went, Madrock. He's gone. A flash in the pan, hell, if it
hadn't been for my dad dying... I would have wiped the mat clean with
him and then the only place he would have been released from would have
been the hospital. No,  Madrock, it seems that everything you come in
contact with, anything you touch... you stain, you taint it.. it rots..
it stinks of the same ineptitude that is your entire being and
existence.
 
You've been walking a fine line here in RCW and somehow have managed to
find a way to avoid the truth hitting you upside the head like a runaway
train. But that is all about to end for you, Madrock.
 
[Ryan extends his arms out to the camera... so that you can see his
hands.]
 
RF: You see these hands? These are the hands of absolution. They are the
same hands that hoisted you up and dropped you on your head. They are my
tools. They will be the instruments that I will use to rid the RCW and
this sport of the joke that is Madrock. You want to run around like a
chicken with its head cut off, yelling like a drunken idiot, trying to
rally the fans to your side?
 
[Ryan shakes his head emphatically.]
 
RF: They don't cheer you, they laugh at you. They point their fingers at
the joke. And as much as I love a good party? As much as I love a good
joke?
 
This joke is about to end. The end of the show is quickly coming. And
when it comes down to it... the punch line will be delivered...
 
[Ryan cocks his head and smiles at the camera.]
 
RF: Madrock, are you ready to test your faith?
 
[Fade through to a flock of wallabies storming the streets of Portland.
No, not really: just checking in to see if you're paying attention. What
you are witnessing are a group of individuals charging down Congress St.
in downtown Portland, all of them wearing Madrock's Grinning Wallaby
bandanna. So from the overhead shot by which this is filmed, it WOULD
look like a group of wallabies storming the streets of Portland. Except
that a group of wallabies is called a mob, and this is what we're
dealing with and there's only one man who can be at the head of such a
mob. We're about to hear from him right now.]

M: Dere's a lot ya can wear if ya wanna look daffy: novelty ties, funny
hats, Donny Dannels egg yoke shirt... But if you wanna ride an' do it
wif pride, make sure yer bandannas tied an' run wif Madrock!

Mob: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!

[This is very much a situation parallel to the Rampage theme song "The
Mob Rules" (which some have said has been brought forth by Madrock
himself). The mob is just bowling over anything in it's way, with nobody
being able to make heads or tail about it. Madrock slows down to speak
with a reporter while Jamie Bond is nowhere to be found, making us
wonder just what the heck Madrock is doing to Portland! As the crowd
continues to move on, Madrock continues to speak as if nothing were the
matter.]

M: Cuz Madrock, 'ee ain't no flash inna pan, 'ees a SURE 'FING! Win or
lose, crashin' loose, Madrock FIGHTS, KICKS ASS an' WINS!!! An' if
dere's a hiccup along da way, 'ee don't pay no mind, cuz I kin always go
back fer annuver go!!!

Mob: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRGH!!!

M: Wot I'm sayin' Iz dat you can tell 'ooz da REAL 'FING an' 'ooz not by
the way dey gob an' da way dey act after da fact! Owen Curtis tawks da
tawk, plays da baddie, plays da hometown hero, plays da two-face
backstabba! Where's da con-sis-tun-see? Well 'ees a loser, a
can't-winner an' if he can't be champ then 'eell take his ball an' go
home: 'ees juss fancy 'bout da ways ee does it wif da Brody 'Funder, da
temper tantrums, da whinnin' an' moanin' on his tabloid rag an' all 'ees
good fer is EXCUSES! Madrock ain't playin' NUFFIN': no constant
switcheroos, no confusion if 'ees false or true, it's like my favorite
band The Who... Say it now!

Mob: WE DON'T GET FOOLED AGAIN!

M: Dat's right: folks run wif me cuz dey tired uv' bein' treated like
PATSIES! Patsies 'oo are just bank accounts fer da Donny Dannels,
patsies bein' tugged around by the good-bad-good-bad waffle houses doin'
their spins wif the troof!

Mob: YEAH!!!

M: Fact uv' da matter iz, I'z tired uv' bein' treated like a patsy
myself! Dealin' wif anuvver double-dealin', deceitful lyin' snake:
talkin' 'bout Ryan Faiff!! Ryan, you can't make your impact in da RCW,
so you 'fought you'd 'arf a little mad-on wif da Madrock? You know, most
people tryin' to build a rep'tation would try to take on da WINNER uv' a
match, but not a coward like you, huh? Ryan Faiff, you're a small-minded
smelly simian... an' I'm smillin' cuz I'm smithin' some simpleton! You
thought Madrock the Irrepressible wuz an easy mark? You ain't just
small-minded: you STUPID! I'z da bane uv' Brisbane, da monster from
Almunster, da freak up Abbotts Peak and I'z gonna smarten you up! I'll
teach wot 'appens to fools dat make their name off Madrock's back, cuz
if they didn't edjukated you about it, wots on Madrock's back is juss
bein' set up to Coming Down Abbotts Peak; and that's where you are right
now! It's da study session from hell where I cram da entire rasslin'
ring into yer head!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRGH!!!

[The camera loses track of Madrock after the last shout, the cameraman
bumping his hip over a near-lying crate and falling over. Madrock's
booming voice still carries on and as we hear Madrock and friends go
forth, we hear those final words before losing contact.]

M: We gonna make our way 'round town an' make ourselves known. we ain't
takin' this malarky anymore! If you walk wif Madrock, let it known!

Mob: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGHH!! ]

[Cut back to Ditka in the studio.]

DD: Well, folks, some people really are getting worked up about
Madrock's bandanas.  I hear the front office are getting calls every
day, asking when we're going to talk about the bandanas on-air.  So,
we're talking about the bandanas.  If you want a bandana, you can buy
one from any concession stand in the Rose Garden during any RCW live
event.  But I have to tell you: I'm much more interested in whether
Madrock can get it done in the ring.  Ryan Faith has been resurgent here
in RCW of late: can the Monster from Almunster stand up to his Test of
Faith next Thursday night?  We'll find out.

[The screen now shows a large logo, reading "DEBUTANTS' BRAWL BATTLE
ROYAL".]

DD: And to round out the in-ring action next Thursday night, here's
something we've not seen before.  The RCW front office have signed no
fewer than *seven* new wrestlers to contracts, and they're all making
their debut in the first ever Debutants' Brawl battle royal.  All seven
men will start in the ring at the same time, and it'll be every man for
himself.  The last man standing... is the winner.

[The screen behind Ditka now shows the scarred face of Akitoshi Ogawa.]

DD: Now, one of the seven men we have already met.  He brutally attacked
Mark Coleman last Thursday night.  But this will be our first
opportunity to see how a former King of the Death Match, Akitoshi Ogawa,
measures up in a fair fight.  Let's hear from him and his manager, Zeke
Brackett, now.

[The scene opens, and it is nightfall on a dimly lit Portland street. It
appears to be one of the city's seedy areas, with cracked sidewalks and
rows of run-down apartments visible in the background. Everything is
quiet and still except for the wind, which howls lightly, sweeping paper
and other debris across the street. The camera pans to an alleyway,
where Zeke Brackett and Akitoshi Ogawa stand silently, their faces
partially lit from the streetlight positioned a few yards away. Ogawa
stands tall, his arms crossed and his face devoid of emotion. He is
dressed in jeans and a black hooded sweatshirt which makes him almost
blend into the darkness around him. Brackett is wearing jeans and a
black button-up, his sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the detailed
and intricate Japanese-themes tattoos that adorn his arms. He also
stands with his arms crossed, a slight smile breaking across his face as
the camera comes closer.]

ZB: Mark Coleman, if there has ever been anyone in the wrong place at
the wrong time, it's you. Trust me... it could have been anyone getting
their throats dropped onto that chair, but you made the perfect victim.
I've watched Akitoshi Ogawa demolish people in rings all over the world,
but I don't think any of them have made me smile as much as the
ass-beating he laid on you last Thursday. Keep watching your back,
Coleman... we're still here. But this isn't just a message to you. This
is a message to the entire RCW locker room.

[He unfolds his arms and thrusts his finger towards the camera, his
smile slowly turning into a menacing snarl as Ogawa remains motionless
behind him.]

ZB: There is something you people need to learn. In this line of work,
you don't survive by being the good guy. You don't survive by kissing
the same asses you put in the seats. When the day is done, it doesn't
matter how much those people love you. You wanna know how you make it in
this business?

[He unbuttons his shirt halfway and pulls it aside, tilting his head
back to reveal the "HARD KNOX" tattoo across his throat.]

ZB: Hard knocks! That's how! I've heard your stories... good ol' boys
from The South, badasses from New Jersey and everything else in bewteen.
Every single one of you are already convinced that you will go down in
the history books as one the best wrestlers to ever lace up a pair of
boots. All you have to do is go out there and smile for the camera, slap
a few hands and kiss a few babies and *BAM!* You are the stuff legends
are made of. Now I'm sure you are all really skilled in drawing big
crowds in those bingo halls back home, but that isn't what it takes to
make yourself memorable. None have you have earned your glory the hard
way. Let me give you a little history lesson about someone who *HAS*
came up the hard way.

[Brackett turns towards Ogawa, who is staring into the camera as if he
is staring every single RCW superstar dead in the eyes, and places his
hand on the big man's shoulder.]

ZB: March 13, 1996 in Tokyo, Japan. This man piledrived the
self-proclaimed "Hardcore Legend" Steven Strattner from the ring apron
through a table wrapped in barbed wire and scattered with thumbtacks.
Strattner hasn't set foot in a wrestling ring since.

[He slaps Ogawa's chest, and the big man's eyes widen as he stares at
the camera.]

ZB: December 23, 1998 in Taipei City, Taiwan. He smashed Koji Hamata
with a chairshot so hard... so brutal... that he shattered the man's jaw
and sent him to the emergency room, but not before he locked in a
Blackout that took no fewer than ten men to pry Hamata out of.

[The camera zooms in for a closeup of Ogawa's face, his eyes wide and
his nostrils flaring. Brackett can still be heard.]

ZB: Then there is the day that made this man a legend; August 21, 1999.
The Lord Of The Deathmatch Tournament Finals against The Great Nakito.
Those men bled for over an hour inside of a cage full of every weapon
you could imagine. Tables, chairs, barbed wire, thumbtacks, stop signs,
broken glass, razorblades, scissors... I don't think you heard me,
kids... scissors! He fell twenty feet from a ladder to the outside of
the ring and fought the rest of the match with a shattered rotator cuff
and a broken forearm. It was a Blackout, right in the center of that
ring full of tacks and glass, that would make this man the legend that
he will always be known as.

[The camera pulls back, and Brackett stares coldly into the lens.]

ZB: So Spreadbury wants to put him in the Debutant's Brawl Battle Royal?

Fine.

Just let this message ring clear.

This beast was kicking, punching and bleeding his way to the top while
some of you were still popping zits and trying to lose your virginity.
He has no problem stepping into that ring next week, taking matters into
his own hands and ending every single one your careers before they ever
have the chance to take off. If you boys are stupid enough to climb into
that ring with Akitoshi Ogawa, it could prove to be the worst choice any
of you will ever make.

[He pauses before snarling into the camera.]

It could be the *LAST* choice any of you will ever make.

[He motions to Ogawa and the two men exit the shot, and the sound of
wind can still be heard as the screen fades to black.  Cut back to
Ditka.]

DD: One of the most exciting entrants in the Debutants' Brawl is a young
high-flyer by the name of "Showtime" Rick Marley.  Marley is a
journeyman of the business, having plied his trade in many territories
over the past few years -- but having seen him swing through the
mid-west a couple of years back, I for one am hoping that he'll stick
around here in RCW.  Let's take a look.

[The scene opens on a panoramic view of a closed down steel mill as
Green Day's "Blvd of Broken Dreams" plays in the background. 
 
The gray sky looms opressively overhead as the camera pans around the
structure, like the metalic skeleton of some bygone behemoth lying inert
in the asphault cemetary.]
 
# I walk a lonely road
# The only one that I have ever known
# Don't know where it goes
# But it's home to me and I walk alone
 
[A solitary figure stands on a sparsely grassed hillside, his long dark
hair pulled back in a pony tail, and his hands stuffed securely in the
pockets of his black leather biker jacket.]

# I walk this empty street
# On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
# Where the city sleeps
# and I'm the only one and I walk alone
 
[After a moment, he turns, with a shake of his head and walks down into
the parking lot and towads a black sedan.]

# I walk alone
# I walk alone

# I walk alone
# I walk a...

# My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
# My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
# Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
# 'Til then I walk alone

# Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah,
# Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah
 
[Leaning on the car, the dark haired man pulls out a paper from inside
the jacket and stares at it for a moment or two...]

# I'm walking down the line
# That divides me somewhere in my mind
# On the border line
# Of the edge and where I walk alone

# Read between the lines
# What's f'ed up and everything's alright
# Check my vital signs
# To know I'm still alive and I walk alone
 
[Crumpling the paper in one fist, he turns to look across the parking
lot at a sign on a mid sized building.  The sign out front reads
"Keening School of the Grapping Arts - Allentown Campus.  The dark
haired man stands, his arms crossed across his chest as he smiles
sadly.]

# I walk alone
# I walk alone

# I walk alone
# I walk a...

# My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
# My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
# Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
# 'Til then I walk alone

# Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Ah-ah, Aaah-ah
# Ah-ah, Ah-ah

# I walk alone
# I walk a...
 
[Taking a deep breath, he stuffs the paper back into his pocket and
takes his right hand up to his brow and offered a brief salute to the
edifice.]

# I walk this empty street
# On the Boulevard of Broken Dreams
# Where the city sleeps
# And I'm the only one and I walk a...

# My shadow's the only one that walks beside me
# My shallow heart's the only thing that's beating
# Sometimes I wish someone out there will find me
# 'Til then I walk alone...
 
[Opening the door, he climbs into the car and pulls out...leaving
Allentown in his rearview mirror.  Fade to black.]

DD: Now let's hear from Las Vegas's own Dave Bryant.  For the past few
years Bryant has satisfied himself with running a bar -- but this man
has a storied career in the squared circle and an impressive resumé. 
Bryant is an exceptional technician... but he has a bit of an attitude
problem.  Take a look to see what I mean.

[Fade in to what seems to be a popular scene for promos these days -- a
bar.  There's something slightly different this time, however --
apparently, this bar hasn't quite opened up for business yet.  This
hasn't stopped one patron, however, as the man known as the "Doctor of
Love" in his young wrestling life, Dave Bryant,  is seated right at the
bar, nursing a light brown concoction that one has to assume isn't just
soda.  Seated next to Bryant is a lovely little blonde, clad in a simple
black dress, while Bryant is wearing a white dress shirt, unbuttoned at
the collar, and plain ol' khakis.  Abruptly, Dave swivels around, facing
the camera, leaning back against the bar, drink still in hand.]

DB: Hello...[pauses]...Portland.

[Bryant cracks a grin, even chuckling momentarily.]

DB: Man, I've gotta be honest... if you would've told me four or five
years ago that, at this point in my life, I'd be working for anyplace
based out of Portland... well... I'd have thought you were out of your
damn mind.  If you told me, back then, that I'd not only be working in
Portland, but that I'd be happy to have the opportunity...

[Dave hesitates.]

DB: Well, let's just say that conversation probably wouldn't have a
happy ending.  Be that as it may, however -- both of those things are
the absolute truth.

[Bryant frowns slightly, taking a long drink.]

DB: Now, Rip City, don't get me wrong, I appreciate the hell out of the
opportunity.  It bugs the hell out of me to have to admit this, but it
seems that I've burned every other bridge I ever crossed in my career,
and nobody I did business with in the past would touch me with a ten
foot pole.  So, to Daniel Spreadbury, I'd like to take just a moment and
say thanks -- and then let me take more than a moment to wonder just
what the hell you were thinking.

[Dave looks over at the blonde, who promptly slides a piece of paper
down the bar.  Bryant picks it up, then crumples it up into a ball,
tossing it over his shoulder.]

DB: Now, Dan, don't get me wrong.  I really am thankful for the chance
to get in a ring again, but what in the hell kind of debut is this? 
Above ALL else, I've always prided myself on my abilities as a wrestler
-- my technical skill that's won me more championships than I can
remember off-hand.  The unique ability to select one body part on an
opponent and pick it apart, leaving him defenseless, an arm hanging
useless at his side, a leg that won't support his weight, or a back so
knotted up that the poor bastard can't even stand up straight.

[Dave smirks.]

DB: And you choose to put this... this... _wrestler_ into a battle royal
in his first match in YOUR federation.  Instead of putting me against
someone with similar skills, instead of creating an engaging contest of
back-and-forth, catch-as-catch-can wrestling, you drop me and five
randoms into a ring, and instead of wrestling deciding who gets their
hand raised, you cast the entire thing into the lap of fickle chance.

[Bryant snorts disgustedly.]

DB: Battle royals... what a ridiculous waste.  I have a chance to begin
anew, to show the wrestling world that I haven't lost a single step...
but you screwed that up nice, Danny.  Now, I'm gonna just have to hope
that my obvious edge in skill and experience is gonna be enough to
overcome dumb luck -- like one of those big oafs, Derek Rage or Akitoshi
Ogawa, stumbling around and knocking me over the top rope.
[Bryant shakes his head, sighs, and turns back to the bar.]

DB: You may have handcuffed me this week, boss... but don't think for a
second that Dave Bryant won't figure out a way to make damn sure people
walk out of the arena that night with one name on their lips...

[Chuckle.]

DB: Mine.

[Cut back to the studio.]

DD: I'll be looking forward to seeing exactly how Dave Bryant plans to
achieve his aim, folks.  Let's hear from our next combatant, Corry,
Pennsylvania native David Cross, who is known as "The Fallen Angel."

[Darkness for a moment, over which the voice of a man speaks.] 

VO: Never a good sign when your first match involves half the roster.

[Cut to a expansive backyard, green as a shamrock puncuated by serveral
trees. In the middle of this yard is a large man standing in front of a
punching bag, that is tied to heavy tree branch. He has on a simple
white shirt with 'OSW' on the front, a pair of black sweatpants and a
cross around his neck. He has a five o'clock shadow around a hardened
face. Several small scars cris cross his chin and forehead, and his dark
eyes bore into the camera. He is 'The Fallen Angel' David Cross.] 

DC: Let's look at the other men before me...

[BOOM! CRACK! WHACK! into the bag goes a series of punches and kicks.]

DC: ...there are legends, veterans, rookies, stars, and unknowns.
Technicians, giants, and fliers with aerial skills unseen outside of
Mexico City. But, let's look deeper...

[CRACK! WHACK! BOOM! into the bag he goes again.] 

DC: Ogawa. A man who assumes because I saw him attack two men with 
malice and no remorse may believe that I fear what he may do to me. Or
perhaps he doesn't care and the only one that does is his manager. The
usual pond scum of the universe that takes those without education and
knowledge and exploits their skills. The question you have to ask
yourself Zeke is this...

[Beat.]

DC: ...how long can you keep your weapon before he learns of what you're
using him for, and he aims toward you? So, I don't fear your charge.
But, you should. Then there are those who have seen the top of the
mountain...

[WHACK! goes a side kick to the punching bag.] 

DC: ...in the form of Derek Rage. I know you, Derek. Who doesn't after
all? Half of the wrestlers in this business probably saw you in
Portland, LA, or the myraid of other organizations around this nation.
But, were the Prophets greater than sum of the parts? After all, that's
the reason you're here, right? To answeer that very question. The one
that keeps you up at night. Speaking of darkness and brutality...

[BAM! goes a right hand to the bag.]

DC: ...we come to Nathan Herod. A man who was raised like a wolf, to
fear only those who could defeat him. I read your story Herod, I know
your story. But, the thing is Nathan... I didn't need to read your story
to know it. Because I saw it every day in high school in the locker
room. The Alpha Male who believed he needed to prove his manhood by
beating up on the meek and those who couldn't raise a hand to ya'. 

[Beat.]

DC: That's how you were raised after all. _Take_ what you want, whether
it be money, power, or women. Damn the consequences. Well Herod, as many
a ass of a fratboy or other form of asshole learned... I am the
consquences you've avoided so far. And it's time to pay up some back
debts. 

[Cross puncuates the last word by drilling the bag with a knee strike to
the punching bag, sending it off at an angle.] 

DC: But it's not always the obvious who are the bullies, right Bryant?

[Small beat.]

DC: Dave Bryant. National superstar. Probably more money than half of
the roster have made in their lives...

[Another small beat.] 

DC: ...that is, if it hasn't all been gambled away. I know your kind,
Bryant. Snakes in the grass on the whole. Men like Herod are at least
upfront with their total lack of social graces. You try to play the
'superstar' to the masses on the cameras, then come back to the locker
room and play politician to us all. Main eventer or opening card talent,
tryin' to play us for fools. I've seen way too may like ya' in my time
"Doctor" and well I'm not a gambling man, at Rampage when ya' face me...

[Beat as Cross delivers another blow to the bag with a BAM! as he nails
it with a roundhouse kick.] 

DC: ...know when to fold 'em. 

[Cross quickly follows that up with an elbow strike on the still moving
bag, which he moves to the side of and adjusts his knee brace.] 

DC: As a good entertainer, it's always good to save the best for last.

[Beat.] 

DC: My mama once told me that me something about zealots. That their
belief may be a mile wide...

[Pause.]

DC: ...but it's an inch thick. Under the surface, it's the same hate,
bigotry, and fear that have driven men to use religion for their own
selfish ends for millennia. Right, you're no difference from the rest.
You may believe that you're on a misson from God to destroy those who
you don't deem as "saved", but remember one simple thing as I give you a
Cross to Bear my friend...

[David's look, previously even goes cold as he delivers a huge kick!]

DC: ...God may say do not use violence...

[WHACK!] 

DC: ...but...

[BAM!] 

DC: ...Jesus...

[BOOM!] 

DC: ...forgives!

[WHACK! as Cross turns to the camera, a hard look on his face.] 

DC: Ya' see Right, sometimes the Lord himself is a bastard but the
difference is that he has a plan and you're just a punk juiced up on
hate served on a Bible platter since you could understand it.  God isn't
Hate, God is Love. Sometimes though, a message still needs to be sent. A
message that says the wickled may walk the planet, and deceivers live
among us who twist the Word for their own ends but when the day ends...

[BOOM! CRACK! SNAP!] 

DC: ...justice prevails. So sayeth the Fallen Angel.

[As Cross walks away, he delivers one last hard kick to the bag and
while he leaves the picture, the punching bag falls to the crowd. Fade
to black on the camera focusing on the fallen punching bag.  Cut back to
Ditka in the studio.]

DD: Now, we can't bring you comments from Christian Right here tonight
on On The Wire, but this Greenville, North Carolina native will be in
the Garden next Thursday night and in this battle royal.

[The screen behind Ditka shows a picture of Christian Right.]

DD: Here's a man with an interesting story.  Christian is an ordained
minister -- and he has issues with our great sport of professional
wrestling.  But rather than take the approach that many detractors take,
and try to knock the sport from the outside, Christian Right is
determined to take it down from within.  And he has the skills to back
it up -- as we'll hopefully see one week from tonight in the Garden. 
Moving on -- another competitor taking part in our huge Debutants' Brawl
will be Nathan Herod.  Right now we are joined by his manager to learn a
little more about this particular newcomer.

[The screen splits, showing Ditka on the left, while on the right
slender man in his late twenties appears. The young man has a shock full
of black hair and a grin right out of a toothpaste commercial. He wears
a black suit that looks slightly worn at the edges, a black tie and a
white shirt. A caption that appears identifies him as "Mick Silvestri".]

DD: Hello, Mister Silvestri. 

MS: [speaking with a slight British accent] Greetings, Don. A pleasure
to be on your show. 

DD: You must be excited about your protegé, Nathan Herod, getting a spot
on the RCW roster and getting his first bit of airtime in such a big
way. 

MS: Excited does not begin to describe it, Don. We are _electrified_!
The story starts now! The legend begins here! Nathan Herod's first
appearance on the grand stage of wrestling! It will be glorious. 

DD: You just said it... this will be Nathan's very first pro-wrestling
match. It surely will not be easy for a real newcomer to cope with the
environment, especially because he will be in the ring with several
former champions of some reknown, like Dave Bryant, Derek Rage and
Akitoshi Ogawa. 

[Silvestri's smile does not waver as he shrugs.] 

MS: You see, that is the brilliance of it. They do not know yet what a
_force_ they will encounter. They are not... cannot... be prepared for
wrestling's next big thing. 

DD: He is an unknown commodity, true, but you cannot deny that his
rookie status...

MS: Oh, I can and I will deny that, Don. When I came over here from the
United Kingdom I searched far and wide for a protegé worthy of my
talent. East Coast... West Coast... I found only soft men, weak boys,
pampered and forgettable. 

But in your America's Heartland I unearthed a treasure named Nathan
Herod. Born to fight. Bred to win. A force made flesh. 

[Ditka sighs.] 

DD: I had hoped that we would actually learn a little more about
Nathan's background, his fighting style, his training. You have
sheltered him from the public since you arrived in Portland. 

MS: You should not question my training regimen. This is not the time
for a sneak preview. If you want to witness Nathan Herod, the future RCW
Champion, tune in to RAMPAGE. 

[The Silvestri-part of the split-screen swooshes out of the shot and we 
get a full frame of Don Ditka again.] 

DD: Mick Silvestri surely seems convinced of the rookie Nathan Herod's
victory.  Whether the fans of RCW will be convinced -- we shall have to
wait and see.  Folks, the final entrant in next week's battle royal is a
man, like Lord Byron, who is no stranger to Portland, Oregon.  Derek
Rage has wrestled his whole career as half of a tag team, the Prophets
of Rage.  For a period, he and his brother Shadoe enthralled the crowds
here in Portland as world tag team champions.  And now he's going it
alone -- let's hear from the Intelligent Thug right now.

[Fade in.]

VOICE: What happened to wrestling?  It's become so cold, so serious, so
repetitive ... so dumb.  Has the neo-conservative movement robbed
wrestling and the rest of the world of its variety?  Has the redneck
become de rigueur?  Can you succeed in this business without a Texas
drawl or a generally dour attitude?  Can you be a wrestler without
spilling buckets of blood any more?  Can you be somebody any more?
Where's the colour?  Where's the variety?  Where's the distinction?

[The shot opens on the massively-muscled, seated form of Derek Rage. The
former IIWF standout and RCW newcomer is dressed in a slim-fitting
off-white linen suit that is wrinkled just so.  He pairs the outfit with
a spread-collared fuchsia shirt.  The seams of his jacket threaten to
split against the muscularity of his arms and shoulders.  He sports a
stylishly-trimmed moustache and goatee.  Derek's hair is trimmed in a
low cut afro.  Everything about the man is meticulous.  He is in perfect
control of himself and in complete command of his presence.]

DR: When the great IIWF used to run here out of Portland it was full of
characters.  Men like Brody Thunder, Steve Kowalski, Serge Annis, Joe
Petrow, Dirt Dog Unique Allah, the Gremlin, Creed, Otto Verhoeven ...
Lord Byron ... the list just keeps going on.  I was part of that cast of
characters.  I was part of that diversity.  Now, when I look at Rip
City's roster, they all seem the same.  The same height, the same
weight, the same philosophies, the same style.  I see the lack of
diversity.  I will take that one giant step and provide the Portland
fans with that diversity.  Here before you sits a different kind of man.
Say hello to the Intelligent Thug.  7'2, 325lbs and sharper than O.J.'s
knife.

[He reaches up a giant hand to run his fingers through his beard.]

DR: Until now, you've always seen me as part of a tag-team.  I haven't
been able to communicate my message effectively.  My views have always
been blunted.  Now, I have the stage all to myself.  I can speak with my
voice.  I can speak the truth to you.  The fans, they will have somebody
they can both look up to and believe in.  They can love me or they can
boo me, but they will respect me because I am the wrestler that is about
something more than just excellence inside the ring.  Consider this a
return to the renaissance days when dumb thugs weren't all that anybody
aspired to be.  I don't wear red or blue bandannas.  I don't smoke
blunts.  I am not part of a gang.  I am an intelligent Black man. 
Imagine that.  In this world where my image has been sullied and
destroyed, I still stand as an example.  The real man that stands up and
is accounted for.  The real man that toils his hardest for what he wants
and will not tolerate failure.  See, most people don't want to deal with
a man.  They don't want to try to take him down.  A real man is a hard
man.  And I am a rock.  The stone that the builder refused.

[Derek's sly smile displays brilliant white teeth.]

DR: Enough pontificating.  I don't need to tell you why I am the best
wrestler in the world.  I don't need to beg you to cheer me or boo me. I
don't need to convince you that I will win the debutant battle royal.
Real men don't talk -- they *do*.  And I will show you all in the ring
what I am made out of.  And when you see it, trust me, you'll be more
than impressed.

[Cut back to Ditka in the studio.]

DD: It'll be a great night in the Garden next week.  The return of Derek
Rage.  Lord Byron will be there.  The RCW Champion will make his first
championship defence.  Driscoll and Carmazzi will go one on one to
settle the number one contendership.

[Cut to a graphic showing the contact details for the Rose Garden box
office, and the Ticketmaster logo.]

DD: A few tickets are still remaining.  Don't miss your chance to be a
part of the action as it all goes down *live*.  Or tune in on KPDX 49
for what will undoubtedly be another explosive hour of wrestling action.

[Cut back to the studio.]

DD: Well, folks, that'll wrap it up for tonight's On The Wire.  Until
next Thursday night, on behalf of everybody here at RCW, this is Don
Ditka wishing you a good night -- and we'll leave you with comments from
the first hobo of wrestling, "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy.

[Fade up on a bright sunny day down among the hardworking folks at
Portland's trainyard. There are several tracks, and a cargo train is
rumbling past the camera. If you glance hard enough, we can see that
there is someone standing on the other side of the track, hidden behind
the powerful machine. Several more cars go by until we see the caboose.
Once it passes, we see "The Jersey Drifter" standing there, watching the
train as it disappears from sight. Liam is sporting a pair of
fashionable red corduroy pants, and his usual sleeveless undershirt (aka
wifebeater). On top of his mangy brown hair is his treasured black
fedora hat. He cocks his head towards the camera and grins.]

LC: Hey, lads.

[The man we know as wrestling's first hobo turns back his head to watch
the train depart.]

LC: I'll give you this, you guys are punctual. Hey, see that train goin'
down that track?

[Our cameraman pans the camera to see the train rounding a bend and
disappearing from sight.]

LC: That was s'posed to be my train.

[The camera pans back to Liam who in the few moments of opportunity, has
pulled a brown paper bag out of his pants pockets, and takes a swig of
whatever alcohol it contains.]

LC: Yeah, big fight up in Atlantic City this weekend. I figured it
woulda been a four day trip, hopping on and off. You know how it is, the
life on the road. Or in my case, on the track.

[Liam leans over and picks up his duffel bag and begins to walk.]

LC: Yeah it woulda been real nice to go. I had some friends in there
that I wouldn't mind seein' again. Few right bastards too I woulda liked
to knocked out too. See up until a few weeks ago, that's how I made my
living. God didn't give me much other than these two fists and an
ability to take an asskickin'.

[He kisses his clenched right fist.]

LC: It's those two things that have gotten me into a lotta trouble over
the years. But it's also made me a lotta money. Now I ain't a greedy
feller and I just take my fair share, buy a round for the lads, and be
on my way. I don't think I've ever stayed in the same town for more than
a week, and that's usually cause I'd wake up in the hospital or
something.

[Pause.]

LC: I was all set to hop on that there train. I was good to go, but
something held me back. I dunno what.

[He takes another swig.]

LC: I think it might be this Rip City Wrasslin' thing. See, I ain't ever
stayed put 'cause I've never felt like I had to. The sense of belonging
just isn't there. But that Spreadbury feller, he wants me to stay. He
says I'm contractually obligated to be here every second Saturday, or
something like that. Legal mumble jumble. But he wants me to stay, and
wrassle for him an' RCW.

[Stopping dead in his tracks, Liam decides for another swig, until he
realizes the bottle is now empty. He shrugs and tosses it over shoulder
to the ground below.]

LC: So, I got me a problem.

[He leans in close to the camera and cups his hand over his mouth so
that only the camera can hear him.]

LC: 'Cause I ain't know [BLEEP] 'bout professional wrasslin'.

[He begins to walk again, following along the tracks.]

LC: Oh yeah, I can throw a punch. I can dance around the blokes in that
ring. Bounce 'em around here an' there, you know how it is. But then
these guys, they lock on their fancy strangle holds or their suplexes
and clotheslines. Ain't nobody ever fight like that where I'm from. And
I ain't used to it. Ya know, before I started my wrasslin' career, I
thought wrasslers were just sissy nancy boys in tights with bad tempers
and hairy backs.

[Liam gives the camera a coy wink.]

LC: Now I know that's only half of 'em. There's some real tough blokes
in that there locker room. But I can't help but think I can knock 'em
all.

[The camerman stops, perhaps in disbelief at the boastful claim.]

LC: What? I ain't all [BLEEP]s'n'giggles ya know. If there's one thing I
take serious, it's a fight, and I'm confident enough to know I can do
it.

[We move once again.]

LC: But to be honest, I'm not quite sure why I stayed. I like the
crowds. It's kinda cool having ten thousand people out there chanting
your name. It's got a nice feel to it. Steady pay check. New challenge.
There's lot's of pros to sticking around here. Portland's not too
shabby. And I know there's lot's of critics who cry foul every time I
step into that arena there. They think I don't belong in a wrasslin'
ring.

[The Jersey Drifter flashes a confident smirk.]

LC: See, the biggest mistake that Trevor Lansing lad made was
underestimating me. And now where's he at? He's not around no more to
make the same mistake again. And that's gonna be the same for anyone
that steps into the ring with me. I ain't gonna wrestle no sixty minute
matches. And if you're looking for me to jump off that top rope and do
some fancy flippy thing, you've got another thing coming.

[Liam holds up a finger to the camera.]

LC: Give me one second. One second is all I need to end a match. One
second is all it takes to go down in defeat at the hands of The Jersey
Drifter. Laugh if you want, but I'm stickin' around here and I plan on
stayin' a while. And if any critics got a problem with that, I won't be
a hard guy to find.

[Liam stops and shadow boxes for a moment, before planting a fake slow
motion fist right to the lens. He starts grinning.]

LC: I'll be the guy knockin' people out and having the time of my life.

[With that, the cameraman decides to stop and allow Liam to continue on
his way down the track. As he walks away, The Jersey Drifter starts
whistling to himself as he walks off.]

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