[The high-tempo heavy guitar riff of Black Sabbath's "The Mob Rules" thrashes away as we see footage from previous RCW matches...] # Close the city and tell the people that # something's coming to call # Death and darkness are rushing forward to # take a bite from the wall, oh [...Rick Marley rolls Nathan Herod into the ring, then leaps back in with a Frankensteiner that takes Herod down to the mat... Marley with the tornado DDT... Herod busts Marley open again, re-opening his two-week-old wound...] # You've nothing to say # They're breaking away # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules # The mob rules [...Orin LeBlanc and Nolan Dorado brawl away from ringside... Derek Rage picks up Dave Bryant in a clawhold for the Hammer of God, but Bryant escapes, planting the big man with a DDT... Bryant drops the leg on Rage, then attempts a Boston Crab, but the giant escapes...] # Kill the spirit and you'll be blinded, # the end is always the same # Play with fire, you burn your fingers and # lose your hold of the flame, oh [...Liam Cassidy escapes near fall after near fall from Lord Byron... as the clock ticks down, Byron goes for a tie-up, but Cassidy slips behind the blueblood, and as Byron spins around, he is caught by a vicious right hook from Cassidy, allowing Cassidy to pin Byron...] # It's over, it's done # The end is begun # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules [...Paul Driscoll pastes Ryan Faith with a steel chair... Faith hits Driscoll with a low blow... Faith's valet Dinah stomps away at Driscoll... the two men brawl through several rows of fans... Driscoll hits the Death Valley Driver on Faith onto a steel chair...] # You've nothing to say # Oh, they're breaking away # If you listen to fools... [...Brody Thunder tosses Owen Curtis across the ring with a belly-to-belly suplex... Thunder with a big spinebuster on Curtis... Curtis clips Thunder's knee from behind... Thunder hits a brainbuster DDT on Curtis...] # Break the circle and stop the movement, # the wheel is thrown to the ground # Just remember it might start rolling and # take you right back around [...Eddie Curtis's camera's flashbulb explodes in Thunder's face... Curtis hits the blinded Thunder with a powerbomb... Curtis hits the Obituary onto a pile of newspapers, leaving Brody Thunder lying in a pool of his own blood...] # You're all fools! # The mob rules! [...the logo crashes onto the screen in an explosion of sparks and flame:] ___ ______ __ ___ ___ __ ______ ___ _________ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / _ \/ _ | / |/ / _ \/ _ |/ ___/ __/ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / / , _/ __ |/ /|_/ / ___/ __ / (_ / _/ /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ /_/|_/_/ |_/_/ /_/_/ /_/ |_\___/___/ LIVE! Rose Garden, Portland, OR Thursday 1 June 2006 [The logo flies outwards, revealing behind it a wide shot of the interior of the Rose Garden, fireworks exploding from the lighting rig high above the ring, showers of sparks cascading down towards the fans below while coloured spotlights swirl over the crowd. Cut to shots of fans in the ringside sections, waving signs like "THUNDER OWNS CURTIS", "KISS ME DINAH", "SHOOT DRISCOLL SHOOT"... the camera whizzes past fans wearing Madrock "Grinning Wallaby" bandanas, "YOUR HERO" t-shirts, and other RCW merchandise... and then comes to rest on the ring, where RCW lead announcer Don Ditka is already standing, microphone in hand. As the music fades, Ditka raises the microphone and addresses the crowd.] DD: Welcome everybody to Portland, Oregon! [Big hometown pop!] DD: Welcome everybody to the Rose Garden! [Big hey-that's-where-we-are pop!] DD: Welcome everybody... to RCW RAMPAGE! [Big hey-we're-on-TV pop!] DD: Ladies and gentlemen, we've got an incredible hour of wrestling action coming your way, but first, let's talk about RCW Wild Summer Night, our first ever pay-per-view, which is coming your way in just six weeks' time! [Big we've-got-our-tickets-in-advance pop!] DD: One of the stellar match-ups scheduled for what promises to be a great, great event is the RCW Championship match, pitting RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence... [Big heel pop!] DD: ...against the number one contender, second-generation Texan superstar "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. And we are about to see the contract signing for that match... right now! So without any further ado, please join me in welcoming to the ring... "PISTOL".... PAAAAAAAAUL.... DRRRRRIIIISCOLL! [Big pop as "Walk All Over You" by AC/DC kicks in over the PA, some booing, some cheering, but all respecting the #1 contender to the RCW Championship. "Pistol" Paul Driscoll walks out from behind the curtains and raises his hands to the audience, getting quite the favorable response in the process. The Texan wears faded blue jeans and a black leather vest, with black boots poking out from underneath his pants. His dirty brown hair has been cut, perfectly symmetrical all around, the sides shaved. He walks to the ring, paying no attention to the fans who reach out to slap him on the shoulder and pat him on the back. Paul walks the steps and ducks into the ring, once again raising his hands as the frenzied guitar of AC/DC loops once more.] DD: Mr. Driscoll, in just a few short weeks your shot at the title will come to fruition. Tell me please, why were you silent at the press conference? [Driscoll accepts the microphone from Ditka and pauses, thinking of his answer.] PD: 'Cause sometimes man's better suited to lettin' his fists do the talkin'. [The Pistol turns and just glares at Ditka, hands on hips. Don nods with his head, expecting Driscoll to continue. Paul does not.] DD: Oh...kay. Well, maybe you could expand on that. PD: Maybe. [Again, Ditka leans into Driscoll, prepared to coax the interview along. But Driscoll pays no attention, staring into space and then looking at the ground.] DD: I must say, Paul Driscoll, that since winning your ticket to the main event of the first RCW pay-per-view, you've been silent. A man in your position is usually angling for attention and so forth, but you've taken a backseat to other things. PD: Am I s'posed to 'pologize fer that? Fer bein' quiet when there's other chumps lookin' fer their fifteen minutes? After gettin' knocked fer a loop by Johnny's stooge? [Heel pop!] PD: 'scuse me fer layin' low fer a week. But the head's fine now, Donnie, all is well in Driscoll-ville, so lemme set ya straight. Come Wild Summer Night, I'm walkin' outta this ring with that strap over my shoulder. That title means 'at leavin' Texas fer someplace else was a right decision. It means that it's all been worth it. But here's the thing, Ditka. People are expectin' me to be hatin' Johnny Pleasence fer bein' this or that, 'cause maybe I had some choice words for 'im earlier in the year. But I got myself an up close'n personal look at Pleasence recently Don, an' I tell ya... every word I said still stands. He's still a no good sumbitch, an' nobody alive has a good word to say about him. [Driscoll pauses as the crowd cheers, giving Ditka the time to add his two cents.] DD: He has done some despicable things in RCW, that's for sure. PD: An' he did a few o' them to me. But do I hate 'em? [Driscoll cracks a grin.] PD: Nah. I don't hate Johnny Pleasence. The kid makes me laugh. Johnny Pleasence reminds me o' me, 'bout five years ago. A guy who's jus' too damn lazy to get things done the right way, so he cuts corners, he cheats like a bastard an' he makes other people do his dirty work. If bein' a dirty bastard was a company, ol' JP would be the CEO an' executive manager... 'cause he got Ryan Faith doin' his deeds for him. He's got Dave Bryant askin' to kiss his ring. He's got... [And suddenly, the lights drop completely out as "Into the Night" by Billy Idol and Tony Iommi begins to blast throughout the arena. The crowd lets loose with a torrent of boos as the RCW Champion himself, Johnny Pleasence, comes sauntering out the back. Dressed in a black t-shirt, black jeans, and black Doc Martens, Pleasence has his championship belt draped over his shoulder as he enters the ring, calling for the ring mic...] JP: You're damn lucky, mate. On a normal night, I woulda kicked the squids outta you without a care in the world... But tonight, you've proven to me -- hell, this *entire bloody organization( has proven to me that all this is not worth my time... 'cuz hell... [The Big Bad smirks.] JP: I'm no Brody Thunder. [HEEL CROWD POP!] JP: Let's face it, I'm just the RCW Champion that's had the "honor" of defending the belt against... "Your Hero" Danny Daniels, and... [Pleasence pauses.] JP: ...and... come on, help me out, Driscoll, who have I defended this soddin' belt against!? [Driscoll just looks at Pleasence blankly.] JP: No one! Nobody, you bloody git! If you were even worth a *damn* in this place, Spreadbury would have hooked us up lickety split, but did he?! No, he gave me a *non-title match* against some poof, and you? You've been wallowing in medocrity ever since I snagged this fifteen pounds worth of crap while the boys runnin' with me have been picking you apart... and I haven't had to do a damn thing but watch you *suffer*. [HEEL CROWD POP!] JP: Must be bad, mate... five years ago, no one heard about you... yet, according to you, five years ago... you and I were just alike. Funny how that works, hmm? You see, five years ago... *you* didn't make it to the "big time". Now, if we're the "same man", stylistically speaking... what happened? Why didn't you step up, Driscoll? It wasn't the knee... we all know that only goes out on you when it's convenient for you to have an excuse for a loss... so where'd you slip up? Morals? Mate, face it... you don't have any. Pride? Hell, if you had *any* pride, you wouldn't be out here bitchin' about what wee lit'le Ryan Faith did to you -- you'd suck it up and deal... ...so, the question is, fancypants: what *do* you have going for you? [The crowd buzzes as Pleasence continues.] JP: *Fear*. That's all that's left for you, "Pistol"... 'cuz what's gonna happen when this place doesn't want you anymore? What's gonna happen when Rip City isn't your home? Gonna go back to wrestlin' with your family in some dive, right? It *scares* you, doesn't it? The fact that this is your last shot at something "great"... and even if you manage to make everyone believe in miracles, nothin'll change for you. In the long run, you winning this... [Pleasence pats his belt.] JP: ...is merely an afterthought. In the grand scheme of things, Driscoll... this industry has passed you by, and me? I'm the monster you *should have been*. But it's okay, mate... it's all right. At Wild Summer Night, you get your shot to relive the days of old and try and take what's rightfully mine... but before that happens, know this: At any given moment over the past several weeks, I've had every opportunity to *end* your career. The scary thing is: what's going to happen when I decide to? [Pleasence shoots Driscoll a grim smile.] JP: You'll find out in a couple of weeks. [And with that, Johnny Pleasence heads out of the ring and back up the aisle. Driscoll scowls as Pleasence disappears behind the curtain, and then grabs the microphone with authority.] PD: God knows it pains me to say it, but Johnny Pleasence is one hundred percent right. Right now, he's what I shoulda been. He's a monster, top o' the world with a bunch o' sorry punks doin' his dirty work. But let's get one thing clear, punk. I choose *not* to cut corners, I choose to earn my keep in RCW with some semblance o' honor. There's a bunch o' kids who'd love to find you in some back alley and tear you to pieces 'cause I told 'em so, but every time I tell 'em no. An' let me tell ya why, John. The man makes the title, not the other way 'round. That title restin' on yer shoulder doesn't mean a goddamn *thing*, 'cause you never once in yer life fought with honor. I know damn well 'at I oughta be the last man givin' this surmon on the mount, but there comes a time in every man's life when he's gotta look hisself in the eye and find out what he's worth. I done that, John, not a long time ago. I done that after havin' kids like Faith an' Bryant do my bidding, after cheatin' my way to riches I ain't never dreamt of. An' ya know what I found out? That it don't mean nothin'. [Driscoll looks down the aisle, eyes fixed on the curtain.] PD: The reason I ain't doin' what yer doin', the reason that *I* ain't *you* is because in the end it don't mean nothin'. Every prize you steal, every title you take, it don't mean a damn thing if you didn't get it on yer own. This business is about makin' money, b'lieve me I know that... but in the process, you get a chance to find out what yer made of. I know what I'm made of. God knows, I been put through enough tests'n obstacles that I seen how much the human body can take. I know damn well 'at this body ain't bulletproof, but my soul is. But never once, I ain't never earned a days pay in this business by myself. Not until I came to RCW. So many people, they signed on the dotted line fer money and fame... an' all them things're nice, John. But I signed on the dotted line to see jus' how good I really am, jus' where I stand in the history of this great sport. Beatin' someone after Dave Bryant tapdanced on his head, that don't mean anything. Gettin' my hand raised after Ryan Faith took 'em out, that don't mean nothin' neither. But beatin you one, two, three on my own... that means it was all worth it. That means I didn't have to be *you* to climb to the top o' the mountain. You can shoot fer my knee if you want to, Pleasence, but it ain't the knee that's in question. It's my career, and my soul... an' there ain't no way I'm lettin' you win *that* fight. [With that, Driscoll drops the mic to the canvas, and "Walk All Over You" kicks over the PA as the Texan pauses for a moment to receive the cheers of the crowd, and then heads away from ringside. Cut to the ringside announce table, where Don Ditka is adjusting his headset, having joined Billy Shakespeare.] DD: Well, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, it's a pleasure to be down here at ringside after *that* little exchange. BS: Good to have you back, Don. DD: We'll be seeing more of RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence later in the show tonight, when he takes on Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc in our main event, but ahead of that we have all kinds of action. Momentarily we'll see Christian Right do battle with "The Fallen Angel" David Cross, and later on we'll be speaking live by satellite with the wife of Brody Thunder, Mrs. Tamara Thunder, about the brutal attack on her husband perpetrated by Owen and Eddie Curtis two weeks ago. BS: I was disgusted by Curtis's actions, Don. And I saw Brody Thunder backstage earlier on -- so if Owen Curtis is smart, he'll have stayed home tonight. DD: Absolutely, Billy. We'll also see a phenomenal three-way dance pitting three of the most exciting light heavyweights in RCW against each other, as "Walking Boy" Nolan Dorado will attempt to, you know, *wrestle a match to its conclusion*. BS: Dorado certainly doesn't suffer things not going his way gladly, Don. But he's got to face the impressive "Showtime" Rick Marley and the ruthless Ryan Faith at the same time tonight -- I wouldn't be surprised to see Dorado take a walk again tonight. DD: On top of all that, we'll see the strangest rivalry in RCW taken up another notch when Madrock the Irrepressible goes up against "Your Hero" Danny Daniels in an arm-wrestling contest later on. It's going to be a wild ride -- and when we come back, we'll be up to the ring for our first match. Don't go away! [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to a shot of the announce table at ringside.] DD: Welcome back, folks. Before we get up to the ring for our next match, during the break "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder arrived here at the arena, and Jamie Bond was there to meet him. Let's take a look. [Cut to footage captioned "DURING COMMERCIALS". A handheld camera takes in the parking lot as a black pick-up truck rumbles to a stop on the gravel, trailing a cloud of dust. The excitable intern Jamie Bond steps into shot.] JB: Okay guys, I think this is him. Let's go! [The camera follows Bond towards the truck. The driver's door abruptly opens and out steps Brody Thunder.] JB: Mr Thunder! Mr Thunder! Can we get a few words on this situation between you and Owen Curtis? Is it getting out of control? [Thunder speaks in an angry tone but doesn't stop walking.] BT: Outta control? You ain't seen outta control yet, but that no good sonuva*bleep* Curtis is gonna find out exactly how outta control I can be. DD: But Curtis... [Thunder stops dead in his tracks and faces DD.] BT: Curtis got lucky last week cuz Spreadbury banned us from that damned press conference an' wouldn't let at him face-ta-face or this would be over already. But no. Now they got my wife gonna be innerviewed here tanight. She's got nuthin' ta do with any o' this! [Thunder takes an deep angry breath and exhales.] BT: They watchin' this in there? [Thunder points towards the arena as the crowd inside reacts with a pop.] JB: They're on commercials, but we're taping. [Thunder grabs the mic right out of Bond's hands and looks into the camera with a steely stare.] BT: Curtis! You sorry sack o'sheepdip! This ends here tonight! Y'hear me, ace?! I'm comin' fer ya an' when I find ya -- JB: But Mr Thunder... [Thunder ignores Bond.] BT: ...I'm gonna snap that lil chicken neck o'yers an'... JB: Mr Thunder, PLEASE! [Thunder tries harder to ignore Bond.] BT: ...stick straight up yer yellow-bellied, egg-suckin' a-- JB: MR THUNDER! [Thunder spins on his heels and grabs Bond by his nack in a menacing clutch. Bond's eyes bulge as he chokes, terrified.] BT: What in-THE-hell is yer problem?! [Bond's voice creaks out as whisper courtesy of Thunder's strangling grip on his throat.] JB: He's... not... here. BT: What?! [Thunder releases Bond from his grasp. Jamie coughs violently, then composes himself before speaking again.] JB: Well... we've learned that Owen Curtis... is not even here tonight. [Thunder is obviously frustrated now and shakes his head side-to-side in anger.] JB: He's not in the arena and he's not expected here at all this evening. [Thunder drives the mic into Bond's chest with a straight right hand. He then storms into the arena, leaving a very harried and winded Bond behind in his wake. Cut back to ringside.] DD: As you can see, folks, Brody Thunder is absolutely incensed -- and I have to say it's fortunate for Owen Curtis that he's not at the arena tonight. Later on tonight, we'll be speaking to Mrs. Thunder live by satellite -- but right now we need to get up to the ring for our opening match. Here we go! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Christian Right vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "The Fallen Angel" David Cross [Sy Simmons has taken up position in the middle of the ring, and match official Jim Bright stands in the corner behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first.. [Cue the weird start to "Back on Earth" by Ozzy Osbourne and a mild face pop.] SS: ...hailing from Corry, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at 289lbs... here is "THE FALLEN ANGEL" DAAAAAAAAVID CRRRRRROOOOSS! [As the lyrics to the song start, Cross comes out to the entranceway.] # I have fallen from grace and my ashes are scattered # No longer of passion and flesh # My flame is alive thugh my wings have been shattered # They laid my body to rest [Cross strides out from behind the curtain, cutting an imposing figure as he stands at the head of the aisle, wearing his leather jacket and a large silver cross around his neck.] DD: And here he comes, Billy Shakespeare. A big, powerful man, David Cross is 6'7" and a wily veteran to boot. Christian Right will have his work cut out for him here tonight. [Cross walks to the ring, absently-mindedly slapping a few hands as he goes, but his mind is on the ring only.] BS: I don't think we've seen the best out of David Cross thus far, Don. He's going to have to step it up here tonight. DD: Absolutely, Billy Shakespeare. He's been very quiet, hasn't cut a single promo since his debut, despite the personal nature of his issue with Christian Right, who prevented him from competing against Akitoshi Ogawa two weeks ago. [Cut to footage captioned, "TWO WEEKS AGO", showing Christian Right running down the aisle after the entering David Cross, waylaying him with a bible loaded with a steel plate, preventing Cross from ever making it to the ring.] DD: Christian Right appears to have targeted Cross because he finds the religious imagery both of Cross's name and the cross he wears around his neck to be particularly offensive, given his, uh, *unusual* stance on the merits of professional wrestling. [Cut back to live action as "Back On Earth" fades, and Cross removes his leather jacket and the cross from around his neck, hanging the silver pendant over the ringpost and turning towards the entranceway once more, doing some stretches. Suddenly, the big screen above the entrance curtain shows large red letters, and a man's voice rings out:] VOICE: THE FOLLOWING IS PAID FOR BY CHRISTIAN RIGHT WRESTLING IS AN ABOMINATION AND A SIN AGAINST THE FATHER, THE SON, AND THE HOLY GHOST. NOW CHRISTIAN RIGHT IS HERE TO SAY A FEW WORDS. [The lights in the Garden drop, causing the fans to pop! Christian Right's face appears on the big screen.] CR: "Fallen Angel"? God give me the strength to beat the devil out of you, David Cross. Give me the strength my lord. Lead Mr. Cross not into temptation, but deliver him from evil. Let me guide Cross to the light with my fists. Because Cross would not listen before, it's time to do thy bidding. David Cross, it's time to feel the wrath of God through ME! [The lights go on... and Christian Right is standing behind David Cross in the ring, still wearing his smart suit! Big heel pop as Right jumps Cross from behind, and Bright hurriedly signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Christian Right fooled David Cross with those pre-recorded comments, and now he's putting a beating on the big man after jumping him from his blind side! BS: Hardly the actions of a faithful man, Don! [Right peppers Cross with rights and lefts, the big man staggered by the assault. Right sends Cross to the ropes, and then sends him flying with a backdrop. Right removes his jacket, and lunges at Cross, quickly twisting the jacket into a makeshift rope and wrapping it around the big man's neck. Bright puts the count on Right, who chokes Cross as long as he can.] DD: Christian Right is giving up fifty pounds and six inches against David Cross, Billy Shakespeare. BS: So in a sense you can't blame him for taking the low road so early. [The crowd jeers as Right relinquishes his jacket, which Jim Bright hands to a ringside attendant as Cross rises back to his feet again. Right loosens his tie, then launches himself at Cross, taking the big man down to the mat with a bulldog! Heel pop! Right yanks his tie undone from around his neck and wraps it around both fists, then lunges at Cross again and chokes him with the tie!] DD: Come on! Jim Bright needs to take a much harder line against Christian Right here! [Bright again puts the count on Christian Right, who breaks after four-and-a-half, and allows Bright to remove his tie. Right stomps away at the prone form of Cross, who clutches at his throat and tries to suck oxygen into his lungs. Right undoes his shirt and pulls it open, quickly removing it as Cross again rolls back to his knees. Right bounces against the ropes in front of Cross, turns, and hits him with a dropkick to the face, felling the big man! Heel pop!] DD: David Cross has just been battered from the get-go here, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Christian Right's plan was to throw Cross off his game, and it's certainly worked! [The fans jeer as Right now removes his trousers and tosses them aside. He's now finally in his normal ring gear of black trunks with an outline of a cross on each leg, simple black boots, and black wrist tape. He showboats a little for the crowd as he waits for David Cross to get back to his feet.] DD: Christian Right has lost none of the showmanship that made him a popular evangelical preacher earlier in his career, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Though he's anything but popular with these fans here in the Garden tonight, Don! [As Cross brings himself back to his feet, Right charges in with a clothesline attempt... which Cross ducks! Big pop as Cross wheels around and unloads on Right with a soupbone forearm... and another... and another! Cross has Right back in the ropes, and whips him across the ring as the fans cheer him on... Right ducks under a lariat attempt from Cross, then stops on a dime. Cross turns around... and receives a thumb to the eye from Christian Right! Heel pop as Right grabs Cross's tights, dragging him down to the mat with an inside cradle, and keeping hold of a handful of tights for good measure! Bright makes the count...] DD: One! Two! And -- no! Cross kicks out! BS: Christian Right is determined that his message is going to get through, Don, even if he has to bend the rules beyond breaking point to do it! [The fans rally behind Cross as both men get back to their feet. Right sends Cross to the ropes, then bounces off the adjacent side of the ring. The two men meet in the middle, Right leaping up and getting Cross in a headlock, driving him down to the mat with a bulldog! Big heel pop!] DD: Right with the big bulldog, and again he makes the cover! [Bright once again makes the count... 1... 2... ...and Cross kicks out! Pop!] DD: David Cross still has some gas in his tank! [Right drags Cross to his feet, and whips him into the corner, charging in after him... Cross has the wherewithal to dodge out of the way, and Right eats turnbuckle! Big pop!] DD: Cross has bought himself some time -- but he needs to capitalise! [As Right staggers backwards out of the corner, David Cross slings Right's arm over his shoulder, and lifts him up and falls backwards with a modified side suplex! Pop! Cross stays on Right, picking him up from the mat and sending him for the ride into the ropes. Cross bounces off the opposite side of the ring... and cameras flash all over the arena as the big man leaps up, hitting a big flying clothesline on Christian Right! Big pop!] DD: Big clothesline from David Cross that practically knocks Right out of his boots! BS: David Cross has tremendous aerial ability for a man of his size, Don. That's a big-time move, and perhaps the tide of this match has now finally turned in his favour! [Cross again drags Right to his feet, and slings his arm over his shoulder, grabbing hold of Right's tights. Cross goes for the suplex -- but Right blocks, putting his leg between Cross's legs! Cross hits Right on the back with a clubbing forearm and tries to hoist him again -- and again Right blocks! Cross goes for another forearm blow -- but Right unhooks himself, bends over, drives his shoulder into Cross's midsection, doubling the big man over, and then plants him hard to the mat with a DDT! Big heel pop!] DD: Beautiful DDT by Christian Right, and both men are down in the middle of the ring! [Match official Jim Bright puts the count on both men as the fans clap and stamp their feet to encourage the combatants to rise from the canvas. Both men roll to their knees at the count of five, and start taking swings at each other! Cross misses with a right, and Right connects with an uppercut, staggering the big man! But Cross immediately lashes out with a long leg, catching Christian Right in the midsection, and doubling him over!] DD: Oh my -- he's got Christian Right in a gutwrench -- he lifts him up! BS: He's going for the Ashes To Ashes powerbomb! If Cross hits this, the match is over! [But somehow, Christian Right slips out of Cross's grasp and slides harmlessly down the big man's back, landing safely behind him. The two men wheel around so that they are facing each other once more, and this time it's Right who connects... with a low blow, doubling Cross over! Heel pop!] DD: Christian Right with a blow to David Cross's tender regions -- and I don't think the official saw it! [Right places Cross's head between his legs... and hoists him up! Cameras flash all over the arena as Christian Right struggles to hold David Cross above his head in a crucifix position!] BS: David Cross is so tall that Christian Right is almost unable to keep the big man up in the air -- but surprising strength from this young man, Don! DD: Indeed it is, Billy Shakespeare! Christian Right is setting Cross up for his trademark running crucifix slam... [Right takes a few steps, building up momentum, before falling forwards, *driving* the back of Cross's skull and neck into the canvas hard, Cross actually flipping over feet over head from the impact, jamming his neck very hard indeed! Heel pop!] DD: CRUCIFIX! CRUCIFIX! He got him! BS: That looked bad, Don -- that looked very bad. [Right rolls the motionless David Cross onto his back and covers him, grabbing another handful of tights as he hooks the leg and waits for Jim Bright to make the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big heel pop as "This Man" by Jeremy Camp starts over the PA, and Christian Right rolls to his knees. He stands and allows Jim Bright to raise his arm as Sy Simmons makes it official.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, by pinfall... CHRRRRRRISTIAN RRRRRRRRRRIIIIIGHT! [The fans jeer as Right stands above the prone form of David Cross.] DD: What an impressive victory here tonight for Christian Right, Billy Shakespeare! BS: It was a one-sided contest, Don. Cross just never found his rhythm after he was blind-sided by Right before the bell -- and the fact that Christian Right took shortcut after shortcut throughout the match did David Cross no favours at all. DD: Now what's he doing? Oh, give me a break! [Christian Right moves to the corner of the ring where Cross deposited his silver cross pendant, and removes it from the ringpost. Right looks at it in his hands for a moment... and then puts it around his own neck! Heel pop!] DD: Christian Right is taking a trophy from David Cross! How sickening, to take another man's property, particularly something as personal as a cross! BS: It's all very Biblical, Don. Just be glad Christian Right didn't elect to take a pound of flesh from Cross, or his head on a silver platter! [Suddenly, there is a commotion in the aisle as the form of Nathan Herod is seen barreling down towards the ring, two RCW security guards in hot pursuit. Heel pop!] DD: Here comes Nathan Herod! What the heck does he want out here?! BS: Herod isn't even booked to wrestle here tonight! But I bet he's sore about his defeat at the hands of Rick Marley two weeks ago. DD: Herod may well be sore, but nothing like as sore as Marley, who had a wound inflicted by Herod a month ago re-opened in their one-on-one match. Nathan Herod is an animal! BS: He's as raw as they come, and twice as green -- but there's talent there, Don, no doubt about it. And he's tough as an ox! [Herod arrives at the ring and rolls in, shoving the victorious Christian Right aside. Right looks at Herod in shock as the burly Alabaman drags the still-motionless David Cross to his feet.] DD: Come on, Herod! David Cross is hurt after that Crucifix -- we need some help out here! [Herod acts fast, knowing that security will be on him momentarily, hooking Cross's arm over his shoulder, grabbing his leg, and hoisting him up for a fisherman's suplex!] DD: No! No! [At the apex of the suplex, Herod snaps Cross down to the mat headfirst, *planting* him with a DDT! Big heel pop!] DD: HDD! HDD! Herod with the HDD on Cross! [The two security guards now make it to the ring -- but as one of them tries to roll into the ring, he is met with a punch from Christian Right! Big heel pop!] DD: *Now* what?! Christian Right and Nathan Herod are working together?! BS: I don't think so, Don -- I don't think Right is happy with Herod at all, and wants to keep security out of it for the time being! [Indeed, as the fallen security guard is tended to by his comrade, Right turns his attention to Herod, who is looking down at the still-motionless form of David Cross in the ring. Right grabs Herod's arm and spins him around, then shoves him, his face reddening with anger.] DD: Uh-oh, here we go! You're right, Billy Shakespeare -- Christian Right doesn't like Nathan Herod stealing his glory, and now these two men are going at it! [Right and Herod exchange blows in the center of the ring as Jim Bright again signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! * [More security guards pour down the aisle and roll into the ring, trying to separate Right and Herod. The crowd cheer as the brawl rages on!] DD: Folks, we have to take a break -- when we come back, hopefully some order will have been restored! Don't go away! [As two security guards each grab Christian Right and Nathan Herod and pull them apart, fade to commercials.] [Fade back to the announce position, where Don Ditka and Billy Shakespeare sit next to each other, each man wearing his headset.] DD: Welcome back, folks. During commercial, RCW security were able to separate Christian Right and Nathan Herod, and then our arena medical staff came out to assist David Cross. BS: Cross took two severe blows to his neck, Don, and I'm concerned about it. From the way he was moving as the medical staff tended to him, I'd say that he's at least jammed it, possibly sustained a stinger -- a trapped nerve that causes temporary paralysis -- or, heaven forbid, suffered a more serious neck injury. DD: The Crucifix from Christian Right and the Herod Dynasty Devastator frmo Nathan Herod certainly took their toll -- and we'll try to bring you an update on the condition of David Cross before we leave the air tonight. Hang on -- I understand that Herod's manager Mick Silvestri has just caught up with his charge as he arrives backstage. [Cut to backstage. Mick Silvestri, for once not smiling but looking rather exasperated, seems to be arguing with this charge, Nathan Herod, who stares down at his manager with a blank expression.] MS: We have been over this, Nate. There was no match for you tonight. We were just here to lobby President Spreadbury to get you an appearance at the PPV. [Herod shrugs.] NH: Why do we even have to do that? Why don't I get a match like all of the other runts around here? What are they, scared? [Silvestri raises a hand to massage his right temple.] MS: The PPV is only three hours long. There is not infinite room on the card and, for whatever reason, we drew the short straw and came out with empty hands. There is no one to fight. NH: Mah Pa used to say "there is *always* someone t'fight, son. There are *always* people who want to take what's yours or have things that should be yours by rights, or just plain deserve to be mauled. Ye just have t'find 'em." [Mick just shakes his head.] MS: That doesn't really help, Nate, not now. Your actions have just cost us $10,000, and I'm not sure they accomplished anything else. Listen, just sit tight, okay. I'll talk to Spreadbury alone. I don't want you there spouting your brutality creeds while I'm trying to repair this situation. [The manager straightens himself and, as if flipping a mental switch, there is the smile.] MS: It will be all right. [The camera focuses on Nathan Herod's face as Silvestri leaves. The stone-faced expression makes way for a smile as he repeats his last few words.] NH: "Ye just have t'find 'em." [Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Herod doesn't appear to be the brightest bulb in the Christmas tree, Billy Shakespeare, but I have to hand it to him: he wants to compete at RCW Wild Summer Night, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to make that happen. BS: Yes, Don, but taking away somebody else's opportunity by trying to injure him? That's not the sportsmanlike way, is it? DD: No, it's not, Billy, but something tells me that Nathan Herod is used to getting what he wants. Let's move on. Coming up, we're about to see two of the most colourful characters in RCW participate in an arm-wrestling challenge... and it's all over a box of bandanas and a box of t-shirts. Let's get up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / ARM-WRESTLING CHALLENGE: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Madrock the Irrepressible vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Your Hero" Danny Daniels [Sy Simmons once again stands in the ring.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the next contest is a special arm-wrestling challenge! [Pop!] SS: Introducing first, hailing from San Francisco, California, and weighing in at 265 pounds... here is "YOUR HERO", DANNY DANIELS! ["Afternoon Delight" by the Starland Vocal Band begins as Danny walks out. He's wearing one of the "Your Hero" golden t-shirts and wraparound sunglasses, but there are three significant differences. First, he's dragging a cardboard box behind him. Second, instead of his usual grin there's a sour expression on his face. And the third? No cordless microphone.] DD: Danny Daniels uncharacteristically -- and joyously -- silent this evening, Billy. BS: A blessing. We shall see if it happens twice. [As Daniels enters the ring, "Afternoon Delight" fades over the PA and Simmons raises the microphone again.] SS: And his opponent! From Cockatoo Island, Australia, weighing in at 321 pounds, here is... MADROCK THE IRREPRESSIBLE! [As "Tubthumping" by Chumbawamba plays over the PA, Madrock comes out into the aisle, cannoning down to the ring in his inimitable style, slapping the hands of the fans as he comes with his right hand. In his other hand, balanced on his huge, wild-haired head, he carries a cardboard box.] DD: Madrock also coming out here with a cardboard box of merchandise -- and in this box he has Daniels's "YOUR HERO" shirts. [In the ring is a table with chairs on either side, and a small box of chalk to keep the hands dry. The referee indicates for both men to sit, but Daniels seems more obsessed with the box of shirts that Madrock brought into the ring. He tries to go for the box, only to be ordered to his seat. Grumpily, he complies.] DD: We've been told that the winner of this contest will take back both boxes of items, so one of them will go back with the apparel they want. Given how obsessed Daniels has been at times... BS: At times? More like constantly. DD: He certainly wants to win. But he's giving up an awful amount of weight and size to Madrock. [Daniels and Madrock both take their seats and lock up arms. The referee signals, and...] DD: They sta... DONE! Madrock just slammed that meathook of an arm right into the table! Just like that, it's over! BS: It does seem anticlimati... D'YH'D: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! [*Now* Daniels has a cordless microphone, and is yelling at the referee.] D'YH'D: I wasn't ready! I clearly was not ready! You started without warning me. Otherwise I would have clearly defeated the Austria wrestler here. Let's try this again! DD: Danny protesting... and Madrock seems to be willing to have another go! He sits back at the table. The referee nods his approval -- I guess we're having a rematch! [Again, both men sit at the table, and lock hands. This time the referee asks both men, very clearly, if they are ready. Madrock nods, Daniels nods, and the referee lets go...] DD: Here it is... DONE! Madrock slams the arm of Daniels against the table again! No question this time. The referee grabs both boxes... D'YH'D: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! [Danny waves his hands in the air, blocking the referee from grabbing the other box.] D'YH'D: Hold on! [Danny smacks his head] Silly me -- I totally forgot that I'm left-handed! And left-armed! Let's try this again! DD: Left-handed? Danny Daniels has never been a southpaw. But it looks like Madrock is willing to try again. BS: Well, it's not like Madrock has had to break a sweat in either of his matches. [Madrock and Daniels lock up, left-handed this time, and...] DD: Madrock with ANOTHER quick victo... D'YH'D: WAIT WAIT WAIT! Wait a second! THIS TIME I wasn't ready! You need to warn me before starting! DD: Not ready? Daniels is just wasting time here... BS: True. On the other hand, I can think of worse ways to spend time than watching Danny Daniels lose. [Madrock yells in protest, but Daniels sits down and raises an arm, and Madrock finally goes back to his seat. They lock up arms, the referee asks Daniels if he's ready- and Danny immediately starts, catching Madrock off-guard. Madrock's arm starts to move down, but then Madrock powers back up, and then...] DD: Another quick victory for Madrock! I think all four of these arm-wrestling contests have taken less than a minute overall... D'YH'D: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! DD: Oh, come on now! What's his excuse this time? D'YH'D: My chi wasn't centered! You can't expect me to compete in a contest of brute strength with a chi that's out of whack! BS: What?! [Madrock is inclined to take his boxes and go back, but a "ONE MORE TIME" chant starts up, and Madrock plays to the crowd. He points to Daniels and gives a "Thumbs Down" gesture, which draws applause from the crowd, as he goes back to the table.] DD: Madrock has already beaten Daniels four times, but he's going back for a fifth. One of these times he might lose to Daniels. [They lock up arms, the referee checks, and...] BS: Then again, he might not. DD: Five for five for Madrock the Irrepressible! D'YH'D: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! DD: And the excuse this time is... D'YH'D: I was blinded! The stench from the Albequerquian here watered my eyes, and I couldn't see a thing! DD: He's blaming... the smell. BS: Well, I'll say this for Daniels. He doesn't give up easily. DD: And Madrock just seems to be toying with him as he goes back to the table. [This time, after they lock up, Daniels has a new tactic: when the referee orders them to begin, Daniels starts pulling down on Madrock with both hands, trying to get him to the table. Madrock struggles, and then with a bellow...] DD: Madrock with a SLAM! And now he's won six times in a row. BS: I suppose that would make Daniels the New York Knicks of the RCW. D'YH'D: HOLD ON! HOLD ON! DD: Oh, come on, now... fun's fun, but we have a show to... D'YH'D: This is ridiculous! I don't wrestle with just one arm! I wrestle with my entire body! And my mind -- I'm a THINKING MAN'S grappler! DD: ... BS: ... DD: ...Well, I really don't know what to say to that, Billy Shakespeare. [Stunned silence. Daniels continues.] D'YH'D: And there's a problem! Specifically, those greasy meathooks from Murdock the Octagonal! My hands are so slippery that I can't hold myself together, let along lock up with the guy from Allentown. Someone let me have some chalk! [Daniels reaches into the chalk box... then THROWS the chalk right into the eyes of Madrock!] DD: Madrock's blinded! He's blinded! And Daniels has snapped! He's grabbed the chair and smashes it over the head of Madrock! [Daniels removes his belt and wraps it around the neck of Madrock, choking him out. He starts yelling 'You're Nothing! I'm "YOUR HERO", dammit! You're Nothing!' over and over as he chokes out Madrock.] DD: I don't believe this! Daniels has gone insane! BS: Losing enough times will make people get desperate. Madrock handed Daniels enough losses to make a normal man angry- and Daniels is hardly normal to start with. DD: Madrock is blind, he's being choked out... he's on the mat, and the referee is trying to physically pull Daniels off him. But it's not working, and Daniels continues to choke out Madrock the Irrepressible. Daniels has always had a few screws loose, but we've never seen him this angry before. BS: Considering how badly Madrock was beating him in arm-wrestling, perhaps he felt that an attack from behind was his only hope. It did seem to have worked. DD: Here come several RCW officials to break up this attack. I certainly hope Madrock isn't injured -- he looks like he may be out. BS: If he's not injured, when he wakes up I suspect he'll be wanting the head of "Your Hero" on a plate. DD: We need to get some order restored out here -- hang on, I understand there's been a disturbance backstage. [Cut to a shot of three match officials surrounding a fallen comrade, lying in a corridor backstage at the Garden. RCW President Daniel Spreadbury strides into shot.] DS: What the hell happened here?! [Head official Juan Morales stands up, away from his colleagues, and addresses the president.] JM: Ees Bobby, Meester President. Ees been hurt! [Spreadbury looks down at the prone form of Bobby Belshee, who appears to be completely out of it.] DS: What happened? Who did this? JM: We don'know. Las' person we saw back 'ere was Ryan Faith. DS: Why would Ryan Faith attack the referee scheduled to officiate his match? That doesn't make any sense! I'll have to have words with Mr. Faith -- and one of you three will have to take on the next match. JM: No way, Meester President. I refuse to let any of my men ou'there until we know who deed this! [Spreadbury grimaces, but appears not to want to argue with the burly Mexican official.] DS: I understand, Juan. Fine. [Spreadbury turns to a nearby production assistant.] DS: Find me Vinny Carmazzi. He's not medically cleared to wrestle, but he was in my office earlier begging to be out in the ring tonight. I think I may have just the job for him. Go on, chop-chop! [The production assistant scurries out of shot. Spreadbury looks down at Belshee, shaking his head. Cut back to ringside.] DD: Did Ryan Faith attack match official Bobby Belshee, Billy Shakespeare? BS: If he did, I'd love to know why, Don. DD: Well, the show must go on. We'll be right back after these messages. [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to RCW President Daniel Spreadbury's makeshift office, where the bespectacled, besuited official is sat behind a desk, shuffling papers. A polite pop is heard over the audio as the crowd in the arena sees the RCW's head honcho on the big screen. You just know his peace and quiet won't last too long. He is interrupted by a knock on the door.] DS: Yes? Come on in. [The door slowly creaks open. Without much fanfare, in walks a man with deep dark eyes and matching rings beneath them. His attire and build are neither that of a RCW staff member or wrestler. Dirty jeans. Dirtier sneakers. Bloodstained shirt. Grey Trailblazers hat covering most of his wild hair. Average frame. Unimposing. Except for the fact that he is, on President Spreadbury's time. After the embarrassment of being escorted off the Rose Garden's premises by security last RAMPAGE, Vinny Carmazzi is doing a surprisingly good job of keeping his emotions in check. Both his hands are in the pockets of his jeans. Once again, while addressing President Spreadbury, Vinny keeps his eyes affixed on his own feet. He hates this, but he knows he has to sometimes.] VC: Sorry about two weeks ago. DS: That's what you came here to say? [Vinny still has his eyes on the floor. It's awkward for both men.] VC: Part of it. Thanks for putting me on the Pay-Per-View. It's my first one ever. DS: That's no problem. [Carmazzi begins to dig the heel of his sneaker into the carpet.] VC: Wasn't really complaining last Thursday. Just that I wanted a one-on-one match to settle things with Dorado. Don't know LeBlanc. Don't trust who I don't know. Don't know what he wants. I want to make Dorado pay. Could still do it if it's two-on-one. Just wanna know if that's what I should prepare for. DS: Sorry, Vinny, I don't have those answers for you. [Spreadbury tries unsuccessfully to make eye contact with Vinny, who continues to stare at the floor.] DS: Are you done? Because the last time you came in here during a show, it was for you to plead your case for me to put you on the card. [That triggers Vinny to finally look up. Right in the eyes of President Spreadbury. Hopeful, and once again, very desperate.] DS: It just happened that I had a last minute cancellation that night. Besides, you're not even medically cleared to wrestle yet. [Vinny lifts his hand out of his jeans pocket. He is holding a crinkled-up yellow paper. He places it, still folded at awkward angles, on the desk in front of President Spreadbury.] VC: Yes I am... as of this morning. [Though he trusts the word of Vinny Carmazzi, Daniel opens it up and skims it over anyway. The look on his face verifies Carmazzi's claim.] DS: Well, be that as it may, I'm afraid I don't have a match for you to wrestle in. [Vinny's shoulders slump down dejectedly. All hint of hopeful is completely gone. A blank look on his face. Desperate still. Kinda pathetic.] VC: There has to be something. Anything. I'll take whatever I can get. I can't take off another show. Dorado took away my shot at the title. He knocked me out. Almost ended my career. But nothing is worse than having him put me out for nearly a full month. Time doesn't heal. It does the opposite. The longer I'm forced to be on the sidelines, the more everything hurts. The pain only increases. I have to get out there. [Spreadbury stands and walks around the desk, putting his arm around Vinny's shoulders.] DS: Well, Vinny, I did ask you in here tonight for a reason. Two weeks ago, I let Johnny Pleasence be the guest referee for a match between Paul Driscoll and Ryan Faith. His performance... well, it left a lot to be desired. I didn't want to go the guest referee route again so soon, but I'm in a tough spot. *Somebody* attacked Bobby Belshee a few minutes ago -- and now Juan Morales is refusing to allow any of the other contracted officials to go out and wrestle until I've dealt with the situation. [While he doesn't quite know exactly where President Spreadbury is going with this, Vinny begins to perk up a little.] DS: And, Vinny, one of the men in the match will be Nolan Dorado. [Vinny's eyes light up and his lips curl into a sneer, until...] DS: But, Vinny, I don't want a repeat of last RAMPAGE. If you're going to be the referee, you're going to do it the right way. [Vinny looks at him slyly.] VC: I can't promise anything. [Spreadbury steps away from Carmazzi, visibly irritated.] DS: But I can, Vinny. I can promise that if you don't call it down the middle, then you're out of the cage match and off the card for Wild Summer Night. [A look of dejection returns to Vinny's face. He has just gotten what he wants... and hasn't... all at the same time.] VC: I'll try my best. I'll make sure the match is called fair and square. No problems. DS: That's what I like to hear. You better get ready -- the match is up next. VC: I am. Thank you very much. [With his head down again, but focused on wearing stripes and controlling action for the very first time later tonight, Vinny Carmazzi makes his way out of the office. As he closes the office door behind him. Spreadbury shakes his head and picks up his cellphone. Hitting speed-dial, he waits a moment, and then speaks into the phone.] DS: Find me Ryan Faith and Dinah. Now! [Cut to a wide shot of the ring as the timekeeper rings the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / THREE-WAY DANCE: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado vs. Ryan Faith vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Showtime" Rick Marley [Sy Simmons is once again standing in the ring, and raises the microphone to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a three-way dance! [Big oh-good-a-speciality-match pop!] SS: In a three-way dance, all three competitors are in the ring at the same time. The match is one fall to the finish: the first man to score a pinfall, submission, disqualification or count-out over one of his opponents is declared the winner! [Pop!] SS: And now, at this time, please welcome tonight's special guest referee... ["I Stand Alone" by Godsmack kicks in over the PA to a big pop from the crowd!] DD: Well, Carmazzi hasn't had long to prepare for this, Billy Shakespeare -- but here he comes! [Big pop as Vinny Carmazzi strides out to the head of the aisle. He's pulling on a black and white striped referee's shirt, with the sleeves cut off, as he walks out. He raises his fists to the crowd as he starts to make his way down to the ring.] SS: ...VIIIIIIINNNNNNYYY CAAAAAAAAAARMAZZZZZZZZI! DD: Vinny Carmazzi has just today been cleared to return to competition after the attack he sustained at the hand of "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado four weeks ago. Dorado, you'll remember, jumped Carmazzi before his scheduled match against "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, hitting a Golden Guillotine somersault legdrop from the steel crowd barriers onto the concrete floor, resulting in a concussion and other injuries. BS: It was a cowardly attack, Don, that's for sure -- all because Dorado is bent out of shape that Carmazzi has had the measure of him twice. DD: And now Carmazzi will be the match official for a match featuring the man who put him on the shelf, Billy Shakespeare. This could be very interesting indeed! [Carmazzi reaches ringside and rolls into the ring. A stern look on his face, he nods to Simmons as the song by Godsmack fades over the PA and the lights in the arena rise once more.] # Look.. if you had.. one shot, or one opportunity # To seize everything you ever wanted.. in one moment # Would you capture it.. or just let it slip? Yo.. [The arena lights dim as laser lights begin to play around the roof of the arena for a five count. Suddenly, a pair of white pyro bursts set in time with the bass drum light up the entry way as the main beat of "Lose Yourself" by Eminem floods the PA system.] SS: And introducing the competitors. First, from Allentown, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at 215lbs, here is... "SHOOOOOWTIIIIME" RIIIIIIICCK MAAAAAAAAARLEY! [Big pop as "Showtime" Rick Marley appears in the entranceway. The fair-skinned light heavyweight has his long dark hair pulled back in a ponytail and wears a midnight blue set of long legged trunks with the word "Showtime" stitched across the butt. White spotlights trail up from his black boots and cascade up the pant legs.] DD: Here he comes, Billy Shakespeare. Note that the wound on Rick Marley's head *still* hasn't totally healed -- thanks to two brutal attacks by Nathan Herod. BS: But it was Marley who came out on top two weeks ago, Don. He's an impressive young competitor, and I can't wait to see him go up against the other two men in this match. [Marley slaps hands with the fans on either side of the aisle, but then he breaks into a sprint, sliding under the bottom rope, striding across the squared circle to climb to the second rope in front of the announcer's table, where he raises both hands to the crowd. Pop!] DD: A nice ovation here for Rick Marley. This young man could have a big future here in RCW! [Marley jumps down from the buckle to the canvas as the lights in the arena rise and "Lose Yourself" fades from the PA.] SS: And his opponent... [The hip hop rhythm of Jurassic 5's "What's Golden" begins thumping over the loudspeakers as a shower of golden sparks cascades down over the entrance. Big heel pop!] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Jodee Burwick, hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 236lbs, here is... "GOOOOOOLDEN BOOOOOY" NOOOOOOOOLAN DORAAAAAAAAADO! [Through the entrance curtain and emerging from the sparks, a slender yet muscular man in a shining golden robe strides into view with his arms to either side in double bicep bodybuilder pose. Behind him, the curvaceous Jodee Burwick emerges wearing a shiny golden halter top and hot pants outfit. Shimmering golden wraparound sunglasses hide Dorado's eyes as he flashes a megawatt smile at the nearest camera.] DD: Here's the "Walking Boy", Billy Shakespeare. Despite his trademark smile, you have to believe that, on a number of levels, Dorado can't be a happy camper. BS: Quite right, Don. For one, there's his less-than-stellar record of 0-4 here in RCW to date. For another, his valet Jodee Burwick appears to have an eye for Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. And to add insult to injury, the man responsible for two of Dorado's defeats here in RCW is the special guest referee for this match. DD: Poor Nolan Dorado. He must feel as if the world is out to get him. BS: Somehow I don't think your sympathy is entirely genuine, Don. DD: Very astute, Billy Shakespeare. [Dorado jogs down to the ring and slides underneath the bottom rope. Behind him, Jodee takes a much slower pace as she slinks down to ringside and takes up a position in her boyfriend's corner. Clambering up onto the top turnbuckle, Dorado again flexes his biceps before stripping off his robe -- to a few feminine squeals of admiration -- and tossing it to Jodee. However, Dorado's smile quickly disappears as he hears a chant of "WALK-ING BOY! WALK-ING BOY!" building momentum among the fans.] BS: You seem to have started something, Don! DD: What a shame. [Dorado puts his hands to his ears and jumps back down into the ring as "What's Golden" fades over the PA. He moves over to Vinny Carmazzi and gestures wildly at him, as if blaming him for the fans' chants. Carmazzi clenches his jaw but doesn't retaliate.] SS: And finally... ["God Hates A Coward" by Tomahawk begins to play to a big heel pop.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Dinah, hailing from Southborough, Massachusetts, and weighing in at 220lbs... here is... RRRRRRRRYYYAN FAAAAAAAAITH! [All eyes turn to the entranceway, where a spotlight awaits the arrival of Faith and Dinah through the curtain... but nobody appears.] DD: Where's Ryan Faith, Billy Shakespeare? BS: Perhaps he's still hiding out backstage avoiding the RCW President. DD: Indeed. If Faith really was responsible for taking out official Bobby Belshee ahead of this match, perhaps he's got some other tricks up his sleeve. [Simmons tries announcing Faith's name again...] SS: Here is.... RRRYYYYYYAAN FAAAAAAAITH! [...as if he can draw Faith out from behind the curtain merely with the sound of his voice. But still Faith and Dinah do not appear.] DD: Looks like this three-way match just became a one-on-one match, Billy Shakespeare. ["God Hates A Coward" fades over the PA as Marley and Dorado look at each other in the centre of the ring. Dorado removes his wrap-around shades, looks at them in his hands... and then pings them into Marley's face using the elastic to slingshot them! Marley tosses the sunglasses aside... and charges in towards Dorado as Carmazzi signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: And we are underway! The childish actions of Nolan Dorado have riled up Rick Marley and -- drop toehold! [Dorado takes Marley down to the mat, and Rick quickly picks himself back up, again charging in... now Dorado armdrags Marley across the ring, and as both men hop back up to their feet, Dorado leaps up with a standing dropkick -- but Marley stops short, and Dorado crashes to the mat! Quick as a flash, Marley hits a standing moonsault splash onto Dorado's midsection! Big pop! Marley rolls off Dorado and back to his feet, then pulls Dorado back up to his knees. Dorado raises his forearm between Marley's legs -- but stops short when he catches a glimpse at Vinny Carmazzi, who is watching with eagle eyes!] DD: Dorado considering the low road there, but thinking better of it, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Somehow I don't think Carmazzi will cut Dorado any slack whatsoever in this match, Don. [Marley sends Dorado into the ropes, and on the rebound attempts a tilt-a-whirl backbreaker... but as Marley spins Dorado around, Dorado counters by grabbing Marley around the neck and pulling the top of his head down into the canvas with a devastating DDT! Big heel pop!] DD: What a beautiful counter by Dorado! BS: Dorado is truly one of the most innovative and exciting performers in RCW, Don. It's just a pity his attitude doesn't match his athleticism! [Dorado drags Marley back to his feet and sends him to the ropes, bouncing off the opposite side himself. The fans gasp as Dorado launches himself with a handspring back elbow that catches Marley in the throat and sends "Showtime" back down to the mat. Dorado looks to the corner of the ring and nimbly jumps up to the top buckle. The fans immediately resume chanting "WALK-ING BOY! WALK-ING BOY!", causing Dorado to once more cover his ears. On the outside, Jodee slaps the mat in frustration.] DD: Dorado now, hesitating on the top turnbuckle. BS: He can't let these fans get to him, Don. He's got to keep his focus on Marley! [Dorado waits a moment or two longer, then launches himself from the top buckle with a top-rope legdrop.. but Marley rolls out of the way, and Dorado jars his spine as he lands hard on the canvas! Big pop! Marley pulls himself back to his feet, and drags Dorado back up with him. Marley sends Dorado into the ropes, and hits him on the return with a legwhip takedown! Big pop!] DD: Marley now, establishing some measure of control in this match! [As Dorado gets back to his feet slowly, Marley grabs him for a reverse neckbreaker cutter! Big pop!] DD: Marley's going for the Limelight! [Dorado spins out from Marley's shoulder, fluidly kicking him in the midsection, and then plants him with a DDT! Big heel pop!] DD: Marley went for the Limelight too early, Billy Shakespeare, and Dorado was able to counter! BS: Great counter from the "Golden Boy", but you can't blame Marley for wanting to finish Dorado off early. [Again the fans start chanting "WALK-ING BOY! WALK-ING BOY!" as Dorado gets back to his feet. Dorado stalks over to Carmazzi and gets in his face. The fans cheer!] DD: Uh-oh -- Dorado needs to keep his temper here. What the fans are chanting has nothing to do with Carmazzi! BS: I think Dorado genuinely believes that all his troubles can be blamed on Vinny Carmazzi and Orin LeBlanc, Don. DD: To his credit, Carmazzi looks to want to call this one right down the middle, Billy Shakespeare. [Carmazzi stands impassively while Dorado berates him. And then... Marley grabs Dorado from behind, pulling him down to the mat with an inside cradle! Carmazzi drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Dorado kicks out! Heel pop!] DD: Marley nearly took advantage of Dorado's distracted state to pick up the win! [Dorado rolls back to his feet, and Marley is immediately back to a standing position himself. The two men trade rights, and Marley ducks under a Dorado right-hand -- then grabs Dorado around the waist and attempts a belly-to-belly suplex! But Dorado blocks the suplex attempt with his leg, then twists inside Marley's grip and sends him to the mat with a hiptoss! Heel pop! Dorado immediately applies the Sankakujime triangle choke on Marley!] DD: Golden Garotte! Dorado with the triangle choke on Marley! BS: I wonder whether Dorado is trying to send a message to Carmazzi with this hold? [Carmazzi is straight down to the mat, checking on Marley... and "Showtime" reaches out with his fingertips... reaches out... reaches out... and grabs onto the bottom rope! Big pop as Carmazzi calls for the break! Dorado refuses to release the hold as Carmazzi puts the count on him. The count reaches five... and still Dorado won't release the hold -- so Carmazzi physically intervenes, forcing the "Golden Boy" to relinquish the choke! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi doing the right thing here -- like all the fans in this arena, he wants to see this match end decisively, not with a disqualification. But Dorado doesn't like it one bit! [Dorado gets in Carmazzi's face, and even goes so far as to shove the match official!] "OOOOOOOOH!" [Carmazzi doesn't react to this provocation, and simply stands his ground.] DD: Incredible self-control here from Vinny Carmazzi, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Carmazzi has been given a job to do, and he's going to do it, Don. There'll be plenty of time to beat on Dorado inside that steel cage at Wild Summer Night. [Dorado is determined to get a rise out of Carmazzi... and slaps him hard around the face!] "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHH!" [Carmazzi still doesn't react, simply turning his face to look directly at Dorado, boring holes in the "Golden Boy's" face with a gaze of cold fury. Dorado's eyes widen, and he begs off, Jodee Burwick shrieking at her charge to watch out behind him!] DD: Hang on -- Marley... Marley's on the top turnbuckle! How did he get up there so fast? BS: He's quick as a cat, Don! [Marley attempts a missile dropkick on Dorado, but the "Golden Boy" is quick to react, countering with a hellacious spinning leg lariat that catches "Showtime" right in the face while he is still in mid-air! Big, big heel pop from the fans! Dorado drops onto Marley to make the cover. Carmazzi seems torn for a moment, hesitating just a little, before he drops to the mat to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Marley just about kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Marley kicks out -- and Dorado doesn't like it one bit! He thinks that was a slow count, Billy Shakespeare! BS: It's true that Carmazzi hesitated for just the briefest of moments, but the count was a solid one, Don. Marley just isn't ready to curl up his toes just yet. [Dorado brings Marley up to his feet as Jodee Burwick also climbs up onto the apron to remonstrate with Carmazzi for his apparent "slow count." Dorado whips Marley into the ropes, and Burwick "accidentally" tugs on the rope, causing Marley to topple out of the ring and to the outside! Heel pop! Carmazzi tells Burwick in no uncertain terms to get down from the apron, and she obliges, gingerly hopping down to the arena floor. Meanwhile, Dorado flashes a big smile at Burwick, then bounces off the opposite side of the ring. He races towards the other side of the ring... and cameras flash all over the arena as Dorado launches himself over the top rope and to the outside with a spectacular springboard somersault plancha! Huge pop from the crowd!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Oh my god! Dorado just hit a beautiful somersault plancha onto Rick Marley -- and both men are out! Both men are out cold on the outside! Will either man be able to beat the count? We'll be right back! [As Dorado and Marley lie in a heap on the arena floor, both their chests heaving with exertion, fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to show that both Marley and Dorado are back in the ring. Marley sends Dorado into the ropes, and then bounces off the adjacent side of the ring. Both men criss-cross each other in the middle of the ring once... twice... building up speed... three times... and finally they launch themselves at each other, attempting simultaneous high cross-body blocks... that result in both men colliding hard in mid-air! Big pop!] DD: Welcome back, folks! The tremendous pace of this match has continued apace during the break, and now... hang on, who's this? [The crowd is suddenly on its feet as two figures emerge at the head of the aisle. The spotlight picks out a slender young man pushing his long brown hair out of his piercing blue eyes, and a very shapely woman, also with long brown hair worn tied back, walking alongside him, wearing denim shorts, long boots, and a very revealing vest top with a plunging neckline. Big heel pop!] DD: It's Ryan Faith and Dinah! He was supposed to be out here ten minutes ago! BS: If Faith is coming out here to pick off Dorado and Marley, it's a smart move, Don! DD: Can Carmazzi disqualify Faith for interfering in this match, Billy Shakespeare? BS: Good question, Don -- but I'm guessing that he can't, since Faith was announced as a participant. [Faith arrives at ringside, but shows no sign of getting into the ring. Instead, he stalks over to the corner near the timekeeper's table, while Dinah goes over to Jodee Burwick... and slaps her around the face! Big pop! As Burwick and Dinah get into it, Carmazzi is forced to leave the ring to try and separate the two women.] DD: Now there's a position that many red-blooded men would like to be in, Billy Shakespeare! BS: You don't say, Don. [While Carmazzi is dealing with the catfight, Faith unseats the timekeeper and grabs a steel chair. He rolls into the ring, still clutching the chair, and waits for Marley to roll to his feet... then takes a big swing at him with the chair!] * SMACK! * "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" DD: What a brutal chairshot on Marley from Ryan Faith! [Marley goes down like he's been shot, and Faith examines his handiwork, glancing at the dent in the chair he's holding, then tosses it out of the ring and rolls out after it, pulling Dinah away from Burwick. Carmazzi looks at Faith, looks at Burwick, and then looks back into the ring -- where Marley is lying motionless and Dorado is back on his feet.] DD: Carmazzi knows he's missed something here, but he doesn't know what. BS: You have to wonder, Don, did Dorado and Faith arrange for that little cat-fight ahead of time to give Faith the opportunity to run interference? DD: You guess is as good as mine, Billy Shakespeare -- but now Dorado is going up to the top turnbuckle. [Carmazzi can only watch as Dorado goes to the top turnbuckle, and then launches himself with a front somersault from the top rope, cameras flashing all over the arena as Dorado spins... and *connects* with a big leg drop!] DD: GOLDEN GUILLOTINE! GOLDEN GUILLOTINE! That's got to be all she wrote! [Big heel pop as Dorado flashes a big smile at Carmazzi as he rolls onto the prone form of Rick Marley, hooking the leg. Carmazzi looks at Dorado with hatred in his eyes, but drops to the canvas all the same and makes the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He did it! Dorado has finally won a match in RCW -- though he did it with a little help from his friends! BS: And how galling for Vinny Carmazzi, Don, to be the one who has to count the pinfall on Dorado's first victory -- and a victory won with the very same move that injured Carmazzi and has put him on the shelf for the past four weeks. DD: It's an ironic twist of fate, that's for sure -- and look at Dorado! It's like he's won the world championship! [Dorado is bouncing around inside the ring, ecstatic at having picked up his first victory. He suddenly stops bouncing around... and turns to Carmazzi, a smile creeping across his face. He walks over to Carmazzi... and demands that Carmazzi raise his arm in victory! Big heel pop!] DD: Oh, give me a break! Dorado can't seriously expect Carmazzi to raise his arm! [Carmazzi's shoulders sag a little as he takes Dorado by the wrist... and raises his arm in the air!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner, by pinfall... "GOOOOOOLDEN BOOOOOY" NOOOOOOOOLAN DOOORAAAAAAADO! ["What's Golden" kicks in over the PA as Dorado looks at Carmazzi, a big smile on his face, and tries to take his hand back. But Dorado's smile disappears as he realises that Carmazzi won't let go of his hand -- and the look on his face turns to fear as Carmazzi grabs Dorado's other hand. Quick as a flash, Carmazzi yanks Dorado down to the mat! Big, big pop!] DD: KIMURA ARMBAR! Carmazzi has Dorado in the Kimura Armbar -- and Dorado walked right into that one! [Dorado is trapped in the vice-like grip of Carmazzi, and on the outside, Burwick yells at Ryan Faith to do something. Faith just smirks, and he and Dinah start to head away from ringside, so Burwick is forced to take matters into her own hands. She rolls into the ring, and looks terrified as she approaches behind Carmazzi.] DD: What's Burwick going to do?! Dorado's all locked up with nowhere to go! [Burwick looks down at her feet... and then, quick as a flash, removes one of her high-heeled shoes... and pastes Carmazzi on the back of the head with the heel! Big heel pop!] DD: Burwick just nailed Carmazzi with that shoe! BS: It had the desired effect, Don -- Carmazzi's released the hold! [Carmazzi does indeed release the hold, and rounds on Burwick, who backs away, apologising to Vinny for her attack. Dorado gets back to his feet... and as Burwick points behind Vinny, Carmazzi wheels around... and is met by a superkick to the face! Heel pop!] DD: SUPERKICK! SUPERKICK! Carmazzi may be out! [Dorado grabs Burwick by the wrist and pulls her from the ring, the "Golden Boy" deciding that discretion is the better part of valour. Dorado is all smiles again now, pointing to his temple in the universal pantomime for "I'm smart!", backing away up the aisle and leaving both Marley and Carmazzi in the ring. Cut to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Well, Billy Shakespeare, that was certainly an action-packed match -- but the two blows to the head suffered by Vinny Carmazzi there, one from Jodee's shoe, and the other from Dorado's superkick... let's hope they don't set back his return to the ring any further. BS: Carmazzi did a great job as stand-by referee in this match. Compare his performance tonight to that of Johnny Pleasence two weeks ago! DD: Don't remind me, Billy Shakespeare. Pleasence was without a doubt the worst referee I've ever seen. Folks, I'm sure there will be all kinds of repercussions from the match we've just watched in the coming weeks as we head to RCW Wild Summer Night, but up next we're going to see a rematch between Lord Byron and "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy. Byron was conspicuous by his absence at last week's Wild Summer Night press conference, Billy Shakespeare. BS: I'm not surprised that he didn't turn up, Don. Cassidy pulled off what could possibly be called the upset of the century -- not only surviving Byron's technical assault, but knocking the aristocrat clean out of his boots. DD: Byron's arrogance clearly got the best of him that night. Let's take a look. [We cut to footage captioned "TWO WEEKS AGO"... Byron ducking a Cassidy clothesline, grabbing Cassidy's pants and pulling him down with a schoolboy, keeping a good handful of pants as Bright makes the count... 1... 2... the footage pauses:] DD: Byron appeared to have Cassidy right there, but with less than 20 seconds to go, he continued to mock the Jersey Drifter and the crowd... BS: ...and boy, did he pay dearly for it. [...and Byron releases Cassidy just before the three count! Huge relieved pop from the crowd! The clock shows the remaining time at 00:12, as Byron starts to stalk Cassidy.] DD: Then, with seconds to spare, Cassidy pulled out the big guns. [...Byron goes for a tie-up, but Cassidy spots Byron coming and slips behind the aristocrat... 00:09... Byron spins around, dumb-founded that Cassidy slipped away from him, and... the footage freezes as Cassidy connects with a right hook that almost decapitates the blueblood! Ditka can be heard screaming over the mic:] DD: OH MY! Cassidy just *nailed* Byron with a vicious right hook! And Byron is down! Byron is down! [The footage resumes in slow motion as Byron's legs crumple beneath him... and Cassidy rolls on top, Bright dropping to make the count... 1... 2... 3!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this 60 Second Challenge, by pinfall... "THE JEEEEERRRSEY DRRRRIIIIFTER" LIIIIIAAAAAM CAAAASSSIDY! [The footage cuts back to a live shot of Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Amazing scenes, Billy. Byron was furious with himself -- and others, not to mention your good self -- after the match, and it appears that he walked straight into the President's office to demand a rematch at the earliest possible opportunity. As reported on On The Wire, RCW President Daniel Spreadbury agreed to sanction a rematch right here tonight... on the sole proviso that Byron signs an official contract with RCW. BS: Personally, after Byron's recent actions and comments, I wouldn't have touched him with a bargepole. Byron's made his feelings about RCW clear -- I'm surprised the President chose this course of action. DD: You're not a big Byron fan, are you, Billy Shakespeare? BS: What can I say, Don? I just don't like the guy. DD: Nevertheless, Byron is here tonight -- and to find out why, I believe we have footage to show of Byron's meeting with President Spreadbury, which took place right after his loss at RAMPAGE two weeks ago. Hopefully this may clear a few things up... let's roll the tape! [We cut to a blank screen, with a subtitle reading "AFTER RAMPAGE, TWO WEEKS AGO". The footage quickly changes to the RCW's corridors of power, the Rose Garden offices. From the jerky camera movements, it's obvious a hand-held camera is recording the picture. A door ahead is thrown open with enough force to nearly rip it off its hinges, and the British blueblood Lord Byron storms out, still in full wrestling gear, an ugly welt already forming around his partially-closed left eye. He snarls at the cameraman as he strides up to him, palming the camera out the way.] B: Get out of my way, fool! [The cameraman quickly spins, picking Byron up again and following him as he storms through the open office reception area, making a beeline straight for a pair of double doors...] B: SPREADBURY! [The doors are thrown open, and a seething Byron advances on the RCW President, who is sat behind an executive-sized desk, calmly working on a large pile of paperwork. Until Byron swipes it clean away, that is, sending the papers and contracts flying. Byron slams both hands palm down on the desk. President Spreadbury simply sits back and regards him coolly.] B: What the hell kind of outfit are you running here? I had Cassidy beat! A closed fist?? What kind of decision is what?? I DEMAN- [President Spreadbury, a calm look on his face, breaks Byron off with one word.] DS: Nothing. [Byron's expression turns dangerously cold. He leans closer to the President, a menacing look in his eyes. The President doesn't back off at all.] B: What... did you say? DS: I said you demand nothing of me, Byron. I've seen the match, and I know why you're here. But you demand nothing. [Byron throws his hands in the air, rising back to his full height. He points his brass-topped cane right at Spreadbury, glaring at RCW's chief executive.] B: You've seen the contract we had for the match tonight. You signed the damn thing. I have a rematch clause written in there -- watertight. I intend to exercise that right at the first possible opportunity. You... [The President, clearly exasperated, swats Byron's cane away, rises to his own feet and slams own hands on the desk. Byron takes a small step back, clearly surprised by the President's anger.] DS: Yes, Byron, you have a rematch clause -- but no power to exercise it! In case it slipped your mind while you were getting your head knocked off, you are not an RCW employee! Your contract amounts to nothing -- nothing at all unless I authorise and sanction the rematch! [Byron looks stunned. Daniel calmly gathers up the paperwork from his desk, and sits back down.] DS: I know you, Byron. I know how arrogant you are. And while I'm sure you want to avenge your loss tonight-- [A sneer of contempt deforms Byron's already badly swollen face, and he cuts the President off.] B: Loss? LOSS? That wasn't a loss, Daniel. That was an anomaly. An ABERRATION. You know as well as I do that Cassidy doesn't have anywhere near the ability he needs to compete with me in the ring. Your man got lucky, Daniel, that's all. Nothing more, nothing less. Pure, blind, luck. I WILL set the record straight. DS: Why should I sanction a rematch, Byron? Why? After your actions and comments tonight -- why should I give you the chance? B: If you had any faith in Cassidy at all, Daniel, you'd let him prove it was no fluke. Somehow, I doubt he can. [The President sighs, sits back in his chair.] DS: Fine. You can have your rematch. At the first available opportunity, as you requested. [A smile creeps across Byron's features for the very first time. A twisted, evil smile...] DS: On one proviso: you sign an official RCW contract. [And the smile is wiped clean away. Byron looks incredulously down at the President.] B: Are you mad, Daniel? Are you insane? There is no way-- DS: Then you don't get your rematch. Simple as that. Listen to me, Byron. I am up to my neck with people causing trouble for RCW -- I have Owen Curtis pulling out lawsuits, Madrock and Daniels running around with their stupid merchandise, backstage brawls, match interruptions... the last thing I need is an uncontracted wrestler swanning around, getting everyone in the locker rooms' backs up. You've been away seven years, Byron -- and you're not going to make a living off your reputation at RCW's expense. You want your rematch? You sign on the dotted line, just like everyone else here. [The President opens one of his desk drawers, pulls out a sheaf of papers, and throws them on the desk in front of Byron, along with a pen.] DS: Standard RCW six-month rolling contract. Usual payment terms. We can donate the salary to charity, if you prefer. [Byron glares at the contract, then at Spreadbury.] DS: It's your choice. [Byron picks up the contract, looking at it with a dismissive eye.] B: So once again, Daniel, you try to back me into a corner. [Byron looks up from the papers, fixing Spreadbury with another sneer.] B: Very well, Daniel, I'll play your little game. I'll sign your damn contract. But not because you've forced me to. DS: No..? B: No. And not simply because of the rematch, either. Cassidy got lucky tonight -- I'll prove that decisively at your next little event. No, Daniel -- you've just given me an entirely new reason. [Byron quickly signs the contract, and casually drops it back on the desk.] B: No one humiliates Lord Byron, Daniel. [Byron flashes Spreadbury another smirk, and strides away from him. The President's face takes on a troubled expression as he watches the blueblood go. Byron turns back as he reaches the door.] B: I want you to remember I told you that, down the line... ciao. [And with that parting shot, the screen darkens, and we cut back to ringside. Ditka and Shakespeare look at each other for a moment.] DD: Well, folks, Lord Byron is the newest contracted RCW superstar, and what a coup it is for this organisation -- but Byron's not exactly thrilled about the circumstances. BS: The guy's a pompous jerk, Don, simple as that. DD: That's as maybe, Billy Shakespeare, but he's a very *dangerous* pompous jerk. And I would not take Liam Cassidy's place in this upcoming match for any amount of money. I understand Byron is standing by backstage as he warms up for this match. [We cut back to the locker room area -- and the ringside crowd erupts into an instantaneous roar of jeers and boos as we see the regal profile of Lord Byron, sat on a bench, wrapping his wrists with tape. The aristocrat is dressed in full wrestling attire, black ring boots and back leggings, with the English Three Lions emblem scrawled across his left thigh, the device intertwined with a twisted, thorned Lancastrian red rose. His hair, as always outside the ring, is pulled back into a short, tight ponytail. He tightens the tape on his wrist, sealing it off with a quick jerk. His head snaps up, and he fixes the camera with a glare. His left eye still sports an ugly yellow-black bruise, and he looks far from happy about it.] B: All this week, I've heard nothing but the same, damn thing. [Byron pauses, looking away from the camera, as the jeers from the packed arena filter through backstage. He cocks his head smirking as he hears the crowd reaction, reaching down to lace up his boots] B: "What kind of excuses will Byron make?" [Byron's voice takes on a mocking tone] "How will he explain his loss?" [The smirk drops from Byron's face, and he pulls the knots tight.] B: Did I underestimate Cassidy, like he said? Look down on him? Was I arrogant? Too cocky? Out of shape? Have I lost my edge after seven years out of the ring? [Byron sits back, glaring up at the camera again, and smoothes his hair back. The crowd in the background mutters uncertainly.] B: No. I just didn't get the job done. [Byron stands up, picking up his signature brass topped cane as he does so.] B: You see, Cassidy, that's as simple as it is for me. I didn't get the job done. Oh, I'm sure I could find all kind of reasons for your little upset victory, if I was that way inclined. Did I underestimate you? It's possible. Did your little charade make me take you too lightly? That could well be the case. Did I get cocky? Let's add it to the list as a maybe. Am I not the wrestler I was the last time I stepped in the ring? No comment. Or did you just get... [Byron sneers] lucky? [The crowd roars out again, and Byron pauses, the sneer of contempt etched across his face. He twists his cane in his hands, waiting for the crowd to quieten.] B: Most assuredly you did. [Byron laughs quietly to himself as the capacity crowd lets him know what they think of that particular comment. The laugh fades, however, as a chant starts to build up in the Rose Garden... the fans shouting the same three words over and over... "Just! One! Second! Just! One! Second!" Byron snarls, and cuts them off.] B: BUT EVEN SO... despite all that, I should *still* have been able to wipe the floor with a talentless vagrant bum like yourself. But at the end of the day, I have no one to and nothing to blame but myself. I... didn't get the job done. That won't happen again. Mistakes I have made once... will not be repeated. Whatever element of surprise you ever had... has been lost. [Byron tilts his head back, his smirk broadening as he hears the jeers of the crowd. He shakes his head sadly.] B: So, no excuses, Cassidy. Just swift, violent retribution. Lightning doesn't strike twice with me, my friend - and I intend to guarantee it. [As Byron stalks out of shot, we hear Ditka's voice-over.] DD: It's Byron vs. Cassidy, the rematch -- when we come back! [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to a sweeping shot of the fans packing out the Rose Garden. The timekeeper rings the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / REMATCH: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Lord Byron [Sy Simmons once more stands in the middle of the ring, match official Pat Nickrick standing behind him, ready and waiting.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... ["Miss You" by Mirwals starts up over the PA to a big pop from the fans!] SS: ...hailing from Hackensack, New Jersey, and weighing in at 237lbs, he is... "THE JEEEEEEEEERSEY DRRRRIIIIIIIFTER" LIIIIIAAAAAM CAAAAAASSIDY! [Cassidy comes out from behind the entrance curtain, a big smile on his face. He tips his trilby hat to the fans in the front rows as he makes his way down the aisle.] DD: Liam Cassidy is on cloud nine right now, Billy Shakespeare -- but you really have to wonder how long that will last once Lord Byron comes out here. BS: Cassidy just about lasted a minute against Byron two weeks ago, Don, but there's no such time limit on tonight's match -- and I have to believe that's bad news for Cassidy. [As is customary, Cassidy arrives at the foot of the aisle and carefully removes his hat, laying it brim-side up. He removes his fingerless gloves and places them inside the hat, then rummages in his pockets, putting some scraps of paper, an apple core, a stub of a pencil, and his hip flask into the hat. He removes his jacket, and folds that carefully, putting it beside his hat, patting it once he's satisfied with the way he's folded it. Cassidy straightens, and flashes a thumbs up at the small group of vagrant fans sitting to one side of the aisle.] DD: Cassidy bigging up the Hobo Section, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Quite. [Cassidy rolls into the ring, and as "Miss You" fades, he stamps his feet and claps his hands, leading the crowd in a chant of "JUST! ONE! SEC-OND! JUST! ONE! SEC-OND!", a big grin on his face.] SS: And his opponent... [The arena lights dim, fading almost to total darkness. The capacity crowd hoots, whistles and jeers in anticipation.] # DON'T HOLD BACK... [The "Born To Rule" remix of the Chemical Brothers' "Galvanize" blasts out over the PA system, cutting Simmons off in mid-introduction, and the crowd leaps to their feet..] SS: ...hailing from Lancashire, England, and weighing in at 255lbs... here is... LOOOOOOOOOORD BYYYYYYYRON! # I climbed to the mountaintops, looked down on the masses and I # Don't hold back # As I stand above you all, I see the hate in your faces so I # Don't hold back [A single spotlight lights up the entranceway as the curtain is swept aside... and Byron strides out onto the stage, rolling his signature brass-topped cane between his palms. He pauses at the top of the aisle, rising up to his full height, and casts his gaze around the packed arena, one hand rising to stroke his chin...] # Trade-off pain for glory, torment for success, you know I # Don't hold back # Everything's against me, the conflict never-ending, but I # Don't hold back [Byron tilts his head, and sneers at the fans, contempt etched across his features.] DD: Well, Billy Shakespeare, here he is. BS: I don't like Byron, Don. Never have, probably never will. But he has tremendous presence, and a prodigous talent. DD: And doesn't he just know it! [The spotlight follows Byron as he strides purposefully towards the ring, snatching his arm away and glaring at a fan who dares to reach out and touch him. Byron walks quickly around the side of the ring, and slides his cane onto the corner of the apron, under the turnbuckles.] # The world is holdin' back... # The time has come, I was born to rule... # The world is holdin' back... # The time has come, I was born to rule... # The world is holdin' back... # The time has come... [Byron quickly ascends the ring steps, then climbs up to the second turnbuckle on the outside, he raises his arms out to shoulder height, palms up, his chin raised proudly as he gazes at the heavens, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. He lowers his head slowly, his expression changing as he glances around the packed audience, returning their jeers with a look of complete disdain.] # I was born to rule... # C'mon, c'mon, c'mon... # [Byron catches hold of the top rope, leans back and then vaults straight over the top into the ring. He unties his ponytail, flicks his hair back, and immediately starts spitting insults at Cassidy as the lights rise. Simmons steps out of the ring and Nickrick signals for the bell to start the match.] * DING! DING! DING! * [Byron circles Cassidy in the ring. Cassidy continues to smile and lead the crowd in chants of "JUST! ONE! SEC-OND! JUST! ONE! SEC-OND!". Byron extends his fingers towards Cassidy, who moves in. Byron and Cassidy lock up in the middle of the ring, and Byron easily takes the upper hand, lifting Cassidy off his feet and taking him down to the canvas, then wrenches on Cassidy's right arm. Cassidy yells out in pain, and Byron releases him. Cassidy rolls back to his feet, holding his left shoulder, and now it's Byron with the smile on his face.] DD: Lord Byron can out-wrestle just about anybody, anywhere, anytime, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Liam Cassidy certainly doesn't want to go toe-to-toe with Byron in this match. [Byron continues to circle Cassidy, and extends his hands again, flexing his fingertips. Cassidy shrugs and goes in for another collar and elbow tie up. Byron again easily slips Cassidy into a side headlock, then underhooks Cassidy's right arm, lifting him and rolling him over onto his back, rolling through into an armbar on Cassidy's right arm.] DD: Byron is focusing his attention on Cassidy's right arm. BS: It's a simple strategy but it could be very effective. Cassidy's right hook is his secret weapon -- but after their last encounter, the secret is out. [After wrenching on Cassidy's right arm some more, Byron releases the hold and lets Cassidy get back to his feet. Cassidy doesn't look quite so happy now, but the fans continue to chant "JUST! ONE! SEC-OND! JUST! ONE! SEC-OND!" in an attempt to keep Byron off his guard. For his part, though, Byron is now totally focused on the matter at hand. He steps in again, encouraging Cassidy onto him, and then grabs him by the right arm, whipping him across the ring with a deep armdrag. Cassidy grimaces as Byron hangs on to his arm, then drives his knee into his upper arm.] DD: Byron is finding his rhythm now, Billy Shakespeare, and that's bad news for the first hobo of wrestling. [Byron allows Cassidy back to his feet, and now Cassidy rolls his right shoulder -- then clenches his right fist, and winds up. Byron's eyes widen and he immediately drops to the canvas, rolling out of the ring. Cassidy looks at his right fist, and with a smile, kisses his knuckles. Big pop!] DD: Byron is out of there, and in a hurry! BS: He has a healthy respect for Cassidy's right fist -- and I don't blame him. [While Nickrick puts the count on Byron, who stalks around the ringside area with a glower on his face, Cassidy again leads the crowd in chants of "JUST! ONE! SEC-OND! JUST! ONE! SEC-OND!" Byron stalks in front of the announce table.] BS: Hey, Byron, you afraid of a guy who's wrestled for a cup of coffee? [Byron stops short in front of the announce table and slams his palms down in front of Shakespeare. Ditka puts an arm in front of his broadcast colleague, holding him from standing up, as Byron hisses insults at Shakespeare that the microphones (thankfully) don't pick up. Nickrick's count reaches seven, and Byron turns away from the announce table and rolls back into the ring.] DD: Steady on, Billy Shakespeare. You don't want to get into a situation with Lord Byron. You're retired, remember? BS: I remember fine, Don. [Byron and Cassidy lock up in the ring again. Once more, Byron easily takes Cassidy down, sweeping the Drifter's legs out from under him, and then he scissors Cassidy's arm, yanking on Cassidy's wrist. Liam grimaces, and Byron again releases the hold after a few moments. Again, both men get back to their feet. They continue to circle one another, and again Byron extends his hands towards Cassidy, inviting him on. Cassidy moves in, game as ever, and Byron uses a headlock takedown to put Cassidy back on the canvas, again driving his knee into Cassidy's right shoulder.] DD: Byron putting on a clinic here. Cassidy's right arm has got to be throbbing by now. [Again Byron allows Cassidy to stand -- and now Cassidy clenches his fist and cocks it once more. Again Byron backs off as quickly as he can, moving to the corner and leaning out of the ring between the top and second ropes, yelling at Nickrick to penalise Cassidy for the use of a closed fist. The fans jeer Byron. Cassidy looks at the official, a bemused smile on his face, and shrugs.] DD: Byron is determined not to let Cassidy anywhere near him with that fist. [Byron ducks back into the ring, but as soon as Cassidy steps towards him with his fist raised, Byron ducks out again, yelling at Nickrick. Cassidy puts his hands up and backs away, and in comes Byron once more. Cassidy clenches his fist... and out Byron goes again!] DD: We... we could be here all night at this rate. [Cassidy seems to share Ditka's sentiments, and charges into the corner regardless, fists raised. Byron drops to his knees... and strikes Cassidy with a low blow! Big heel pop! Cassidy staggers backwards, and Byron explodes out of the corner, hitting him with a tremendous swinging neckbreaker that takes Liam down to the mat! Heel pop! Byron wastes no time in stomping right on Cassidy's right hand, Cassidy grabbing at his hand in pain. He rolls to his feet, and is met by a shoulder to the midsection, and Byron grabs Cassidy around his waist, hoisting him up and over and bridging him, pinning Cassidy's shoulders to the mat! Nickrick drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Cassidy kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Cassidy just managing to get his shoulder out, Billy Shakespeare! [Byron rolls back to his feet, and quick as a flash drops an elbow on Cassidy's right arm. Byron drags Cassidy back to his feet, and then takes him straight back to the mat with a snap suplex. Byron floats over, stumping Cassidy's arm by putting his boot in his armpit and twisting on Cassidy's arm.] BS: Modified arm-wringer from Byron here, and he's doing his very best to take the power out of Cassidy's right arm. DD: It might just be working, too, Billy Shakespeare. [Cassidy lashes out with his free arm, managing to unseat Byron's boot, and rolls himself back to his feet. Byron is straight back on him, slipping behind him with a rear waistlock, then applying a hammerlock on the right arm, then lifting Cassidy up and planting him back to the canvas. Byron lifts his body up once more, and uses his own weight to drive his knee into Cassidy's upper arm again. Heel pop!] DD: Byron is just giving Cassidy absolutely no room to breathe here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Cassidy looks out of his depth, Don, but this is excellent experience for the Drifter. Win, lose or draw, you can't fail to learn something when you're in there against the best. [Cassidy reaches around with his free arm, and pulls at Byron's long hair. Byron yells at Nickrick to intervene, and the official forces Cassidy to release his hold on Byron's hair. Cassidy grimaces, and gives a good yank on Byron's hair anyway, forcing the blueblood to release the hold. Nickrick warns Cassidy, who just grins and pats the referee on his shoulder. Byron is enraged!] DD: Byron feels he's getting short shrift from Pat Nickrick here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Nickrick's just allowing both men a little leeway. Byron's hit Cassidy below the belt, Cassidy's pulled Byron's hair. Turnabout is fair play. [Byron furiously charges at Cassidy, hitting him with a clothesline that takes him over the top rope and to the outside! Heel pop! Cassidy lands hard on his right arm. He rolls to his feet, and moves towards his friends in the Hobo Section. One of them tosses a brown paper bag, and Cassidy's eyes light up. He takes a swig from the bottle inside the bag, and immediately a smile plays across his face.] DD: Liquor is to Cassidy as spinach is to Popeye, Billy Shakespeare. [Byron rolls out of the ring after Cassidy, and stalks him from behind as he's enjoying another big mouthful. Byron spins Cassidy around... and Cassidy sprays Byron in the face with foul-smelling liquor. Byron coughs and splutters, staggering backwards... and Cassidy hits him with a left jab, then a left shot to the ribs, then another, and another, and finally knocks Byron down with a clothesline, grimacing as he does so! Big pop!] DD: Cassidy may have bought himself some time here! [Cassidy picks up Byron and rolls him into the ring under the bottom rope, the blueblood still rubbing at his stinging eyes. Cassidy rolls in behind him, and pulls Byron to his feet. Byron finds himself whipped into the ropes... and Cassidy hits him with a backdrop on the return! Big pop!] BS: Not the best-executed backdrop I've ever seen, Don, but it's effective! [Byron gets himself back to his feet, and Cassidy charges at him, felling him with a running knee lift! Big pop! Byron gets back to his feet again, and now Cassidy grabs one arm... grabs the other... and unleashes a series of headbutts on the aristocrat! Big pop!] DD: Cassidy with headbutt after headbutt after headbutt! "The Jersey Drifter" is in control! [While Byron is still slowed a step or two by the alcohol stinging his eyes, Cassidy grins and hits him with a left jab to the jaw.] DD: That's the set-up for that right hook! [Cassidy takes a swing with his right hook, but it looks weak ,and Byron ducks underneath, hooking Cassidy with a waistlock and half-nelson -- throwing him with a release half-nelson suplex straight into the turnbuckles. Big heel pop as Cassidy's head bounces painfully off the top buckle.] DD: Oh... oh, that's bad. Liam Cassidy may be out of it, Billy Shakespeare! [Cassidy takes a couple of steps forwards into the ring, swinging punch-drunk with his fists, and Byron simply sneers at him, his cocky arrogance quickly returning. Cassidy pitches forwards, and collapses to the mat. Big heel pop!] BS: Cassidy is on dream street, Don. He may be a tough fighter, but a blow like that to the base of the skull can cause a serious concussion, no matter how tough you are. [Byron picks up Cassidy and stands him upright, then places his head under his arm in an inverted DDT position... Byron whips his upper body around and drops to the canvas, snapping Cassidy's neck with brutal force! Huge heel pop!] DD: COUP DE GRåCE! COUP DE GRåCE! BS: What a devastating swinging ace crusher! DD: That's got to be all she wrote! [Byron rolls onto the prone form of Liam Cassidy and makes the cover, Nickrick dropping to the mat to make the count... 1... 2... ...3! Big heel pop!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: My god, what a move that Coup de Gr‰ce is, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Deadly, Don. Completely deadly. [Byron rolls to his feet and allows Nickrick to raise his arm as "Galvanise" kicks in over the PA once more.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... LOOOOOOOOOOORD BYYYYYYYYRRRON! [Byron yanks his hand away from Nickrick, and moves back to Cassidy, who is starting to come to. Byron stomps away at Cassidy, rolling him to the edge of the ring, and then gives him one further good hard kick to send him off the apron and to the arena floor.] DD: Come on, Byron! Is that really necessary?! BS: Byron's not done, Don. Beating Cassidy isn't enough -- he has to pay him back for the humiliation he suffered two weeks ago. [Byron rolls out after the Drifter and drags him over to the corner where the ringsteps are set up. He dislodges the top half of the steps, and puts Cassidy's arm between the steps and the ringpost. Nickrick rolls out of the ring to intervene, and gets a shove from Byron for his trouble.] DD: Is Byron trying to break Cassidy's arm?! We need more help out here! [Byron takes a few steps back into the aisle, and then runs towards the ringsteps, launching himself with a dropkick towards the front of the steps...] * CLAAAAANNNG! * "AAAAAAAUGH!" [Cassidy tumbles back to the arena floor, clutching at his right arm and hand. Byron is merciless, immediately grabbing Cassidy and tossing him back into the ring.] DD: Byron may have just broken Liam Cassidy's arm. We really need help out here! [Nickrick picks himself back up and makes the crossed-arm signal to the timekeeper, who rings the bell again.] * DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! * [Byron quickly wraps Cassidy up in a modified cross armbar, hooking Cassidy's right wrist under his arm, and locking his own arms behind Cassidy's elbow. Byron grapevines his legs around Cassidy, pinning his free arm, and stretching back, trying to hyper-extend Cassidy's elbow.] DD: ARISTOCLUTCH ARMBAR! Byron has the Aristoclutch locked in! BS: This is very bad news for Cassidy. That's an excruciating hold. DD: Billy Shakespeare, I believe Cassidy may have passed out in there. [Finally, four security guards come running down the aisle, rolling into the ring and trying to drag Byron off Cassidy.] DD: This is bad, folks. Very bad. Cassidy may have passed out from the pain, and it's taking four men to force Lord Byron to release the Aristoclutch armbar. Folks, we have to take a break -- we'll be right back. [As Byron is finally forced to relinquish his hold on Liam Cassidy, fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to a shot of Ditka and Shakespeare at the announce table.] DD: Welcome back to RAMPAGE, folks. During the break, RCW security finally managed to free Liam Cassidy from Lord Byron's clutches and helped "The Jersey Drifter" to the back. BS: Cassidy's arm looked to be in a bad way, Don. I'm not sure what kind of injury Cassidy may have sustained, but he's going to need medical attention. DD: Lord Byron is a sick individual, Billy Shakespeare. I'm sure we've not heard the last of this situation. [Cut to backstage, where intrepid RCW backstage reporter Jamie Bond is standing by with Orin "the Lynx" LeBlanc.] JB: Orin, do you have any comments so far about the three-way match announced for RCW Wild Summer Night between yourself, Nolan Dorado and Vinny Carmazzi? OL: [grimacing] I am not in a particular mood to discuss that right now. Suffice to say, the Man Upstairs sure does like to make matters more difficult than they need to be, now don't he? JB: Surely, you can understand President Spreadbury's reasonings as to why-- OL: [cutting him off] Said it made things "difficult". Didn't say I'm disagreein' with it. But that's all I want to allow myself to ruminate on right now. Got some time before July an' a lot of things could still happen until then... JB: Ah. Um, tonight you are taking on RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence in the main event. Now, it's a non-title match, but-- [LeBlanc snorts.] OL: Where to begin on Johnny Petulance? Hell, enough's been said about that piece o' [BLEEP] lack o' respect for everyone an' everythin' already. That jiggle-titted dishrag o' his, followin' him around like an inbred yip dog? If she had any self-esteem an' respect, I might actually feel sorry for her. Then again, if she had those, she wouldn't be hangin' around that chimneystack. An' connin' Faith an' Bryant to play meat shields slash towel boys for him is nothin' new either...yeah, I've seen his track record elsewhere... [A small, humorless smile creeps across the Lynx's face.] OL: Puttin' me up against trash like that? I'm gonna _enjoy_ hurtin' a guy like Petulance, Mister Bond. Gold don't factor in it... though I admit I'm not surprised by its absence. Guess Johnny's little dance with Daniels scared him as to how close he can lose that belt he claims he doesn't care about. No matter. This is _my_ time an' I intend to make the most o' it. I-- [In mid-sentence, LeBlanc stiffens and then moves to one side as Jodee Burwick emerges from behind him, rubbing one heavily-manicured hand along the side of his thick bicep.] JODEE: There you are! Just the... [Thick eyelashes droop momentarily as Burwick looks up and down LeBlanc's impressive frame.] JODEE: ...man I was looking for. [LeBlanc rolls his eyes.] OL: All right, where's your boy plannin' on hiding this time? Why don't we just get this over with now?! WhereÑ [Surprisingly, and rather bravely for a woman of her size, Burwick extends a finger up to LeBlanc's lips and silences him by placing it on his mouth.] JODEE: Ssshh, honey. I'm not here on anybody's behalf but my own. I... I was worried about you. I had no idea that... [Nervously, Burwick glances towards the camera and bites her artificially-enhanced lower lip.] JODEE: ...you were going to get hurt like that. I... I don't ever want to see you hurt, Orin. Really I don't. [As Jodee speaks, the Canadian just watches her, suspicious glare on his face. But all the while a funny thing happens towards the end... ...LeBlanc's expression gradually softens. He stares at her for a few moments in silence, then...] OL: [quietly] You really are bein' serious, aren't you? [Visibly screwing up her courage, Burwick stands facing the big Canadian, looking directly up into his eyes.] JODEE: Yes, Orin. Very serious. I'm here on my own... to talk to you. To see you. [Reaching forward shyly, she intertwines the fingers of one hand with LeBlanc's much larger one.] OL: Miz Burwick... Jodee... [He sighs, struggling to find the words] I'd be lyin' if I said I didn't find you attractive. But I won't get involved with an attached woman. Even Dorado's. I'm not that low. Even a weasel like him deserves better than that. [Behind LeBlanc, Jamie Bond can be seen making the "keep rolling" signal to the cameraman as Burwick visibly gulps, still grasping onto LeBlanc's large hand as he tries to disentangle his fingers. After a moment, he gently pulls his hand free and the platinum blonde sighs heavily, her eyes beginning to water as she chuckles.] JODEE: Weasels. Cougars. Seems to me that I've been hearing a lot about certain mammals these days. Just what are you trying to tell me, Orin? That I've got no chance? [Orin just shakes his head.] OL: [still quietly] I'm sayin' don't make things more complicated than they already are. Now, I don't know what it is that's lackin' between you an' Nolan... an' frankly, it's not my business anyway. You want to wander about behind his back, fine. Just don't use me as your excuse for it. You seem like you could be a smart, mature woman... time to start actin' your age. [Burwick's head snaps up and a sudden flash of anger can be seen in her eyes beneath the welling tears. With a swift, jerky motion, she wipes her eyes dry with the back of one hand before slapping LeBlanc across the face with her other. LeBlanc seems more surprised than hurt by this as she glares angrily up at him.] JODEE: That's TWICE you've made fun of my age, you jerk! [LeBlanc seems to about to respond but before he does, Burwick cuts him off angrily.] JODEE: You've just made a big mistake, mister! A HUGE mistake!! [And with that, the buxom blonde whirls on her stiletto heels and marches off in a huff as LeBlanc watches her leave. Jamie Bond takes this opportunity to step in front of the big Canadian and hold his microphone up towards LeBlanc's face.] JB: Uhhh... care to comment on what just happened, Orin? OL: [rubbing his cheek, frowning slighty] As soon as I figure it all out, I'll let you know... [Cut back to Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside.] DD: Even *I* know of a suitable quote from the Bard for this situation, Billy Shakespeare: "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned." BS: Actually, Don, that's not from any of Shakespeare's plays. It's a common misquotation from a play called "The Mourning Bride" by the English playwright William Congreve, who lived two centuries after the great William Shakespeare. DD: ...Thanks for setting me straight, Billy Shakespeare. BS: You're welcome, Don. DD: (Knowitall.) Folks, let's switch gears. Two weeks ago we saw a tremendous match between Owen "Truth" Curtis and "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. Thunder came out on top -- but after the match Curtis and his brother Eddie conspired to unleash a brutal attack on the victorious Thunder, leaving him lying in a pool of his own blood in the ring, right in front of his wife Tamara. Mrs. Thunder is back in Arizona this week, but she has agreed to speak with us tonight, live via satellite. If you'll excuse me, Billy Shakespeare. [Ditka leaves the announce table and grabs a cordless microphone as he once again makes his way into the ring.] DD: Okay fans, right now it's my privilege to bring out one of the legends of the ring, so please join me in welcoming the "Lone Wolf" himself... BRODY THUNDER! [Thunder doesn't even wait for his music to hit as he strides angrily to the ring. He takes a position adjacent to but facing Ditka at center-ring.] DD: Well, Mr Thunder, we've all seen what happened on the last RAMPAGE between yourself and Owen "Truth" Curtis. It was yet another in a series of heinous acts by Owen Curtis -- but this one struck a little closer to home, so to speak... *YOUR* home, and more specifically, your wife, Tamara. [Thunder stiffens at the mention of his wife's name. He runs a hand over his grizzled visage.] DD: In fact, Owen made a point of showing Tamara the bloodied newspapers he had specially printed -- the ones that said, "Thunder is finished," a segment with which I'm sure you disagree. Well, tonight we have your wife live via satellite. Tamara? Are you there? [The big screen comes to life with a shot of Tamara Thunder, seated comfortably at the Thunder's home. The caption on the screen reads: "LIVE from Tombstone, Arizona."] DD: Can you hear me, Tamara? [She fidgets a bit with her earpiece. She's obviously not comfortable in the limelight.] TT: Um, yes, yes I can hear you now. DD: Good, good. Well, I'm here with your husband, Brody... BT: Hey, T. [She smiles politely.] TT: Brody. BT: You okay? [She pauses.] TT: I'm... I'm... I just want this to be over. BT: Don't worry, honey. This'll be over as soon as I get my hands on that runt, believe me. DD: I understand, Mrs Thunder. Of course, the fans all want to know... just what was going through your mind as you watched the events unfold on the last RAMPAGE? I mean, to sit there and watch as Owen Curtis attacked and brutalized your husband... it had to be horrifying. [She fidgets with her hands a bit, then looks heavenward before answering.] TT: I just... I don't understand how... why would someone.. This is all a different side of my husband's life that I never knew about. [Brody Thunder interjects.] BT: I think she's been through enough. Why don't we just-- [Thunder's wife continues speaking.] TT: I mean... you think after almost twenty years of marriage to a professional wrestler... that I wouldn't be shocked by anything any more, but... this is just beyond what I expected. [Tamara is obviously fighting back tears now.] BT: I think it's over. I mean it. End this now. DD: Just one more question, Brody. Please. Mrs Thunder? Are you okay? [Tamara solemnly nods her head.] DD: I know this is a very emotional time but I'd just like to ask you just one more question, if I may? TT: Yes... go ahead. BT: You sure, honey? You don't have to-- TT: No, Brody... I *want* to. [Brody grits his teeth and takes a step back.] DD: Mrs Thunder... Tamara... after all you've witnessed over the past month... all the pain and injury he's suffered... all the years of punishment his body has taken and continues to take... the one question I'd like to ask you is... do you want Brody to... retire from wrestling? To give up this life and share the rest of his days together with you before, perhaps, he suffers a severe injury? [Tamara puts a hand to her mouth. Thunder abruptly puts his hand over the mic but his words can be clearly heard.] BT: What the hell kinda question is that?! [Ditka puts his hands up in a disarming way as Thunder steps closer towards him.] BT: This innerview is over! Now! Cut this off or I swear ta gawd I'll-- [Tamara Thunder's voice halts the action in the ring.] TT: Brody, stop! I want to answer now, please... stop. [Both men compose themselves and face the screen.] TT: I've known you a long time, Brody. A long time. This is a question I've always known would come but never thought it'd come like this. But before I answer it, I've got a question of my own for you. [Again tears well up in Tamara Thunder's eyes as she tries to speak.] TT: I just want to know... why, Brody? Why?! [A quizzical look comes over Thunder's face as Tamara begins to cry now.] BT: Wh-why? Why what?! [An uncomfortable silence ensues -- but the silence is broken by music. And the song? “Would I Lie To You?” by the Eurhythmics.] BS: [on commentary] Wait a minute -- I don't understand. We confirmed earlier that Owen Curtis isn't supposed to be in the building tonight. [He's not. But that's the theme music for Ring of Truth. And as if to confirm, the following graphic...] /\______________/\ /XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX/ /XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX/ \/====/XXXX/====\/ /XXXX/_ ____ _ _ _ ____ ____ ____ /XXXXXX/ ____ _ _ ___ _ _ |__/ | |\ | | __ | | |___ ==XXXX/_ |__/ | | | |__| | \ | | \| |__] |__| | /XXXXX/ | \ |__| | | | ==XXX/ lX/ l/ with Owen Curtis [...appears on the big screen. All eyes turn to the entrance aisle. Brody starts to exit through the ropes, but Ditka stops him with a hand on the shoulder.] OTC: [voice coming from somewhere] WELCOME –- to the Ring of Truth! I'm your host, Owen Curtis. [But there's no Owen in the aisle. The lyrics come in...] # Would I lie to you? # Would I lie to you honey? # Now, would I say something that wasn't true? # I'm asking you, sugar, would I lie-ie-ie to you? [The graphic disappears from the large screen and goes back to a sobbing Tamara. The music continues.] # My friends... # Know what's in store... # I won't be... # Here anymore... # I've packed my bags... # I've cleaned the floor... # Watch me walking – walking out the door! [As the song plays, the camera begins to pan wider... wider... wider to reveal that Owen "Truth" Curtis... is standing right next to Tamara Thunder, looking down at her with an evident mixture of sympathy and pity. The crowd erupts into thunderous boos.] BS: What has Owen Curtis done now? I don't believe this, even from him. [But it's, er, True. Owen is standing beside the sobbing Tamara Thunder at the Thunder home in Tombstone, Arizona, holding a boombox over his head, like John Cusack in “Say Anything.” His look of pity widens into a priceless smirk -– or at least priceless to Owen, once he watches himself on the replay. To Brody, not so much.] BS: I'll be -- that arrogant son of a bitch is in Arizona with Brody's wife! [Owen sets the radio down and shuts it off, cutting short his “Ring of Truth” theme music.] OTC: As you can all see, this episode of the Ring of Truth is coming to you all LIVE from Tombstone, Arizona! Because after all, the Truth will ALWAYS go where the story is –- and believe me, folks, it ain't in Portland, Oregon! Not tonight! [Ditka is stunned. Thunder is standing in the ring with his teeth clenched, his face slowly turning beet red. Tamara is looking nervous as ever, and Owen? Owen speaks.] OTC: Now you're all wondering why I'm here. Well, Tamara here knows. And that's why she wanted to ask BRODY the question, and I quote... [He gets a pocket voice recorder out of his pocket, hits rewind, this play, and it says...] TT [on the recording]: “I just want to know... why, Brody? Why?!” [Owen hits “stop”.] OTC: See? I recorded that a minute ago. Neat trick, huh? Anyway, Brody, your own question in response was “Why, what?” – a logical question. So I will answer it on behalf of your lovely wife, seeing as how you have reduced her to tears and you don't even understand why. BS: *Brody*... reduced Tamara to tears? What does Owen mean by that? Looks to me like *he's* the one who interjected himself into the Thunder home! OTC: You see, in the process of investigating you, Brody, in the interest of the public good of course, I came upon some interesting... discoveries. It turns out that the “Lone Wolf” was somewhat misnamed. When he would travel from wrestling town to wrestling town, gig to gig, back in the day, long ago when he was any good, he was seldom what you would call “lonely.” What do I mean? Let me be blunt. I mean a one night-stand here, an escort service there, here a ho, there a ho, everywhere a ho-ho. In other words, Brody, what I found is you never met a ring rat you didn't like! [Brody is furious. Tamara is on the verge of tears.] BT: [grabbing the mic from Ditka] Yeah? Well ever'one makes mistakes in their relationship, things they don't talk about. Even you, Owen. That doesn't mean it gets aired all over the television! You went all the way to Arizona to tell my wife *this*? I oughta fly down there and kick yer ass right now! [POP! But Owen takes the crowd response in stride. He waits for the noise to die down a bit.] OTC: That's nice, Brody. Like you didn't want to kick it before. You go buy that plane ticket. Southwest has some really cheap fares from Portland to Phoenix. Believe me, I know. But first, listen up. I ain't done yet. YES, everyone has a sexual history, myself included. The fact is that women describe ME as “historically good” and they tell me YOUR rep is more along the lines of “hysterically bad” or “all Thunder, no lightning” -- but that's beside the point. The fact is, Brody, you may have told Tamara about your past conquests and pity pokes -- or maybe you didn't -- but you DEFINITELY didn't tell her JACK about your 18-year-old bastard son! [The crowd is stunned -- not sure whether to boo or what. A murmur rumbles throughout the Rose Garden.] OTC: Here he is, Brody! Take a good look at him! [Owen holds up a black and white photograph, 8x10, of a somewhat handsome 18-year-old kid with dark hair and a teenage mustache.) BS: This is ridiculous. Owen Curtis is saying Brody had a child out of wedlock, without his wife's knowledge! I know this happens in wrestling, all too frequently, but I never thought Brody Thunder... this has got to be wrong. I'm with Tamara. There's been a mistake here. There must have been. [Owen hands the picture to Tamara next to him, who is trying to stifle her tears.] OTC: There's more, Brody. You didn't tell Tamara about the kid, NOR did you tell Tamara that you failed to support that boy as he grew into an adult! You know what Brando said in the Godfather! “A man who doesn't spend time with his family can never be a real man!” That means -- News flash! YOU, Brody Thunder, are not a real man! [The shot moves back to Thunder, who stands bone-chillingly still, his eyes transfixed on the terrifying nightmare before his eyes. He feels so helpless that he cannot even speak. It's as if he's in shock.] OTC: That's right. The woman you shared your hopes, your dreams, your plans, your special moments with –- you left her in the dark on this one. You betrayed her. And why is that my business, you ask? Good question. Because it proves once again that you're a fraud, Brody Thunder. A fraud in the wrestling ring –- and a fraud in life. [Brody is silent. Stunned. But Owen pays that no mind. He continues.] OTC: You see, Brody, when you came into MY territory and you tried to overshadow hard-working talent for one night of cheap pops, it made me angry. I'd even say furious. And even though I grudgingly agreed you were a legend, I responded in the appropriate way. I made like an archaeologist. In other words, I dusted myself a fossil! And in case you don't understand analogies, that means I took your washed-up, redneck ass OUT –- and I thought that would be the end of it. [He claps his hands together as if to shake off dust.] OTC: But then I did what reporters do. I looked into your past, your history, everything about you -- and I saw that I gave you too much credit, not too little. Those people in my wrestling hometown of Portland, Oregon idolized you – and I soon realized that as a public service, they needed to know who you really are. So I have now added your name to the list of fallen stars, Brody –- Pete Rose, Jose Canseco, Ricky Williams, Barry Bonds, Prince Albert of Monaco, and now you. Brody Thunder. Liar. Cheater. Deadbeat dad. Not a legend, but a legendary cheater. And now, a former hero to millions of fans. BS: I don't know that I would agree yet. Owen hasn't proven anything -- but it does make you think. That, my friend, is the power of the press. Freedom. I've just freed a woman -- and THESE FANS -- from the lies you fed to them. [Brody is in the ring, just staring at the big screen as Owen talks and Tamara stands next to him. He is still in disbelief.] OTC: You know, Brody, I've done some brutal things to you. I've beaten and humiliated you TWICE, and the second time I did it, two weeks ago, I left you out cold beneath a trail of bloodied newspapers that said “Thunder is finished.” I had those printed up ahead. I was that certain of the outcome. You and your Brokeback buddy, President Danny Boy, thought you had me off guard with that impromptu match –- you were both wrong. I knew Dan couldn't resist holding the match that very night, and the match was only the beginning, as you now know. I let you win the battle -- but I won the war. BS: "Let him"? Give me a break! Owen got schooled by his own move and doesn't want to admit it! OTC: It reminds me of how Clint Eastwood said, "That's a hell of a thing, killing a man. You take away everything he has and everything he's ever gonna have." What I'm doing to you is worse. I'm killing the career but leaving the body still alive, so that YOU have to live with what you have become. To Brody Thunder, that is the single worst thing I could do. LAST time, I told Tamara, "if it's the Truth, its news to you!" THIS time, I say, "If Owen Curtis is in Arizona telling Tamara the Truth, it's news to Brody Thunder!" You see, Broderick, when I prove that your WIFE can trust me more than you, and I prove that your SON can trust me more than you -- it's time for the FANS to see the light as well. And it's time for you, old man, to call it quits. Now that may be a harsh statement. But you know what else it is? [Owen leans into the camera, taking up the entire frame with his face.] OTC: [whispering] It's the Truth. [That pushes Thunder over the edge.] DD: [trying to salvage the situation] Brody Thunder, how do you resp-- [Thunder pie-faces Ditka out of the way, then makes his way through the ropes and to the outside. As he exits through the aisle quickly, he howls in disbelief. He's holding no microphone, but he can be heard just the same...] BT: No way. No damn way! BS: [on commentary] Fans, I can hardly believe what we have all just heard. Owen Curtis has revealed that Brody Thunder had a child out of wedlock, without the knowledge of his wife, Tamara Thunder. According to Owen, Brody never supported the kid and never told Tamara, meaning that Thunder has failed to live up to his responsibilities as both a father and a husband. I... [Ditka, by now, is back at his ringside seat next to Shakespeare.] DD: Billy Shakespeare, I don't think Thunder knew about the child himself. I think this was news to him, not to borrow Owen's unfortunate phrasing. But I'm just speculating –- the fact is, Brody Thunder got out of here before he had the chance to tell his side of the story. I don't really know if he was upset because it was true, or upset because Tamara Thunder so clearly believes Owen Curtis. BS: It could be both, Don. It could be both. DD: Either way, Brody Thunder has some questions to answer -- or Owen Curtis does. Folks, I'm sure we have yet to hear the last of this. When we come back -- it'll be time for tonight's main event. [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to a shot of Johnny Pleasence, dressed in black, walking down a hallway and muttering to himself. Needless to say, he's not in the right frame of mind. We hear the distant heel pop of the fans in the arena, watching this on the big screen.] JP: Soddin' non-title match... what, do I look like Requiem? Am I just supposed to coast myself to greatness? Damned shame this looks like IIWF-lite, but now I have a bloody *non-title* match... how can a *champion* be a *champion*? This fed licks a dog's bollocks... V: You need to settle down just a little bit there, champ. [And in walks the disgruntled youth of the RCW, Ryan Faith, still attired in his wrestling gear.] RF: What's the difference to you if it's a title match or not? You gonna tell me you treat it differently than you would a title match? JP: Bloody hell I would, mate! A title match means that they believe in me! A non-title match means that they think I'm just gonna talk this soddin' belt up! This match is the same as always, scrubbins... business. RF: All this tough talk from you, all these insults and pissant remarks. Come on, are you going to be the damn champ, or are you going to man up? [Pleasence pauses, collecting his thoughts.] JP: ...are you deaf, mate?! I've been trying to man up, but the damned fed won't let me! Me bein' a referee, me dealin' Danny Daniels' retarded self... the bloody hell you mean am I gonna "man up"?! Bloody hell, mate... a chickens[BLEEP!] champion'd never counted three for you... RF: This isn't about me, mate. You're the one walking around like a chicken with its head cut off. And I guess since you're not getting some playing time, that's why you pulled what you did last week. Trying to seek attention... bad times for the champ, I see. JP: I bloody well told you I wasn't gonna play favorites! Hell, I spelled it out for you too! I'm a man of my word, Faith... I never said I'd _give_ you the win! You had to earn it! Driscoll had to earn it, and got one over on you! I can't be great for _you_, mate! You lost that match! Not me! [Faith just getsin a little closer.] RF: So, that's what you do in your spare time then I see. "You can't be great for me?" I don't need you to be great for me. I am great enough for myself. I don't need your pity, or your sympathy or whatever the hell it is you think you offer. You let others decide what you do... I go out and do it. JP: And what have you done besides get a piece of the pink?! Nothing! Mate... whatever you got goin' for you, you need to make it happen soon, 'cuz me? I ain't waitin' around for the Faith Express to get a move on... I got things to do, so either you bloody well trust me... [Pleasence cracks his neck.] JP: ...or you get the business end of my wrath. I got no time for some kid who can't be bothered to shut his gob long enough to think about the grand scheme of things. It'll all end well kid, but for now? Calm down. Things'll come int