[Open on a darkened arena. A single spotlight picks out an empty ring, stark in its monochrome shadows. A slow, forboding musical pulse throbs away in the background, as a gravelly voice provides a narrative:] VO: Pride... [An monochrome image of Paul Driscoll making his way to the ring in slow motion...] VO: Passion... [...Madrock the Irrepressible charging down to the ring, blood streaming down his face...] VO: Determination... [...Vinny Carmazzi straining with all his might as he applies the Kimura Armbar on "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado...] VO: Rage... [RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence's face twisted into a mask of fury as he brandishes the championship belt towards the head of Mark Coleman...] VO: Hunger... [Mark Coleman barrels into Akitoshi Ogawa in a backstage confrontation...] VO: Revenge... [Brody Thunder is left lying in a pool of his own blood, on top of a mock newspaper masthead proclaiming the end of his career... The images fade...] VO: Every man who steps into the squared circle is fueled from within by a force he may not fully understand, or even control... But whatever his motivation, there is only one acceptable outcome for each warrior of the ring... [We hear the voices of RCW superstars, repeating the same mantra:] DRISCOLL: To win. THUNDER: Ter win. CARMAZZI: To win. FAITH: To win. RAGE: To win. RIGHT: To win. [And then we see the face of the RCW Champion, Johnny Pleasence, his piercing blue eyes staring directly at us, as he repeats the mantra himself, adding his own touch:] PLEASENCE: To win... whatever the cost, children. [And suddenly the calm is shattered by images of conflict and violence, and the pulsing music picks up speed and intensity... Nolan Dorado hits Vinny Carmazzi with the Golden Guillotine somersault legdrop from the steel crowd barriers... Pleasence hits Mark Coleman in the head with the RCW Championship belt... Owen Curtis his Brody Thunder with the Obituary... Danny Daniels launches himself with a flying headbutt from a concession stand onto the prone Madrock the Irrepressible... Dave Bryant tosses Derek Rage over the top rope... Johnny Pleasence hits Paul Driscoll in the head with the RCW Championship belt...] VO: Tonight, some men's deeds may write their names indelibly into the pages of history. Tonight, some will succeed, and some will fail. But every man will fight to his last breath... to prevail. [Cut back to the monochrome shot of the ring, which suddenly flashes into colour and is filled with the scenes of a chaotic battle royal!] VO: And now... in association with 1-800-COLLECT... Rip City Wrestling is proud to present WILD... SUMMER... NIGHT! [As the voice-over reaches its conclusion, the opening titles slam onto the screen:] ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ ::: ::: ::::::::::: ::: ::::::::: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+: +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +#+ +:+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +:+ +#+ +#+#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ #+#+# #+#+# #+# #+# #+# #+# ### ### ########### ########## ######### :::::::: ::: ::: :::: :::: :::: :::: :::::::::: ::::::::: :+: :+: :+: :+: +:+:+: :+:+:+ +:+:+: :+:+:+ :+: :+: :+: +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+:+ +:+ +:+ +:+:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +#++:++#++ +#+ +:+ +#+ +:+ +#+ +#+ +:+ +#+ +#++:++# +#++:++#: +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ +#+ #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# ######## ######## ### ### ### ### ########## ### ### :::: ::: ::::::::::: :::::::: ::: ::: ::::::::::: :+:+: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+: :+:+:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +:+ +#+ +:+ +#+ +#+ :#: +#++:++#++ +#+ +#+ +#+#+# +#+ +#+ +#+# +#+ +#+ +#+ #+# #+#+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# #+# ### #### ########### ######## ### ### ### Rose Garden + Portland, Oregon + Sunday 16 July 2006 [...then, just as quickly, fly outwards, revealing a wide shot of the packed-to-the-rafters Rose Garden, as fireworks erupt from the lighting rig high above the ring and shoot showers of sparks downwards over the ring, rockets shooting down to the specially-constructed set at the head of the aisle, where a bank of screens either side of the entranceway show images of flames licking up at the giant screen above the entrance, which recursively shows the bright flashes of the fireworks over and over and over into infinity. Over these scenes we hear the voice of Don Ditka:] DD: Welcome everybody to beautiful Portland, Oregon! [As the fireworks subside, the camera takes in a wide-angle shot of the crowd, coloured spotlights sweeping over the mass of humanity, man, woman and child all on their feet and cheering in excited anticipation as they await the start of what they hope will be a memorable night of wrestling action.] DD: Welcome everybody to the sold-out Rose Garden! [The camera now sweeps down the aisle, fans clamouring to get in shot. They are bedecked in RCW merchandise -- "GOT FAITH?" t-shirts, "Grinning Wallaby" bandanas, "Just One Second" vest tops, "YOUR HERO" t-shirts, Derek Rage foam claw-hands -- and holding signs -- "PULL THE TRIGGER, PISTOL!", "BIG BAD = BIG BABY", "CURTIS FEARS THUNDER", "NO ESCAPE TONIGHT DORADO" -- and looking absolutely *ready* for a night they'll never forget.] DD: Welcome to Rip City Wrestling's first-ever pay-per-view... Welcome to Wild Summer Night! [The camera comes to rest on the broadcast table at ringside, where Don Ditka, tonight wearing a tuxedo with a smart black bow tie, and "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, wearing a dress shirt with ruffled front, stand holding microphones.] DD: Good evening, everybody! I'm Don Ditka, and alongside me, as always, is my broadcast colleague and legend of the ring, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. It's been a long road, Billy Shakespeare, but finally we're here, at Wild Summer Night! BS: Absolutely, Don, and the atmosphere inside the Rose Garden is absolutely electric here tonight. You can just feel that we're in for something very, very special. DD: We have no fewer than *nine* incredible matches coming your way tonight. In the main event, RCW Champion Johnny Pleasence will defend his title against the number one contender, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. BS: Driscoll and Pleasence have been on a collision course for months now. Finally tonight we will see them one-on-one, and may the best man win. DD: And we will also see an unsanctioned Lights Out Match between Owen "Truth" Curtis and "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder. To say that there is personal animosity between these two men may just be the understatement of the century. BS: You're not kidding, Don. Curtis has made Thunder's life a living hell for these past three months. You just know that it's all going to come to a head here in the Garden tonight. DD: And there is so much more coming your way! We have a Handicap Match, a Street Fight, a Falls Count Anywhere match, a Three-way No Escape Cage Match... it's going to be one heck of a ride. And we may just have a few surprises along the way -- like this, Billy Shakespeare! [The shot cuts to the ring, where Sy Simmons is standing, holding his microphone. Simmons is tonight bedecked in a smart tuxedo, as befitting the special nature of the occasion.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Wild Summer Night! [Big pop from the assembled fans!] SS: At this time, would you please welcome our special guest commentator... for one night only... [The fans hush in anticipation of the announcement of the commentator's name... ...and then the wailing synth that opens Van Halen's "Running With The Devil" kicks in over the PA. As the drums and guitars come in, the fans erupt with an ear-splitting pop!] BS: Oh... oh no. DD: My God, Billy Shakespeare, would you listen to these fans! [The fans continue to roar in approval as the voice of David Lee Roth proclaims the first lyrics of the song:] # Yeah, Yeah! # Ah, yeah! # I live my life like there's no tomorrow # and all I've got, I had to steal # Least I don't need to beg or borrow # Yes I'm livin' at a pace that kills [Over the din, Simmons raises his microphone again to complete the introductions...] SS: ...please welcome... "SOOOOOUUUUUUUNDBIIIIITE" STEEEEEEVE ROBEEERTS! [The curtain at the head of the aisle is thrown aside, and out strides Steve Roberts. He stands at the top of the ramp, hands on hips. He doesn't look a day older than he did in 1998, still wearing his trademark leather jacket, still wearing his trademark black "SHOOT, SOUNDBITE, SHOOT!" t-shirt, still wearing his dark sunglasses, still wearing his faded denim jeans. And he still wears that famous grin, which is wider than ever as he drinks in the rapturous reception afforded him by the Portland fans.] DD: Well, Billy Shakespeare, there is a true legend of the announcing booth, and a man who is no stranger to you! BS: You can say that again. [Roberts makes his way down the aisle as Roth roars out the chorus:] # Oooh, yeah # (Ahh!) Runnin' with the devil (Ahh-hah! Yeah!) # (Woo-hoo-oo!) Runnin' with the devil # I'm gonna tell ya all about it [He slaps the hands of fans on both sides of the aisle as he makes his way down to the ringside area, then climbs up onto the ring apron, and before he makes his entrance into the ring he performs his trademark shuffle, the Soundbite Stall! Roberts makes his way into the ring, and throws both his fists up into the air, and the fans immediately break into that famous chant:] "SHOOT, SOUNDBITE, SHOOT! SHOOT, SOUNDBITE, SHOOT!" DD: Steve Roberts is much beloved by the fans here in Portland, Billy Shakespeare -- but perhaps not much beloved by you. BS: Let's just say that Steve Roberts and I never much saw eye to eye. But let's also hope that it's now water under the bridge. [Roberts rolls out of the ring and arrives at the broadcast table, where he grabs the headset off the head of Billy Shakespeare and promptly sits down beside Ditka, leaning back and putting his feet up on the announce table, a huge grin still on his face.] SR: Did you miss me, baby dolls? DD: Welcome, Steve Roberts, to RCW! It's an honour. I'm Don... SR: I know who you are, you no-name hack. And I knows who that useless sack o'crap is sitting next to you. No wonder ol' Spreads was on the phone to me at my mansion in the Caymans, begging me, pleading with me, buttering up the Soundbite, offering him the cheese, the cheddar, the greens, the Benjamins... DD: At any rate, it's great to... SR: Hey, Ditka, did I say I was finished? Ol' Spreads was on the phone, pulled me out of the jaccuzi I was sharing with the 2004 Olympic Brazilian beach volleyball team -- those fine ladies know the Soundbite's gots needs, people -- and begged me to fly out here to bring a little star power to this two-bit booth. [Shakespeare has grabbed a third headset, and now adjusts the microphone.] BS: Still the same old Steve Roberts, I see. "Constant as the northern star..." SR: Shut your trap, Pukespeare. Never send a lady-boy to do a man's job, that's what I say. Though I did send a lady-boy to do a man's job once... DD: Oh, really? How did that work out for you? SR: Too damned easy, Ditka. Too damned easy. You gotsta make the people wait. BS: It's going to be a long night, Don. DD: Too true, Billy Shakespeare. SR: Aw, quit your belly-aching, ladies. Now the Soundbite's here... for one damned night only... the people of America are finally going to get what they want. Wall-to-wall Soundbite. Cover-to-cover! End-to-end! Top-to-bottom! Back-to-front! Dancing on the ceiling! All night long! Good times, Donny-boy. Good times. DD: Good grief. It's time for our opening match. Let's get up to the ring. Wait a minute... [Huge pop as a figure strides out into the aisle.] BS: Who's that? DD: That looks like... that's Brody Thunder! Brody Thunder is making his way down to the ring! [Indeed he is. The crowd is on its feet as Thunder walks purposefully to the ring, wearing boots, worn denim jeans, and his trademark "EVIL, MEAN & NASTY" t-shirt. He runs his fingers down his moustache as he makes his way down the aisle, clearly preoccupied.] SR: Hey, is that old cowpoke trying to ride the Soundbite's coat tails? It didn't work ten years ago, and it's not gonna work now, baby dolls! BS: The question is *why* is he coming out here? His match with Owen Curtis isn't until later on. DD: We're about to find out as the big cowboy from Arizona has made his way into the ring. [Thunder rips the mic from the Sy Simmons's grasp, disregarding him beyond that point. Thunder paces the ring like a caged animal, seething with pent-up anger. He then raises the mic and speaks.] BT: What's wrong with Brody Thunder? [Thunder looks out over the crowd in attendance.] BT: That's the big question on everyone's mind. Why the hell hasn't he said anything? Why the big silence? [Thunder nods his head slightly.] BT: Well, it ain't no big mystery. Ever since I stepped foot in RCW I've worn a bullseye. I've been the target o' that no good sonuvabitch Owen Curtis. [Big heel pop! BT: First he leaves me laid out in velvet at my own night o' tribute. Okaaaaay... so that's not the first time I've been jumped. I can handle that. Then he proceeds to humiliate me in front o' my wife. Weeeell, that's not exactly a fresh trick either. But I can deal with that too. Then he introduces me ta a son I never knew about. *Is* he my son? Hell, he could be -- that's the kicker. That lil' possiblity has driven a wedge between my wife an' I so much so that she's had ta... [Thunder breaks off his dialogue abruptly obviously trying to stay focused and in control.] BT: ...that she's sought counselin' over the whole deal. That goes beyond wrasslin'. That's an attack on a man's private life. On his family. Then... ta try'n trust that newfound son with yer back only ta have him drive a knife in it... well... there's only so much a man can take. Only so much *I* can take. That's why I kept my mouth shut outta respect fer my wife. That's why I've chosen to end my silence now. What I've got to say is gonna drop a few jaws but this is what it's come to. [Thunder rubs a meaty hand over his grizzly visage.] BT: Y'know... when an animal gets backed into a corner, it figures it's got nuthin' left ta do but make a final choice: fight or die. It's at that point that all sanity an' reason go out the flamin' window. The only thing that animal knows is that one o'them ain't livin' ta see the next sunrise. [Thunder paces a bit more.] BT: I've been in this business a long time. A looooooong gawdamned time. An' in all that time I've never once been ta that point where I throw out reason an' sanity fer a wrasslin' match. I've always played by my own rules an' pretty much done whatever the hell I wanted inside these four ringposts. Some o' it I'm proud o'. Some o' it I ain't. The fact is I did whatever I had to ta win. But now... [Thunder stops and taps his stubbled chin with the back of his right fist as if trying to stay composed.] BT: ...*now* I find myself at that crossroads... at that very point o' no return. [Thunder paces slowly around the ring again.] BT: So what I'm about to say comes after a heavy consideration o' the situation. [Again the big cowboy pauses for a moment before continuing.] BT: Owen Curtis... I know yer back there watchin' this. Listen an' listen up good, ace. This ends here. Tonight. In this flamin' ring. After tonight, there won't be anymore rematches -- because after this match tonight? I'm retirin'. [The crowd lets out a collective gasp of shock.] BT: Make no mistake about it though. I ain't endin' my career... without endin' yers *first*. [The crowd pops big. Thunder draws in a deep breath before speaking again.] BT: So take one last bow in the spotlight, Owen. You've all but taken whatever I hold dear an' twisted it up in some sorta sick, demented game. Well, tonight the game ends. I'm not comin' ta that ring fer a match. I'm not comin' ta the ring fer a fight. I'm comin' ta do the one thing that'll hurt you the most. I'm comin' ta put you outta this business. End o' flamin' story. [Thunder nods to himself as the crowd's reaction builds.] BT: An' don't be mistaken, Curtis. This ain't some macho bullshit I'm talkin' here. I'm as serious as I've ever been when I tell ya that I'm comin' down ta this ring tonight in that Light's Out Match an' I'm gonna do whatever it takes to destroy yer career in this business. You've taken away my private life an' everythin' I ever cared about. NOW I'm gonna return the favor, ace. You will *NOT* walk outta this ring tonight, Owen, as God is my witness. [Thunder's words are now escaping thru clenched and angry teeth.] BT: Hell begins when that bell rings cuz I'm gonna tear an' claw an' bite an' scrap at you until yer body gives out. I'm gonna twist yer knee until I hear the ligament rip an' shred. I'm gonna wrench yer shoulder until I feel it pop from its socket. Then I'm gonna grind that bony neck o' yers until I hear it snap. An' then? [Thunder straightens up and wipes his mouth with his left hand, his eyes staring steadily at the backstage area.] BT: Then I'm gonna walk away from you, this ring an' this business... fer good. You wanted to see Brody Thunder leave this sport. Well, ace, tonight you get yer wish. There's jus' one thin' I've got ta say before I leave. [Thunder's face contorts in a twisted visage of fury and rage.] BT: You... first. [Thunder slams down the mic and storms from the ring to a huge pop from the crowd. Thunder walks right back up the aisle, not looking back at the ring, not paying any attention to the fans clamouring around him. Cut back to the announce table at ringside, where Ditka and Shakespeare are in shock... but Steve Roberts has a huge grin on his face.] SR: You know, morons, I couldn't ask for a better "welcome home" gift than that. Brody Thunder... always thinkin' of Big Poppa Soundbite. DD: Billy Shakespeare... I am absolutely in shock. Brody Thunder has just announced his retirement from wrestling -- and it is going to happen right here at Wild Summer Night. BS: I wouldn't believe it if I hadn't heard it with my own ears, Don. Owen Curtis has about two hours to tie up any loose ends, to make his peace with friends and family... because I know one thing: Thunder absolutely intends to send Curtis out of the Rose Garden in a box. DD: My God, folks. My God! Curtis and Thunder in an unsanctioned Lights Out match -- and it will be the last match of Thunder's storied career! SR: Hey, lighten up, morons. That's the best news I've heard in years. As one of Thunder's close friends would say, "ain't life grand?" Now, when do those dancing girls get here? DD: Steve Roberts, ladies and gentlemen. Folks, we have to put this bombshell behind us and move on to tonight's opening match. Let's take it back up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Ryan Faith vs. "Showtime" Rick Marley /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring and brings his microphone to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is tonight's opening match, and it is scheduled for one fall! [The fans pop as the intense opening of "Lose Yourself" by Enimem booms over the PA, white strobe lights flashing in time with the beats. As the main hook of the song hits, the lights around the three huge screens at the head of the aisle blast full-on, and a figure steps out into the aisle, silhouetted against the brightness.] SS: Introducing first... hailing from Allentown, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at 215lbs... here is... "SHOOOOOOOOOOWTIME".... RIIIIIICK MAAAAAARLEY! [Big pop as Marley makes his way down the aisle, the screens behind him showing footage from his earlier matches, his high-flying moves and fast-paced offence. Marley is wearing new tights tonight, bright red long-legged trunks, black pads, and the word "SHOWTIME" stitched across the seat of the trunks in yellow.] DD: Here comes Rick Marley -- a man who reminds me of a younger Billy Shakespeare! SR: Geez, Ditka, you want to condemn the kid like that right out of the gates? DD: Comparing this athlete to one of the greatest cruiserweights of the past decade is hardly a condemnation. SR: I agree, Donny-boy, but Pukespeare here doesn't make the grade. In the pantheon of great cruiserweights, he's right up there below Steve "The Fury" Kowalski. DD: Steve Kowalski weighed 275lbs, Steve Roberts. SR: Exactly, Ditka. [Marley arrives at the foot of the aisle, pauses, then runs the last few feet, sliding under the bottom rope, kipping up in the ring -- to a big pop -- and then immediately climbing to the top buckle and thrusting his fists up into the air! Pop!] BS: These fans are happy to see Marley here tonight, Don. DD: They certainly are, Billy. This is a man who keeps himself to himself, and lets his performances in the ring speak louder than his interviews. SR: You mean, he's an incoherent moron incapable of stringing a sentence together? DD: Not exactly, Steve Roberts. Not everybody loves the sound of his own voice as much as you do. SR: Damn straight, Ditka. Not everybody has the silken, sexy, sultry tones of the Soundbite. [Marley hops down into the ring as "Lose Yourself" fades over the PA and the house lights are set back to their normal levels. Simmons raises his microphone again:] SS: And introducing his opponent... ["God Hates A Coward" kicks in over the PA to a big heel pop from the crowd. The lights drop and a spotlight picks out the entranceway.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Dinah, hailing from Southborough, Massachusetts, and weighing in at 220lbs, here is.... RYYYYYYYYYYAN FAAAAAAAAAAAITH! [Dinah appears in the aisle first, and she is wearing an eye-popping outfit tonight. Her long brown hair tumbles down around her bare shoulders, and she is wearing a tight "boob tube" that covers the bare minimum. Low-rise jeans complete the ensemble.] SR: Wowee. Is it me, or did it just get hotter in here? DD: There's Dinah -- and wherever Dinah is, Ryan Faith is never far behind. SR: Yeah, Donny-boy, she's the engine, he's the wheels. She's the breasts, he's the brawn. BS: Don't you mean that she's the *brains*? SR: I know what I mean, Pukespeare. Shut your fool mouth. [Dinah points to the entranceway... and out strides Ryan Faith to a renewed heel pop. Dinah pushes his shaggy hair out of his face, and lays a kiss on him before the two of them make their way down the aisle, Faith looking around the arena with a mixture of arrogance and cool in his piercing blue eyes.] DD: Ryan Faith is an impressive young athlete on a tremendous roll here in RCW. BS: And he has a lot to prove, Don. Having aligned himself with the RCW Champion, he needs to step out of that shadow and prove that he doesn't need to "walk under his huge legs and peep about." SR: What, are you quoting Styx lyrics at us now? BS: Hardly, Steve Roberts. "Julius Caesar." SR: Et tu, Pukespeare? [Faith makes his way down to the ring, climbs the ringsteps, and steps in as "God Hates A Coward" fades over the PA. As usual, he is wearing his cut-off blue-jean shorts and his high black wrestling boots. Match official Jim Bright checks Faith's boots and shorts, and then quickly checks Marley's pads and boots, then signals for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: Here we go, everybody! The first match at Wild Summer Night, and fittingly it's two hungry young athletes who are starting it out for us in the Garden tonight! [Faith and Marley circle each other in the centre of the ring. Marley reaches out a hand towards Faith, and the two men tie it up. Marley ducks around behind Faith, pushes him into the ropes, then tries to pull him back again; Faith hangs onto the ropes and Marley rolls over backwards in the ring, but he's straight back up to his feet, and as Faith turns around, Marley hits him with a sweet dropkick that sends him tumbling through the ropes. Big pop!] DD: Marley knocks Faith out of the ring -- and now he's looking... he's not! [He is! Marley bounces off the ropes on the other side of the ring and launches himself through the ropes with a suicida -- but Dinah pushes the groggy Faith out of the way, and Marley crashes painfully into the crowd barriers at ringside! Big heel pop!] BS: Marley's setting out his stall here early, Don. SR: Fail, and do it fast? DD: Do you mind, Steve Roberts? SR: Hey, Big Poppa Soundbite don't mean no never mind. BS: Marley has come out here with a high-risk strategy in mind -- and it hasn't paid off in the early going. [As Bright leans through the ropes to remonstrate with Dinah -- and perhaps get a better look at her form -- Faith brings Marley to his feet, puts one hand on his shoulder and grabs a handful of tights with the other, spins around, and *launches* Marley head-first into the steel ringsteps! Big heel pop!] DD: My goodness! Faith *driving* Marley's head right into those ringsteps! This match is out of control in the early going. [Faith picks up the prone Marley and rolls him back into the ring, then rolls back into the ring himself. He drags Marley back to his feet again, and then drops him to the mat with a snap DDT! On the outside, Dinah applauds Faith as he drops onto Marley and makes the cover... 1... 2... ...and Marley kicks out! Pop!] BS: Ryan Faith is focusing on the head and neck of Rick Marley -- softening him up for the Test of Faith, no doubt. DD: Marley is still in this thing, but that early mistake could cost him dearly. [Faith pulls Faith back to his feet and whips him hard into the opposite corner. As Marley staggers backwards out of the corner, Faith hits him with a volley of kicks... first to the kidney... then to the ribs... then to the thigh... and then to the back of the knees, knocking Marley down to his knees. Faith then grabs hold of both of Marley's arms, puts his feet in behind his knees, and then rolls over backwards. Mixed pop!] DD: BOW AND ARROW! BOW AND ARROW! BS: This is a move that puts tremendous pressure on the neck and the small of the back. Marley could be in big trouble here! SR: Where's the love for the Soundbite? Where are the biscuits? Where's the gravy? Where are the pancakes? DD: Steve Roberts, there's a match going on here. Do you perhaps want to help us call the action? SR: No, Donny-boy, I do not. Knowing the names of the holds is what they pay Little Willie here for. The Soundbite is here for the colour, you hear me? The colour, the cheese, and the gravy. DD: I have absolutely no idea what you just said. [In the ring, Faith continues to keep Marley locked in the bow and arrow. The fans chant Marley's name and clap to encourage him:] "SHOW-TIME!" * CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! * "SHOW-TIME!" * CLAP-CLAP-CLAP! * [Bright checks on Marley, but "Showtime" shakes his head to indicate that he won't submit. Faith, losing his patience, relinquishes the hold, and pulls himself back to his feet, peppering his prone opponent with a couple of kicks, a scowl upon his face. As Marley rolls into the center of the ring, Faith turns his back on his opponent -- and then hits a standing moonsault! Mixed pop! Faith hooks the leg and has Marley pinned again... 1... 2... ...and Marley kicks out again! Pop!] DD: Rick Marley is fighting for his life in there! BS: Ryan Faith is pulling out some impressive offense in there, Don. But you can see that he expected to put Marley away very quickly, and the longer this match goes, the more frustrated Faith's going to become. SR: The longer this match goes, the more frustrated the Soundbite's going to become. I'm waiting for the battle royal pitting the top sixteen ladies' ATP players against each other. That match is coming up next, right? DD: What on earth are you talking about, Steve Roberts? SR: Lindsay Davenport. Maria Sharapova. Kim Clijsters. You feeling that, Donny-boy? You feeling it? Girls in short white skirts, taking it all out on one another with tennis racquets. I'm feeling it. Oh boy, am I feeling it. BS: He's always like this, Don. He's made a career out of it. [Faith slaps the mat in frustration as he once again brings Marley back to his feet. He sends Marley to the ropes, and on the return, hits him with a superkick that knocks Marley right down to the mat. Dinah slaps the mat, encouraging her man, and Faith glances at her, and then at the corner. Dinah nods. Faith steps through the ropes and onto the apron, then nimbly leaps up onto the top turnbuckle. Cameras flash around the arena as Faith balances himself carefully.] DD: Ryan Faith, up there in slightly unfamiliar territory! He's waiting for Marley to get up... [Slowly, Marley brings himself to his feet, and as he turns to face the corner where Faith is perched, Faith launches himself with a missile dropkick -- but Marley sidesteps, and Faith hits the mat hard! Marley rushes the ropes, jumps onto the bottom rope, and as Faith gets back up, Marley hits him with a springboard back elbow! Pop! Marley rolls to his feet once again and once more goes to the ropes. Faith gets back to his feet, and Marley hits him with a high spinning kick! Pop!] DD: Marley nearly decapitates Ryan Faith with that kick, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Rick Marley needs to take the fullest advantage of this turn of the tides, Don. He needs to put Faith away, fast! SR: Damned right. Bring on the nubile tennis-playing hotties! I'll help *all* of you apply your self-tan. Come to poppa Soundbite... there's plenty to go around! [Marley brings Faith to his feet, and puts him in position ofr an inverted DDT. The crowd pops!] DD: He's going for the Limelight! [But before Marley can drop Faith to the mat, Dinah is immediately up on the apron, distracting the man from Pennsylvania, who releases Faith and moves over to the apron -- and before Dinah can drop down to the floor, Marley gets hold of her hair! Big pop! Jim Bright is quickly there, interposing himself between the pair of them -- which allows Dinah to reach around the official and jam a thumb into Marley's eye! Marley staggers backwards, and is *tossed* across the ring with a belly-to-back release suplex from Ryan Faith! Heel pop!] BS: Ryan Faith may have just reasserted himself in this match, Don. DD: Yes, thanks to Dinah, as usual. SR: Behind every run-of-the-mill rookie grappler is a hot, hot ring rat, Donny-boy. I had me a hot, hot ring rat once upon a time. DD: Oh, really? How did that work out for you? SR: Forget it, Ditka. I'm not a performing monkey! [Faith signals to Dinah on the outside, and she looks under the ring apron for something. Meanwhile, Faith rakes his boot across Marley's face, drawing the ire of the fans and the match official, who gives Faith a warning. As Faith argues with Jim Bright, Dinah slides something onto the ring apron...] DD: A steel chair! Dinah has retrieved a chair from under the ring, and now she's climbing up on the apron again! [Faith turns his attention back to Marley as Bright spots Dinah on the apron. While Bright's back is turned, Faith grabs the steel chair, and lays it in the ring. The crowd buzzes as Faith drags Marley to his feet once again.] DD: Come on, ref! Dinah now, distracting the official *again*, while Ryan Faith has that steel chair in the ring. [Faith and Marley stand over the steel chair. Faith puts Marley's head between his legs, underhooks both arms, then lifts him up, and...] * CLANG! * [Big, big heel pop!] DD: TEST OF FAITH! TEST OF FAITH! Onto the steel chair! [As the crowd make their displeasure abundantly known, Faith scoots the chair out of the ring with his hand, and then makes the cover on Marley. Dinah immediately hops down from the apron, yelling at Bright to do his job, and the official spins around. He sees Faith covering Marley, and drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...3! Big heel pop!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He got him! Faith got him! [As "God Hates A Coward" kicks in over the PA, Faith stands, a smirk on his face, and allows Bright to raise his hand, before snatching it away.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... RYYYYYYYYAN FAAAAAAAAITH! DD: An impressive -- if not entirely fair -- victory for Ryan Faith here tonight, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Absolutely, Don. Faith came out here with a clear plan: to work over Marley's head and neck, and to put him away with the Test of Faith as soon as possible. SR: Hey, baby! DD: Who are you talking to, Steve Roberts? [The shot cuts to show that Dinah is standing near to the broadcast table. She winks at Roberts before sliding into the ring to stand by the side of her man.] SR: The chicks all dig Big Poppa Soundbite, morons! [Dinah wraps herself around Faith and whispers something in his ear. Faith cracks a smile. The pair of them look down at the prone form of Rick Marley on the canvas, scorn on their faces. Faith flips the bird at Marley, and then rolls from the ring, Dinah in his wake.] DD: That's just unnecessary! Ryan Faith has defeated Rick Marley, and then adds insult to injury. BS: He's cocky and full of himself, there's no denying it, Don. SR: There's nothing wrong with being cocky, goody-four-shoes! Faith may be just another punk kid who's yet to beat anybody, but he's got a great attitude. And a hot woman, too. That can make up for a lot of things. DD: Be that as it may, folks, we've got eight more tremendous matches coming your way tonight. [The camera switches to a poorly-lit hallway in the Rose Garden. Only the area right in front is visible. Shadows and pure darkness obscure the rest. It is from there that a figure starts to emerge. Insufficient light prevents it from being recognizable as a man until only he is mere inches from the camera. He's worked up one hell of a sweat. His match hasn't even taken place yet. The expression is not one of anger or frustration. It's focus. Determination. Drive. Intense. Vinny Carmazzi's dark eyes stare ahead. Blood pours from his hands. Down each wrap of tape, through each layer, and onto the tiles below. We hear the distant pop of the crowd in the arena as they recognise the submission specialist from New Jersey.] VC: Came to RCW wanting a chance. An opportunity like everybody else. [Opens his right fist and closes it again, cracking every knuckle.] VC: Got it. Then became like everybody else. [And now the left.] VC: Shit happened. First thing I did was complain. Then I whined. Then I did nothing. Over and over. [His ears hate hearing it as much as Vinny's mouth hates saying it.] VC: Get a contract for the first time. Forget everything I learned that helped me get it. Every hard lesson over the last 12 years. All the pain, blood, frustration, fear. Forgot what got me here. As if I earned that right. [Carmazzi rubs his right fist along his jawline. Leaves a trail of blood.] VC: Forgot that a fair chance in this business doesn't mean that everything else will start being fair as well. Was thinking it was RCW. No more bullshit. Things will be put right. The way it's supposed to. [A deep, painful breath.] VC: Even thought for just a second.... [Obvious humiliation.] VC: ...things would be easier. [His brown eyes dart off to the side. Won't look the viewer in the eye.] VC: Embarassment. Attacks. Playing the fool. Nothing was a wake-up call. Put a lot on my opponents. But only I'm to blame. [They return, apologetic.] VC: 12 difficult years. Trying to survive. Achieve something. Never once was I complacent. Never once did I settle for idle threats. Never once was I okay with waiting. I lost matches, but I was never a loser. [He squeezes his fists together, accelerating the voluntary bloodloss.] VC: Not gonna blame a contract. Not gonna blame my opponents. I got myself in this. I'm gonna get myself out. There is no escape at this stage of the game. [His bloodshot eyes reveal a bit of anticipation.] VC: It's been two-on-one forever. Always had everything on the line. The only way to live was fight. No guarantee of tomorrow. [A silent, understated confidence begins to show.] VC: Never been in a cage, but nothing about this is new to me. [Vinny's lip quivers. It's not nerves.] VC: The only thing new was the role I was playing in what led up to this. But _that_ will be different. [He slowly runs both his taped-up hands through his shoulder-lenggth dirty blonde hair. It emerges with streaks of blood-soaked red.] VC: No pity. No doubt..... [He takes a deep breath before preparing to go to the ring.] VC: ......And no more victim. [Vinny brushes by as he begins his slow walk. Fade back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Vinny Carmazzi there, with comments ahead of tonight's three-way No Escape cage match, pitting him against "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado, and Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. SR: Who was that, Ditka? DD: That was Vinny Carmazzi, Steve Roberts. SR: Who? DD: Vinny Carmazzi. SR: Who? DD: He's a twelve-year veteran from New Jersey, and a tremendously talented submission specialist. SR: Who is? DD: Never mind, Steve Roberts. That incredible three-way cage match is coming up later on tonight -- but right now, it's time for Derek Rage and Dave Bryant to lock it up in the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Dave Bryant vs. Derek Rage /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Sy Simmons raises the microphone to his lips again as official Pat Nickrick rolls into the ring behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall! [The houselights go down and the hard beat of Public Enemy's "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" blares over the PA system. Big pop from the fans, and cameras flash all over the arena.] SS: Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Pizzazz... hailing from Halifax, Nova Scotia, Canada, and weighing in at 325lbs... here is... DEEEEEEEEEREK RAAAAAAAAAGE! [Through the curtain at the head of the aisle steps Pizzazz, the 6' tall, willowy French-Canadian woman cutting an absolutely stunning figure in a beautiful evening gown that is slit all the way up beyond the top of the thigh. Her lustrous black hair is worn piled up on top of her head, and she is wearing beautiful sparkling jewellery. She gives the faintest of smiles.] SR: Every lady lovelier than the last, baby dolls! DD: Pizzazz is looking incredible here tonight. BS: Don't let the pretty gown and the high heels fool you: this woman is as athletic as they come. SR: Trust you, Pukespeare, to be gazing upon one of the most delicious women walking Poppa Soundbite's green, green earth and be thinking about how athletic she is. I always thought you were a little bit comme ci, comme ca. DD: Come on, Steve Roberts. There's no need for that. [Pizzazz is joined in the aisle by Derek Rage, the huge 7'2" man as always wearing his boxer's robe, his face obscured by the hood, as he makes his way down the aisle, Pizzazz by his side.] DD: Derek Rage is no stranger to pay-per-view events, not only here in Portland, but all over the United States. This is his biggest singles match to date, and the animosity between these two men quickly got out of control. SR: Bryant was the one who was talking smack about my fine black brother, Derek Rage. DD: That's true, Steve Roberts, but the colour of a man's skin shouldn't make any difference to the respect with which he's treated. SR: Except for the Incredible Hulk, Donny-boy. Make Mine Marvel, baby dolls. [Rage arrives at ringside and extends his hand to Pizzazz, inviting her to climb the ringsteps before him. Pizzazz does so, and gives the fans quite the sight as her incredible, long legs are exposed as she bends to step between the ropes! Big pop! Rage steps over the top rope and, as Public Enemy fades and the lights in the arena rise once more, Pizzazz removes his robe, revealing his normal ring attire of black sleeveless t-shirt, black spandex tights, and ankle-high black boots. Rage is already facing the aisle, and he rolls his neck to loosen up, keeping his eyes on the head of the aisle at all times.] SS: And introducing his opponent... [Big heel pop as "Physical (You're So)" by Nine Inch Nails kicks in over the PA.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Glory... hailing from Las Vegas, Nevada, and weighing in at 220lbs, here is... DAAAAAAAVE BRRRRRYAAAANT! [A spotlight once again picks out the head of the aisle, and out walks Glory, wearing a sparkling royal blue gown, also slit up the leg, and with a provocatively plunging neckline. Glory turns her head, her long blonde hair falling around her shoulders and into her decollŽtage, drawing admiring cheers and whistles from the male fans in attendance.] SR: Glory be! Glory be to the father, and to the son, and to the unholy Soundbite. DD: Steady on, Steve Roberts. SR: Ripe like a grapefruit, sweet like a melon. The Soundbite wants some fruit salad! DD: Did you understand that, Billy Shakespeare? BS: It's best not to get involved, Don. SR: Damned right, Pukespeare. It's a Steve Roberts world -- everybody else is just taking up space. [Glory takes a few steps into the aisle, smiling coquettishly, and then turns back, gesturing to the curtains, which are thrown apart, and out strides Dave Bryant, himself wearing a long, royal blue robe, complete with hood. The fans give him a hostile reception.] DD: And here comes the former world champion himself, Dave Bryant. Like Rage, he's a veteran of the squared circle. Like Rage, he's had success in many territories. SR: This is the guy who runs the bar in Vegas, right? DD: That's right, Steve Roberts, Dave Bryant has, for the last few years at least, been the proprietor of a bar in Las Vegas. BS: But he got tired of humiliating his paying customers and throwing them out onto the street. He missed the buzz of humiliating opponents and throwing them out of the ring. SR: Very poetic. Still, you gotsta respect a man whose major motivation in life is punking out losers. I thought I liked Derek Rage -- I sure as hell like his honey, his fine honey-pie, his tasty honey-honey-pie -- but I'm picking Bryant in this one. DD: It may be a smart pick, Steve Roberts. Dave Bryant may be giving up over one hundred pounds and some fifteen inches in height on Derek Rage, but as one of the most successful "little men" -- and I use that term with no intended disparagement -- of the last decade, you'd be foolish to count him out. [Glory pushes Bryant's hood back, revealing his smirking visage, his short black hair as ever slicked back, his goatee as neatly trimmed as always. The pair of them make their way down the aisle, Rage boring a hole in Bryant with his intense stare from the ring, and Bryant studiously looking everywhere in the arena but up at his opponent.] BS: Just look at the difference in demeanour between these two men, Don. Bryant, the picture of brash confidence, some would say arrogance. Rage, intensity personified, taut like a drum. SR: I was taut like a drum, once. DD: How did-- SR: Shut your Ohio-sized Oreo-hole, Ditka. [Bryant and Glory arrive at the foot of the aisle, and Bryant shouts up to Nickrick that he wants Rage moved away from the side of the ring he's about to enter. Nickrick complies, gingerly encouraging Rage to move back, which he does, and Bryant takes his own sweet time making his way up the ringsteps behind Glory, who holds the ropes open for him and allows him into the squared circle. Rage says something to the official, who looks up at him, and then approaches Glory.] DD: It looks like Rage has asked that Pat Nickrick check Glory for foreign objects. BS: She doesn't look too happy about it. SR: That's because she needs the touch of a real man, not some pudgy turd in a striped shirt. DD: Steve Roberts, the RCW referees are highly-trained officials. SR: And beaten-with-the-ugly-stick grotesque, too, baby dolls. [Glory allows Nickrick to check her figure-hugging dress for foreign objects, and once he's done, she moves to Bryant and removes his robe, before leaving the ring with her nose in the air, indignant expression on her face. Pizzazz, meanwhile, runs her finger down the spine of her man, then leaves the ring as Nine Inch Nails fades over the PA and the two men face each other. Nickrick signals for the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: And here we go! But Dave Bryant looks completely uninterested in this match. BS: This is all mind-games from Bryant. He wants Rage to know that he doesn't respect him, and further more, he doesn't even register. DD: Well, Billy Shakespeare, excuse me for saying so, but Derek Rage is 7'2" tall and 325lbs. Dave Bryant had *better* register the big man, or he's going to be counting the lights after riding the Hammer of God! SR: I rode... nah. [Rage moves towards Bryant, who lazily backsteps away from Rage, the two men circling in the ring. Rage lunges in, ducking low to go for Bryant's legs, and the Las Vegas native spins out underneath Rage's grasp, rolling his shoulders as if to show he's still warming up. Rage comes in again, and this time gets Bryant in a hammerlock. Bryant again spins out of the hold, reversing into an armlock of his own, but then quickly releases it, and this time flexes his fingers together, extending his wrists. Heel pop from the fans!] DD: Dave Bryant here, cool as a cucumber... SR: What is this, 1957?! DD: Bryant is just keeping out of the way of Derek Rage here, as casual as may be. BS: He's hoping to get the big man riled up -- though I have to question the wisdom of that strategy. [Rage goes in again, once again going for the leg -- and this time he takes Bryant down to the mat with a single-leg takedown, but as Bryant hits the mat on his back, he kicks out with his free leg, rolling to the side, and as he stands up, performs a big, pantomime yawn, right in Rage's face. Heel pop!] DD: Oh boy -- Bryant may live to regret that. [Rage looks at Bryant for a moment... and then nearly takes his head off with a big clothesline! Huge pop! Bryant gets back up, and this time is met by a big boot to the face! Bigger pop! Bryant gets back up again, looking a little glassy-eyed, and then hops backwards in pain as Rage kicks him right in the shins!] BS: That's vicious! If Rage succeeds in splinting the shins, Bryant could be in plaster for weeks! DD: Rage now, just *grabbing* Bryant by that leg, and... oh my! [Big pop as Rage hoists Bryant up by one leg and rushes him into the corner, slamming him hard, back-first, into the buckles. Rage keeps hold of the leg, and drops to the mat, spinning Bryant around with a leg-whip! Pop! Rage still keeps hold of the leg, lifting it up and planting a big size 14 boot to the side of the knee! Still with the leg in hand, Rage rolls to the mat, flipping Bryant over onto his stomach by his right leg. Another pop!] SR: Holy crap, Ditka, that's some wicked torsion on Bryant's knee. DD: Indeed, Steve Roberts, Derek Rage seems determined to twist Bryant's leg right off! [Bryant grimaces as Rage gets back to his feet, and then lifts Bryant up again, this time bending his leg double and coming to his knees, dropping Bryant's right leg down across his own knee. Big pop!] BS: Lovely kneebreaker from Derek Rage here, Don. Bryant needs to stop this damage to his leg, or the height difference in this match is going to go from 15 inches to 75 inches! SR: Now you're talking Soundbite-sized portions, baby dolls. DD: Would you keep your mind out of the gutter, Steve Roberts? SR: Believe you me, Donny-boy, one place the Soundbite has never been is the gutter. [As Rage manoeuvres himself, Bryant lashes out with a thumb to the eye, forcing Rage to stagger backwards. Bryant is back to his feet, favouring his right leg, and moves towards Rage -- but the big man swats him back down to the mat and applies a spinning toe-hold on the right leg, drawing another grunt of pain from the Las Vegas man!] BS: All of this attention on that leg of Bryant's is to neutralise that superkick he calls "Call Me In The Morning." SR: Ha! Take one of *these* and call me in the morning! I love it! DD: Well, if Bryant's right leg continues to take the battering it's taking here tonight, Bryant could be taking some percocet and calling his osteopath in the morning. [Rage releases the spinning toe-hold, untwists Bryant's leg, lays it down on the canvas -- and then drops his knee onto it! Pop! Bryant reaches out behind him for the ropes and grabs hold of the bottom rope. Nickrick calls for the break, and Rage gives it, cleanly.] DD: Derek Rage is wrestling a clean, technical match here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Rage has always been more about power and height, Don -- but I think his run-in with Lord Byron a few weeks ago has influenced his approach to this match tonight. DD: Well, I'll be -- speak of the devil, and he shall appear. SR: That's right, baby dolls, I'll be here all night long. Whoo! DD: No, Steve Roberts, look -- it's Lord Byron! [Indeed, a spotlight picks out the form of a well-dressed man standing in the aisle. He is dressed in a fine dark grey single-breasted suit, a bold blue tie and matching handkerchief completing the ensemble. His long hair is tied back out of his face, and he leans rakishly on his ever-present brass-topped cane. Yes, it's Lord Byron... and he's watching Derek Rage.] DD: You would have thought that with the first Street Fight of his career coming up here later tonight, Byron would be focusing on his opponent here at Wild Summer Night, Liam Cassidy. BS: That's the arrogance of Lord Byron, Don. He genuinely believes he can beat Cassidy in any kind of match, any place, any time. So he'll think nothing of coming out here tonight to get a look at Derek Rage. SR: Hey, I know Lord Byron, and he's got taste with a capital T -- that's a cup of tea, you peons. I saw him plant that smacker on the delicious lips of Rage's six-foot Amazonian love goddess... and now he's out here for seconds! [Rage turns in the ring to see the aristocratic figure of Byron in the aisle, and his face sets in an even more determined grimace. He turns back to Bryant, who is shaking out the kinks in his right leg. Rage sends Bryant for the ride, but Bryant reverses, sending Rage to the ropes instead and hopping to a halt, putting his head down. Rage wheels around, sees Bryant bent over, and quickly underhooks his arms, before hoisting him up, spinning him around, and then bringing him down on his head! Pop!] DD: My God! Modified tilt-a-whirl piledriver from Derek Rage, and Bryant has to be out! [But Rage isn't done, immediately bringing Rage back to his feet and sending him to the ropes again, on the return lifting him up with a backdrop -- and then hanging on to drop him viciously to the mat!] DD: Backdrop driver! Backdrop driver! And Rage is truly in the driving seat here! [While Byron looks on from the aisle, Rage looks down at the stunned Bryant... then he drops to the canvas and rolls out of the ring. He looks down at Glory, not a small woman by any standards, but dwarfed next to the rangy 7'2" giant. Rage shows a smile for the first time tonight -- but it is not a pleasant smile at all, and Glory backs away from Rage, clearly threatened by the big man. From the ring, Nickrick puts the count on Rage, but his count is interrupted by Bryant pulling himself to his feet, using the referee for support.] DD: Dave Bryant is on his feet! He's favouring that right leg, but -- now he sees Rage! Bryant sees Rage, and now he sees red! [Bryant seems revitalised, and he rolls out of the ring after Rage, rounding on the big man, waiting for him to nearly back Glory up against the ringsteps... and then he launches himself with a dropkick at the small of the big man's back, as Glory dodges out of the way, and Rage is sent chest- and face-first into the steel ringsteps! Heel pop! Bryant grabs at his right knee, pain etched on his face, and pulls himself back to his feet.] BS: Self-sacrifice from Dave Bryant there, risking further aggravation to his injured right leg in order to slow Rage down with a big dropkick to the ringsteps! SR: That's how you test the mettle of a man, Pukespeare. You break his leg, you threaten his woman, and you watch as he comes at you like some kind of crazy Terminator mofo. Love is a many-splendoured thing, and a man in love can give a many-splendoured ass-kicking! DD: Wise words, Steve Roberts -- but now Pizzazz is looking to get involved! [As Glory stands above Bryant, applauding his intelligence at managing to send Rage to the ringsteps, Pizzazz stalks up behind her... and grabs her by the hair to turn her around! Glory screams! The fans in the arena jump to their feet as Nickrick quickly vaults from the ring to try and separate the two women.] SR: By God, a catfight! By Jesus and his band of merry men, it's a catfight! Take from the bitch and give to the whore, it's a catfight! DD: Billy Shakespeare, can you imagine the fines from the local affiliates if this man was allowed on free-to-air broadcast television?! [As Nickrick struggles to separate Glory and Pizzazz, Bryant goes under the ring and finds... a wrench! Big heel pop as Bryant turns the wrench over in his hands.] DD: Oh, oh, this could be bad, Billy Shakespeare. Bryant has a wrench, and... oh my God! [Bryant takes a big swing with the wrench at Derek Rage, and catches him behind the right knee. Big heel pop! Bryant takes the wrench again and gives Rage another whack for good measure, then slyly discards the wrench under the ring once more. In the aisle, Byron continues to look on, taking a few steps towards the ring to get a good aspect on the brawling currently taking place on two adjacent sides of the ring.] DD: Bryant has just exacted some measure of revenge on Derek Rage... with a wrench. SR: You know what they say, what the hell, use the... wrench. DD: I don't think they do say that, Steve Roberts. BS: Bryant is rolling Rage back into the ring, gentlemen. [Indeed, Nickrick has managed to separate Glory and Pizzazz, and Bryant has rolled the big man back into the ring before climbing up to the apron himself. He is still favouring his right leg as he steps through the ropes. He launches himself into the air, holding onto the ropes, and brings both feet down hard on Rage's right knee. The big man rolls into the middle of the ring and tries to get back to his feet. Bryant runs at him from behind, jumping over him and performing a rolling snap neckbreaker on the big man, who snaps back to the mat. Bryant immediately grabs at Rage's right leg... and wraps it around his own. Heel pop!] DD: Bryant is going for a figure four leglock! Can Bryant even apply a figure four leglock on legs that big?! BS: If he executes it right, he can, Don! [Bryant grabs Rage's other leg, and falls backwards -- with the hold perfectly applied! Rage yells out in pain as Bryant leans backwards, applying as much pressure as he can. But Bryant's eyes widen as he realises that Rage can nearly reach the ropes with his fingertips simply by leaning backwards. He inches his way backwards... and suddenly Glory is up on the apron! Nickrick moves to get her down, and Bryant reaches out behind himself, grabbing the ropes and dragging both himself and Rage towards them, Rage's fingertips grabbing in vain at the ropes now out of his reach! Heel pop! Pizzazz has seen enough of Glory's theatrics, and pulls her down from the apron to the arena floor with a thud. Nickrick again leaves the ring to try and separate the two women, while in the ring, Rage is trying to turn himself over.] BS: If Rage can flip over onto his belly, he'll have control of the hold, and it'll be Bryant in trouble. DD: Given that Bryant's right leg has already taken one heck of a beating here tonight, that's the last thing he needs! [As Rage threatens to flip onto his belly, Bryant releases the figure four, gets to his feet as quickly as he can, and just starts stomping away at the big man's knees! Heel pop!] SR: Great Greco-Roman knee stomp there by Bryant! DD: There's nothing scientific about Dave Bryant in there. He may have started off this match the picture of arrogance and confidence, but he's got to do whatever it takes to survive now. [On the outside, Nickrick once again separates the two women, and turns his attention back to the ring, rolling back in just as Bryant brings Rage back to his feet... and drops him once more with a DDT! Heel pop!] DD: Dave Bryant now, going for the cover! [Nickrick drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Rage kicks out! Relieved pop!] BS: The first near-fall of the match, and Bryant looks to have the upper hand now. [Bryant drags Rage back to his feet again, and sends him to the ropes. Bryant then bounces off the side of the ring perpendicular to Rage's, and launches himself in the air...] DD: Bryant going for a bulldog headlock and... OH MY GOD! [Huge, huge pop as Rage somehow manages to catch Bryant in mid-air as he attempts to hit the bulldog, spin around, and *toss* the Las Vegas native out of the ring and to the outside! Cameras flash all over the arena as Rage drops to his knees in the ring, spent from the exertion of that desperation reversal.] BS: Rage was able to throw Bryant over that top rope like so much trash, Don! Unbelievable! SR: I've got to admit, that was pretty sweet. Bryant just fell clean 12, maybe 15 feet to the arena floor. [On the outside, Bryant rolls groggily to his knees, while Lord Byron takes another few steps closer to the ring. He's now standing at the foot of the aisle, looking quizzically up at Rage in the ring. He waits for the big Nova Scotian to turn his way, and then raises his cane to him in a sardonic kind of greeting. Rage rolls from the ring and looks to tackle Byron -- but his way is blocked by Pizzazz. Pizzazz puts her hands on her man's chest and speaks softly to him. Rage continues to stare over her head at Byron, but whatever she says appears to have the desired effect, as he turns his attentions back to Bryant.] DD: Derek Rage now, stalking Bryant -- but now Glory is stepping in front of her man! [Indeed, while Bryant is picking himself up, Glory bravely stands in front of Rage, staring defiantly up at the big man who had chased her around the ring earlier in the match. Rage raises his hands... lifts Glory up... turns... and puts her gently down behind him. He then turns back to Bryant... and is met by a savate kick to the midsection. Then Bryant grabs the doubled-over Rage, and attempts to lift him up onto his shoulders!] DD: No way! Bryant is atempting the Sin City Driver on the gigantic Derek Rage! Surely he can't get him up! BS: Bryant packs a lot of power in that diminutive frame, Don, but I would think this is a stretch for him! [Pizzazz comes around the side of the ring, shoving Glory to the ground and drawing the ire of the referee, who goes to check on Glory.] SR: Ol' papa NickRick liked putting his hands on Glory at the start of this match. Notice how he's always there, picking her up when she has a boo-boo. Nickrick wants him some cherry pie, baby dolls! Nickrick gots neeeeeds! [While Nickrick is tending to Glory, Pizzazz has pulled something out from underneath the ring... Big pop!] DD: It's... it's a bucket of fried chicken! BS: Oh dear. SR: If there are biscuits and gravy in there, I just died and went to heaven. Eating chicken, biscuits and gravy off the smooth, chocolate stomach of Pizzazz... man oh man. DD: Bryant *has* got Rage up on his shoulders... he turns, and... My God! [Huge pop as Pizzazz jabs Bryant in the neck with a drumstick of fried chicken, forcing him to drop Rage harmlessly to the floor, then she wipes it right in Bryant's face, dripping hot chicken grease into his eyes!] DD: Oh, this won't go down well at all. Not well at all. BS: Dave Bryant may be burned, or at the least have had his sight impaired by that chicken grease! [Bryant wipes at his eyes, and is helpless to prevent Pizzazz from bringing her pointed high-heeled shoe up right inbetween his legs. Big pop!] DD: Oh my! Rage and Pizzazz were furious at Bryant for his racial stereotyping several weeks back... and now Pizzazz has exacted revenge on Bryant here. SR: So tell me, Donny-boy, is being hit in the head by a chicken drumstick more or less retarded than having a frozen fish put down your pants? DD: Steve Roberts, please. [Bryant is doubled over but, despite being in a lot of pain in his nether regions and only partially sighted, he reaches out... and grabs Pizzazz! Big heel pop as Bryant, quick as lightning, brings her up onto his shoulders, and then slams her down to the mat with his death valley driver!] DD: SIN CITY DRIVER ON PIZZAZZ ON THE ARENA FLOOR! BS: Bryant had to know that was Pizzazz and not Rage, Don! SR: That bucket of chicken... it's spilled everywhere. It's ruined! Ruined! DD: Steve Roberts, Pizzazz has just been slammed to the arena floor by Dave Bryant, and all you're worried about is some fried chicken? SR: Not just the chicken, Ditka! The biscuits, too! The biscuits! Won't somebody please think of the biscuits?! [Rage has picked himself back up, and sees Pizzazz prone on the floor. He is overcome with fury, launching himself at the still groggy Bryant with lefts and rights, and then rolling him into the ring. In the aisle, Lord Byron looks over towards Pizzazz with concern, and starts to make his way around the side of the ring to tend to her.] DD: Byron, you stay away from her! What business have you got with Pizzazz? [In the ring, Rage sends Bryant for the ride, and then on the return stops him dead in his tracks with his huge hand, applying a clawhold to the Las Vegas native's head. Huge pop!] DD: HAMMER OF GOD! HE'S GOING FOR THE HAMMER OF GOD! [Rage turns around, Bryant's head still in the claw-hold, and lifts him up... and then spots Byron bending over Pizzazz on the outside! Rage drops Bryant to the mat, the Las Vegas native landing on his feet, and bends through the ropes, yelling at Byron to leave his woman alone. Quick as a cat, Byron wheels around and *nails* Rage with the brass top of his cane, Rage ricocheting backwards and staggering back into the ring -- where he is met by a superkick from Bryant!] DD: CALL ME IN THE MORNING! CALL ME IN THE MORNING! SR: Okay, okay, Ditka, no need to shout about it. What's your number? 555-LOSER? [The crowd is incensed as Rage tumbles to the mat like a giant redwood finally felled. Bryant drops on top of Rage, and as Nickrick drops to make the count, Bryant puts his feet up on the ropes to make extra double sure, and waits for the referee's hand to come down... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He got him! He got him! BS: Just listen to these fans! [The crowd is jeering like mad, drowning out the strains of Nine Inch Nails, as Bryant picks himself up and allows Nickrick to raise his arm. On the outside of the ring, Byron is already making his way up the aisle, jauntily swinging his cane as he retreats, a self-satisfied smile on his face.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... DAAAAAVE BRRYAANT! [Glory climbs into the ring and applauds her man, raising his arm in victory as the two of them parade around the ring.] DD: If Rage had hit Bryant with the Hammer of God, that would have been all she wrote -- but that damned Lord Byron distracted Byron by going to tend to Pizzazz, and Rage's huge body shielded Nickrick from a view of Byron nailing Rage with that cane, which would have been a certain disqualification for Bryant. BS: It's a tough break for Derek Rage, that's for sure. That's twice now that decisions have gone against him because of Lord Byron's interference. I don't think that will go unnoticed by the big man. SR: So we're different colours and we're different creeds, and different people have different needs. [Bryant and Glory leave the ring together and make their way up the aisle towards the back. Cut to the announce table, where Steve Roberts is signing autographs for fans in the front sections.] DD: What an extraordinary match that was, folks. A medical team is coming out here now to help Derek Rage and Pizzazz to the back, and we must move on. Our next match sees "The Fallen Angel" David Cross forced into wrestling two men, Christian Right and Nathan Herod. Let's get back up to the ring! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / HANDICAP MATCH: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Christian Right & Nathan Herod vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "The Fallen Angel" David Cross [Simmons brings his microphone to his lips as the arena once again falls silent.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following encounter is scheduled for one fall, and it is a HANDICAP MATCH! [Big first-stip-of-the-night pop!] SS: Introducing first... ["This Man" by Jeremy Camp kicks in over the PA to a heel pop.] SS: ...hailing from Greenville, South Carolina, and weighing in at 231lbs, here is... CHRRRRRRRRISTIAAAAN RRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIGHT! [A spotlight picks out the form of Christian Right as he steps out into the aisle. He is tonight wearing a suit of purest white, with a white shirt and a white tie. The only contrast is the dark leather Bible carried, as always, in the crook of his right arm.] SR: Is that an angel? DD: Will you stop, Steve Roberts?! That's Christian Right -- but he does look oddly beatific here tonight. SR: I like this guy, Donny-boy. He's absolutely bat-shit crazy. Hears voices, thinks God is speaking to him, the whole bit. Anybody that far out of his tree is a-okay with Big Poppa Soundbite. BS: Christian Right may appear to be a highly eccentric individual, but he's no slouch in the ring. He made short work of David Cross all those weeks ago, and held his own against tonight's partner, Nathan Herod, only a few weeks ago. [Christian Right makes his way down the aisle, his features cast into sharp relief by the extreme brightness of the spotlight. He waves his hands over the fans on either side of the aisle -- as ever, whether he is blessing them, praying for them, or condemning them is hard to tell. He arrives at the foot of the aisle, crosses himself, and then rolls into the ring. He begins to remove his suit jacket and tie as "This Man" fades.] SS: And his partner... [The jaunty piano and guitar opening to Lynrd Skynard's hymn to the southern states of the US kicks in over the PA to a big heel pop.] # Sweet home Alabama # Where the skies are so blue # Sweet home Alabama # Lord, I'm coming home to you SS: ...accompanied to the ring by his manager Mick Silvestri, hailing from the Herod Estate in Alabama, and weighing in at 270lbs... here is... NAAAAAAATHAAAAAAN HEEEEEEEEROD! ["Sweet Home Alabama" is interrupted by machine gun fire and screeching wheels before "Immortally Insane" by Pantera starts up and now Nathan Herod walks through the entrance. He is wearing his usual ring attire, urban camo pants and a matching tank top. Nathan stops a moment to survey the arena, calmly chewing gum, before his eyes settle on the ring and on Christian Right. Mick Silvestri emerges form the back, talking to his young charge who seems oblivious to the presence of his manager as he begins his deliberate march down to the ring.] DD: I wish I could read Nathan Herod's expression. He's made no secret of the fact that he wanted a one-on-one match here at Wild Summer Night, not a handicap match. BS: You're right, Don. Of course, Herod isn't concerned about fairness. My guess is that he wants to be solely responsible for the carnage unleashed on David Cross here tonight. SR: The reason you can't read this guy is there's nothing there to read. Herod's dumb as a bag of hammers, but twice as tough. You don't need brains to be a champion -- hell, even Pukespeare proved that a couplea times. BS: Thank you, Steve Roberts. [Herod continues his way down the aisle, head held high and paying no attention to the people while his manager avoids the reaching hands like the plague, shouting at the fans to stay from them. Nathan slowly rolls into the ring, having all the time in the world, then walks into the corner opposite to where Christian Right has now finished disrobing, and turns to watch the aisle. Mick has climbed into the ring as well and approaches Right with a smile on his face. The ring mics do not pick up what he is saying but it seems to be friendly enough, judging from his demeanor.] DD: Silvestri continues to butter up everybody he meets, Billy Shakespeare. He could very well be the king of spin. SR: But not the king of C-SPAN, Senator Ted Kennedy. He's so dreamy. DD: Steve Roberts, you really worry me. SR: Gettin' born in the state of Mississippi, poppa was a copper and momma was a hippie. DD: I give up. BS: That's a new record: thirty-five minutes dead. [Pantera fades over the PA as Simmons raises the microphone again.] SS: And introducing their opponent... [Cue the weird start to "Back on Earth" by Ozzy Osbourne, and a face pop from the fans.] SS: ...hailing from Corry, Pennsylvania, and weighing in at 289lbs... he is "THE FAAAAALLEN AAAAANGEL" DAAAAAAAVID CROOOOOOOOOOSS! [As the lyrics to the song kick in, David 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 though my wings have been shattered # They laid my body to rest [Cross makes his way out into the aisle, his leather jacket open to the waist, and his silver cross hanging around his neck. He absent-mindedly slaps the hands of a few fans as he makes his way down the aisle.] DD: Here comes David Cross, walking into a fight where the odds are stacked against him. BS: We've seen that Cross can take care of both of these men when the need arises -- witness the way he cleared the ring of the both of them during their match a few weeks back. DD: But he had the element of surprise on that occasion, Billy Shakespeare. Tonight he has to look right into the whites of their eyes, and still manage to take them out. Corry's like a rhino in there, he's big, he's heavy, he's all impact... but you couldn't bet against two men beating one. SR: Sure you could, Donny-boy. [Cross slides into the ring and removes his leather jacket, passing it to an attendant outside the ring, before placing his silver cross over the ringpost. He stares across the ring at Right and Herod standing on opposite corners of the ring... and suddenly Herod charges at him! Match official Bobby Belshee hurriedly signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Cross ducks under an attempted clothesline from Herod, spins around, and rocks the Alabaman back on his heels with a big soupbone forearm! Pop from the fans! Herod is staggered, and Cross pounces, sending him to the ropes and then felling him with a big clothesline! Big pop! Cross spins around and charges at Right, knocking him from the ring with another clothesline!] DD: David Cross cleaning house here in the early going -- he damn near clotheslined Christian Right out of his boots! [Cross turns back to face Herod, who is back on his feet and charges at Cross with a shoulder tackle to the midsection, driving Cross back into the buckles! Heel pop! Herod grabs Cross by the arm, and Irish whips him out of the corner... but keeps hold of the arm, yanking Cross back into the corner again!] BS: Herod hyper-extending Cross's shoulder -- that's a smart move. Cross relies on upper-body strength for many of his most dangerous attacks. [Herod now brings Cross down to the mat with a headlock takedown, then drops his knee onto the big man's groin. Heel pop!] SR: Right in the marbles, baby dolls! DD: Herod's showing us his true colours early on. [As Cross rolls onto his sides, hands cupped around his tender parts, Herod stands and poses for the crowd, drawing a heel pop from the fans. The only exception is his manager, Mick Silvestri, who has a wide smile on his face as he applauds his man. Meanwhile, Christian Right has now made his way up onto the apron, and demands the tag from Herod -- who simply gives a snort of derision and turns his attention back to Cross.] DD: No sign of teamwork here from Nathan Herod, Billy Shakespeare. BS: We know he thinks he doesn't need a partner out here tonight, Don. SR: Herod's a simple soul, Ditka. All he needs to be happy are his two fists and somebody to beat on. There's something kind of beautiful about that. DD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts. [Herod brings Cross back to his feet, and ducks under a swinging right hand from the man from Corry, PA. Herod immediately cinches Cross's own arm behind his back, and as Cross struggles with the other, Herod grabs that one too -- and then *blasts* Cross with a headbutt! Hanging onto his arms, Herod unleashes another headbutt, then releases Cross, who tumbles to the mat. Heel pop!] DD: Cross now, seeing stars -- and Herod's up on the second buckle! [Herod jumps from the second turnbuckle with a diving headbutt... and his forehead smashes into the bridge of Cross's nose! Heel pop! Herod stands up again, shaking his own head to clear the cobwebs of a trifecta of headbutts.] BS: Don, I think Cross may have a busted nose -- is that blood? DD: It is, Billy Shakespeare. That trio of headbutts has left Cross with a nose that is most likely broken, and is certainly now bleeding. [Cross rolls onto his side, and the camera shows that blood is starting to trickle from his nostrils. His fingers come away from his nose red, and this seems to visibly rile up the big man. He rolls to his knees, and behind him, Herod drops a double fist onto his shoulders -- but Cross continues to rise!] DD: David Cross has seen the sight of his own blood -- and now he's ticked off, to put it mildly! SR: Holy crap, Ditka, you have got to get down with the kids. "Ticked off?" You really need to shizzle yo' dizzle. DD: Do I indeed, Steve Roberts. [The crowd cheer as Cross fights to his feet, and turns to face Herod, the two men going nose to nose in the middle of the ring... and then Cross grabs Herod by the throat! Huge pop!] DD: Cross is going for a chokeslam! [As Herod's eyes bulge out of his head, Cross lifts the Alabaman up... but before he can bring him crashing down to the mat, Herod jams a thumb in Cross's eye, forcing Cross to drop him back down to his feet. Herod follows that up with another rake of Cross's face, and then goes to bounce against the ropes -- where Right reaches out and tags Herod's shoulder. Herod comes off the ropes as Belshee signals for the tag, and Right enters the ring. Belshee steps between Herod and Cross, pointing to the corner. Herod looks confused as Right rushes past him and starts to put the boots to Cross.] BS: I don't think Nathan Herod is familiar with the concept of a blind tag, Don. DD: I think you might be right, Billy Shakespeare. He doesn't look at all happy about Right forcing his way into this match. [Right cinches Cross into a rear waistlock, and then hauls him up and over for a big belly-to-back suplex! Right stands above Cross and makes the sign of the cross above him, then drops an elbow right onto Cross's sternum. Heel pop!] SR: Was it Jesus who said, "Do unto others as they would do unto you, but do it first", Ditka? DD: No, Steve Roberts. No, it was not. [Right brings Cross back to his feet and sends him to the ropes. Right sticks his head down and backdrops Cross across the ring, cameras all over the arena flashing as the 6'7" man tumbles to the mat. Cross lies by the ropes, and Right takes great pleasure in using the ropes as leverage to send the big man sliding out of the ring and to the arena floor. Heel pop! Right steps through the ropes and then leaps from the apron, landing an elbow drop right onto Cross on the floor! Heel pop!] DD: Christian Right, putting his body on the line out there on the outside! SR: In the finest traditions of the martyrs, Donny-boy. [Herod jumps down from his corner and moves around to the side of the ring where Right is now bringing Cross to his feet. Belshee jumps out of the ring and tries to get between Herod and the other two men, and Herod doesn't look at all happy about it. While Belshee is distracted, Right grabs his Bible from the corner of the ring, and then *nails* Cross with it, the big man going down in a heap! Heel pop!] SR: Did that Bible just go "clang," Tweedledumb and Tweedledumber? DD: I believe it did, Steve Roberts. BS: Right used that loaded Bible the very first time he attacked David Cross on RAMPAGE. [Herod finally loses patience with Belshee and shoves him aside, drawing a heel pop from the crowd! Silvestri steps in to try and calm his charge down, but even Silvestri doesn't want to get too close to Herod when he's in this kind of mood. Herod stomps around to where Right is bringing Cross back to his feet, and Herod snatches the big man away from Right, then turns and *slams* Cross into the ring steps! Big heel pop!] DD: Nathan Herod wants to be the one dishing out all the punishment here, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Right doesn't appreciate this, though -- he was happy to work with Herod, but the feeling isn't mutual. [Right spins Herod around and shoves him, and Silvestri again steps in to try and stop the two team-mates from coming to blows. Silvestri speaks to Herod, encouraging him to back off. Herod, his face a dark red, finally complies.] DD: Herod suffering from a rush of blood to the head there, Billy Shakespeare. BS: He's young, inexperienced, and impatient, Don. SR: Just like a 15-year-old boy who borrows his dad's Firebird to take his best friend's hot mom up to Look-Out Point for a make-out session on a Saturday night... DD: What the hell are you talking about, Steve Roberts? SR: Let's just say Mrs. Prendergast gave the lil' Soundbite some valuable lessons, Donny-boy. DD: Okay, that's enough. [Right rolls Cross back into the ring, and climbs back onto the apron. He looks to the heavens, nods as if acknowledging a command, and then climbs to the top turnbuckles.] SR: See, Ditka, that's what I love about this guy. Hears voices. Does as they command. Hey, Right, bring the Soundbite some pancakes! Pancakes, you hear me? [Right stands on the top rope, crosses himself again... and then launches himself with an attempted elbow drop, cameras around the arena flashing as he flies through the air... and hits the canvas, as Cross dodges out of the way! Big pop!] DD: Unfamiliar territory for Christian Right up there on the top buckle, and it could cost him here! [The fans start clapping and cheering at David Cross, encouraging him to get up. Right lies on the mat, staring up at the lights, his chest heaving, his body wracked with pain. On the outside, Herod paces in his corner like a caged animal, wanting to make his way into the ring.] DD: David Cross needs to build some momentum here! SR: He's done, Ditka. He's been Bible-bashed, he's eaten steel ringsteps, he's done, washed up, stick a fork in him! BS: Don't write him off, Steve Roberts -- Cross is a big, tough guy. SR: Just your type, eh, Little Willie? DD: Come on, Steve Roberts. [Cross pulls himself to his knees just as Right likewise shows signs of life. The big man gets to his feet -- and then launches himself at Herod on the apron, knocking him down to the arena floor with a big forearm! Big pop! He turns back to the rising Right, and takes him down to the mat with a big lariat! Another big pop!] DD: Cross is in control here! [Cross brings Right back to his feet again and puts his head between his legs, hooking one arm, then the other...] DD: He's going for the Angel's Wings! BS: We've not seen this move yet in RCW, but it's a devastating sit-out pedigree! If he nails this, Right is done! [Just as Cross is about to execute the hold, suddenly all the lights in the arena drop to complete blackness! Huge pop!] DD: What the hell?! SR: Spreads has been missing those repayments again, Ditka! [Cameras all over the arena flash, but even in the intermittent strobe light it's not clear what's going on. Suddenly a deep, booming laugh is heard over the PA... and then the lights suddenly rise again. Huge pop!] DD: Wait a minute! BS: Christian Right is gone! SR: I love it! That crazy, sneaky little freak! [Cross looks around in confusion, but Christian Right is nowhere to be found. Herod immediately slides into the ring, and Belshee shrugs his shoulders as if to say "what else can I do?" Cross turns... and ducks under a clothesline attempt from Herod. Herod wheels around -- and eats a soupbone from the big Corry man! Big pop! Herod is rocked back on his heels, and Cross lashes out with a big boot to the midsection, then puts Herod's head between his legs.] DD: Here it comes! Cross is going for the Ashes to Ashes! [Herod, however, powers out, backdropping Cross to the mat. Disappointed pop from the fans. Herod spins around and pulls Cross back to his feet, locks his arms in, and then hefts him up into the air with a Fisherman's suplex... and then he twists Cross in mid-air, bringing him crashing down in a vicious DDT!] DD: HDD! HDD! It's over! [The crowd boos as Herod rolls onto Cross and hooks the leg. Belshee drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He got him! Nathan Herod pins David Cross! [Herod rolls to his feet, wipes the sweat from his brow, and flicks it onto the prone form of Cross. Belshee attempts to raise Herod's arm in victory, but the big Alabama man reacts angrily, threatening to strike the referee, who backpedals as quick as he can. Silvestri rolls into the ring and speaks to Herod as "Immortally Insane" kicks in over the PA.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall.... NAAAAATHAN HEEEEEROD! [Herod reluctantly agrees to leave the ring after Silvestri sits on the middle rope to hold them apart, and the two head up the aisle, Silvestri grinning to the cameras.] DD: Mick Silvestri will be a happy man after this performance from Nathan Herod, Billy Shakespeare. BS: He certainly will. David Cross fought hard in there tonight, but two men proved to be too much for him. SR: Not something anybody would be heard saying about you, Pukespeare. DD: Steve Roberts, will you drop it?! SR: It's just too easy, baby dolls. DD: And where the heck did Christian Right go? SR: He was called back to the mothership, Ditka! Called back to the great nut-house in the sky! BS: I very much doubt we've seen the last of Christian Right. DD: Folks, let's talk about our next match: a Falls Count Anywhere bout pitting Madrock the Irrepressible against "Your Hero" Danny Daniels. Let's get back up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "Your Hero" Danny Daniels vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Madrock the Irrepressible [Sy Simmons takes up position in the squared circle, and Jim Bright rolls in behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it will be contested under FALLS COUNT ANYWHERE RULES! [Big we-might-get-brained pop!] SS: Introducing first... # Gonna find my baby, gonna hold her tight # # gonna grab some afternoon delight. # # My motto's always been; when it's right, it's right. # [The spotlight shines on the entrances as Danny "Your Hero" Daniels enters the Rose Garden. He's wearing his wraparound sunglasses, a "YOUR HERO" t-shirt, black wrestling trunks, and has casts on both of his arms.] D'YH'D: GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS! [And, sadly... tragically... a cordless microphone.] D'YH'D: I'm Danny Daniels, and what do people say about me? [Danny spins around and points to the videotron. It comes to life with the message from Derek Rage.] DR: Danny Daniels, you are ___ my hero. [Derek's lips moved, but the word "not" was cut off. The videotron dies as Danny turns back toward the audience.] D'YH'D: Yes... yes, I am. And tonight, I'm not here just to be "Your Hero". I'm here to make a citizen's arrest... to YOU, Murloc the unswimmable! For crimes against me, for crime against humanity, and for crimes against hygiene... [Pop from the assembled fans!] D'YH'D: ...you are to be tried, and found guilty by... ME! "Your Hero", Danny Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice. I don't care if I have to chase you all over the Rose Garden, or even the state of Washington -- I will catch you. [Danny puts his hand up to his ear.] D'YH'D: Can you hear me, Murloc? Can you hear me running? Can you hear me running, and hear me calling you? Because I AM calling you out, I WILL run after you, I WILL catch you, and I WILL finish you, once and for all. [Danny pauses.] D'YH'D: And why? Because I'm "Your Hero". [Danny throws down the microphone and walks to the ring, ready to do battle. Sy Simmons completes his introduction:] SS: ...now in the ring, hailing from San Francisco, California, and weighing in at 265lbs... "YOUR HERO"... DAAAAAAAANNY DAAAAAANIELS! [Daniels gives the double "thumbs up" to the crowd as Simmons repeats his name.] DD: Well, folks, here's Danny Daniels. The man so nice they named him twice has nowhere to hide tonight. BS: He's done his best to stay out of Madrock's way as long as possible -- though when these two men clashed on the last RAMPAGE, it was Daniels who left Madrock lying after a Toodles~! diving headbutt off a concessions stand. DD: This one is certainly bound to get ugly here tonight! SR: From what I hear, it couldn't get much uglier than Madrock already is. DD: Steve Roberts, don't be so superficial. SR: Seriously, Donny-boy, I heard there was some confusion as to whether Madrock or his afterbirth was the real baby. DD: You're disgusting, Steve Roberts. SR: I like this Danny Daniels guy, though. Seems to be just stupid enough to succeed. [The lights all suddenly dim as the image of stomping feet appear on all three of the giant screens overlooking the entrance aisle. Many pairs of stomping feet, all stomping in unison across a grassy field. A single voice booms out from the loudspeakers, drowning out the conversations from the audience.] V: I come from a far off land where warriors reign and battles are a'plenty. We play hard and fight harder. We're mean, we're bad, we enjoy a good laugh at our opponent's expense. And we scrap ALL the time. We are the last great warriors of this era... [We pan up from the stomping feet to see... a whole team of rugby players wearing the colors of the Wallabies, preparing to go into battle. They taunt and goad their opponents, doing their ritual pre-game routine before starting the match. As wild as the wrestler who emulates them, they appear not so much as professional sports players but as primal tribesmen of old, wearing loose fitting battle dresses, their faces painted in stark colors.] V: My people are proud, we are rowdy and we love what we do. My name is Madison Rockburry, better known as Madrock the Irrepressible, and I'm proud to call these people as my own. We came looking for a fight, but thanks to the antics of a no-respect, no-honor coward known as Danny Daniels, you now have... A WAAAAAAAAAAARGH!!!! [Cue the theme song. Out from the entranceway comes a ring-shaped trolley, five by five feet wide, carrying the mass of power and intensity known as Madrock. A wild snarling man-beast carried in a makeshift contraption sputtering smoke as it advances. A weird mockery of a ring with barbed wire for ropes, skull-topped ring posts and smokestack exhausts.] SR: What... in the name of the sweet baby Jesus's sandals... is that? DD: That, Steve Roberts, is Madrock the Irrepressible, one of the most unique competitors here in RCW. SR: Please, Donny-boy, please tell me this isn't the Meatman Challenge. Tell me I haven't gone back in time ten years. Lindsay Lohan is still street legal, right? That crazy little coke-snorting man-eater is still free to sit on the lap of Big Poppa Soundbite and twirl her curls? DD: I have no idea what you're talking about, Steve Roberts. BS: I do, Don. The Meatman Challenge... one of the historic low points of Portland wrestling. SR: As long as Lindsay Lohan is still nineteen, we're good. Li-Lo and the Olsen Twins, rubbing aromatic oils into the shoulders of the Soundbite... DD: Folks, this is certainly one of the more unique entrances we've seen here in RCW... Madrock is certainly coming here tonight to fight! [The crowd is stunned into something approaching silence by this fearful vehicle, and Sy Simmons's announcement only has to compete with the guttural mechanical clanking of said conveyance:] SS: And his opponent... making his way to the ring... from the Cockatoo Islands, Australia... weighing in at 321lbs... he is the bane of Brisbane, the monster from Almunster, the freak up Abbott's Peak! MAAAADROOOCK THE IRRRRRREPRESSIBLE! [The big bad Cockatoo island beast is ready for battle! He himself looks like one of those ancient tribal warriors, wearing a round metal plate embossed with the grinning visage of the old gods over his tremendous belly and an antique iron helm with jutting spikes coming out of the cheekguards. Those that recover from the shock of the apparition cheer his name, the name of the last true warrior ready to close the great war, the name of... MADROCK! He takes off the helm for the cheering crowd, his face painted half red and half blue before *stomping* to the ring, clanking heavy boots across the steel steps.] SR: Is he going to *wrestle* in those things? BS: It's hard to call what Madrock does wrestling, Steve Roberts -- but it's easy to call it effective. He's big, he's powerful, and he's scary strong. SR: You're not kidding. I can smell his fetid stench all the way over here! Oh, for those aromatic oils and those young, nubile fingers. DD: Well, folks, Madrock is removing those big boots as he steps into the ring... and Danny Daniels is wasting no time here! [Indeed. Jim Bright is forced to signal for the bell quickly...] * DING! DING! DING! * [...as Daniels charges across the ring and starts beating away at the crouching Madrock -- who is still removing his heavy footgear -- with his fists. He pounds away and pounds away, but his blows appear to be having no effect, and gradually he slows, landing one last punch on the back of the monster from Almunster as Madrock, his painted face looking fearful, looks up at Daniels, who blinks at his opponent -- and is then knocked flying by a heavy metal boot wielded by Madrock, who swings it up from the floor at a terrible speed, catching Daniels square in the jaw and sending him flying! Big pop!] DD: My goodness! Danny Daniels must have struck Madrock fifteen, maybe twenty times, and it's as if the big man didn't even feel it! BS: But Daniels certainly felt that boot, Don! [Madrock stomps across the ring to where the dazed Daniels lies, and brings him to his feet. Daniels, a little glassy-eyed, lashes out at Madrock with a couple of weak punches, but the big man from Australia is able to keep him at arm's length. Madrock whips Daniels to the ropes, and on the return attempts to hit him with a double fist to the chest, but the San Francisco native somehow ducks underneath, bounces off the ropes on the other side, and as Madrock wheels around, catches the big man with a running kneelift. Madrock teeters, but doesn't go down. The crowd buzzes as Daniels comes off the ropes again -- but this time Madrock strikes back with a clubbing forearm, taking Daniels down to the mat with authority!] BS: Danny Daniels can't afford to go toe-to-toe with Madrock for long, Don. He can't match strength and power with this behemoth. SR: What's with that face paint? Mel Gibson has really let himself go. DD: Please, Steve Roberts. SR: Hey, don't you pick on me, Donny-boy. The Soundbite's just giving the people what the people wants. Right, morons? [Roberts turns to the fans directly behind him, who respond with a resounding chorus of, "Shoot, Soundbite! Shoot!" In the ring, Madrock beats his chest, and drags Daniels back to his feet, moving him over to the side of the ring nearest the aisle... then physically picking him up and pressing him above his head before dumping him to the outside -- and into the makeshift vehicle he rode to the ring on! Big pop!] DD: Danny Daniels dumped into the Madrock-mobile! SR: Man, that is one ugly car. That things make my Prius look like an Enzo. DD: You drive a Prius, Steve Roberts? SR: Sure do, Donny-boy. I had it especially converted to run on the blood of baby seals and the sap of fine Amazonian rainforest trees. DD: Good to see you're doing your bit for the environment...! SR: I does what I can, Ditka. I does what any man would do. [Daniels groggily picks himself up inside Madrock's peculiar vehicle... and tries to start it! The crowd cheer as Daniels manages to make the machine sputter into life -- and he starts to reverse it up the aisle, away from the huge Australian! Madrock vaults out of the ring in pursuit of Daniels, with official Jim Bright in pursuit!] DD: Oh my -- Danny Daniels is trying to drive that thing away. SR: And he's ripping up that by God barbed wire! [Indeed, Daniels has ripped some of the barbed wire that formed the makeshift ropes around the side of the vehicle, and is wrapping it around the plastercast on his upper right arm! Big pop! Noticing that Madrock is gaining on him, Daniels grabs a skull from the corner of the vehicle, and throws it at Madrock! The giant swats the skull away... and another... and another... and catches up with Daniels as the sputtering vehicle approaches the head of the aisle! Daniels runs forward, launching himself out of the vehicle with a plancha over the remaining barbed wire ropes, and hits Madrock square in the head with his barbed-wire wrapped upper arm! Heel pop!] DD: Madrock just got nailed by that arm wrapped in barbed wire! His head has to be torn to shreds! [Daniels picks himself up and begins to unwind the barbed wire from around his arm. The camera catches a look at Madrock's face, trickling with blood from a wound on his forehead, the crimson of his blood contrasting with his facepaint. Daniels tosses the barbed wire aside, and drags Madrock to his feet, tossing the big man into his vehicle. The crowd begins to chant "MAD-ROCK! MAD-ROCK!"] SR: That's a nasty cut on Meatman's head, Donny-boy... DD: That's Madrock, Steve Roberts. SR: I know what I said. Do it again, Daniels! [As Madrock lies blinking in his vehicle, Daniels shoves it up the remainder of the aisle, up the ramp to the elevated stage onto which the wrestlers enter. With difficulty, he manages to change the contraption's direction, and moves to shove it towards the edge of the stage!] DD: My God -- Daniels is going to push that cart right off the edge of the stage, with Madrock inside it! SR: Whoo! It's a one-way ride to hell... or at the least, the arena floor! [The fans shout in dismay as Daniels flashes a double thumbs up, then pushes the cart towards the edge, running at the edge of the stage and letting it go! Cameras flash all over the arena as the cart sails over the edge of the stage and plummits onto a mass of wiring and speakers down below, sparks flying and smoke immediately starting to rise! Big heel pop!] DD: Madrock may be electrocuted down there. Daniels may have just electrocuted Madrock the Irrepressible! [Jim Bright arrives at the top of the stage and stares down into the mess of tangled electrical wires, barbed wire, skulls, and debris some ten or twelve feet below. He makes the "X" sign with his arms to summon medical attention.] BS: I think Jim Bright may be about to declare that Madrock the Irrepressible is unable to continue, so Danny Daniels is the winner! [Daniels stands on the edge of the stage, a big smile on his face -- and then suddenly he blinks, and the smile vanishes. And then the crowd roar their approval!] DD: Hang on -- hang on! Madrock... Madrock is stirring! [Sure enough, the camera shows the huge hulking form of Madrock crawling from the wreckage and pulling himself to his feet. His face is now covered in blood, but he seems otherwise unbowed! Danny Daniels can't believe it!] DD: Jim Bright is signalling that this match will continue -- what is it going to take to stop this man mountain from Australia? SR: I have a few suggestions. DD: I'm sure you do, Steve Roberts. [Daniels looks down at the bloodied Madrock, and turns his back on him. He walks towards the entranceway a few steps... and then, to the roar of the crowd, wheels back around again, running to the edge of the stage -- and throwing himself off! Cameras flash all over the arena as Daniels throws himself off the stage and collides with Madrock, both men crumpling onto the pile of debris.] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" SR: I couldn't have said it better myself, morons! DD: Good grief! Danny Daniels putting his body on the line to try and take out Madrock! And now Daniels is crawling onto Madrock! [Jim Bright quickly makes his way down to the arena floor as Daniels slings an arm over the chest of the felled Madrock. Bright does his best to slap his hand down onto a nearby hard surface... 1... 2... ...and Madrock kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Unbelievable! Madrock kicks out, and this match will continue! [Daniels stirs and gets to his feet. He drags the bulky frame of Madrock back to his feet, and fans in the nearby sections cheer as Daniels goes to strike Madrock -- and the big Australian blocks Daniels's fist! Madrock roars, and knocks Daniels back on his heels with a big forearm uppercut. Daniels staggers backwards, and Madrock is quickly on top of him, clubbing him with blows. Daniels continues to stagger backwards, until he is nearly at a curtain leading to a backstage area. Madrock grabs Daniels by the scruff of the neck... and throws him through the curtain, out of sight! Big pop!] DD: Well, we always knew this match would end up backstage, Billy Shakespeare. BS: I'm just amazed that either man is able to still compete after the beating they've already taken here tonight! [Madrock charges towards the curtain, and...] * CLANG! * [...his head hits a surprisingly unforgiving curtain. Madrock staggers backwards, and the curtains are thrown aside to show... Danny Daniels clutching a steel chair! Pop!] DD: Danny Daniels was standing behind that curtain with a steel chair! [Daniels advances on Madrock with the chair, and brings it down on his back not once...] * WHACK! * [...not twice...] * WHACK! * [...but three times!] * WHACK! * [Madrock still doesn't go down, so Daniels spins the big man around and now sends him through the curtain and into the backstage area, marching after him, chair still in hand. We cut to a handheld camera backstage, advancing down the corridor towards Madrock, who is leaning against the wall, leaving a trail of blood down the white paint from the wound on his head. The curtain is thrown aside and in walks Daniels, still brandishing the chair. Daniels jabs the rim of the chair into the small of Madrock's back, and then kicks him in the posterior to send him down the corridor. Daniels grabs Madrock by his wild hair... and then smashes it into a door!] D'YH'D: Knock knock! [Daniels then winds up and *throws* Madrock at the door, the big Australian crashing through in a splinter of wood. Daniels charges in after him. The camera follows through the ragged remains of the door, and... huge pop from the fans in the arena!] DD: It's the President's office! [Indeed, RCW President Daniel Spreadbury is sat in his makeshift office, behind a large desk, talking on a cellphone -- though his conversation is cut short as Madrock reverses Daniels's attempt to slam his head on the desk, tossing Daniels onto the desk himself instead. Big pop as Madrock, dripping blood all over the rapidly retreating RCW President, climbs up onto the desk via a chair, then, with an almighty roar, jumps up and comes down with a tremendous full-body press on Danny Daniels... smashing the desk into bits!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: My God, Danny Daniels has to be broken in half! SR: That desk didn't meet health and safety standards, Ditka. Federal regulations say that every office desk has to be able to withstand the force of *two* overweight, retarded Australians crashing down on them. I hope Daniels sues! DD: Madrock's not overweight, Steve Roberts. SR: One out of two ain't bad, Donny-boy. [Jim Bright, apologising to the RCW President as he enters the room, drops to make the count on the office floor as Madrock covers Danny Daniels... 1... 2... ...and Daniels kicks out! Disappointed pop!] DD: Both men have taken tremendous punishment here tonight, but still this match continues! [Madrock drags Daniels back to his feet and throws him through the splintered door and back out into the corridor. The camera follows the two men as Madrock slugs Daniels repeatedly, sending him up the corridor and to a more open area backstage. Madrock sends Daniels tumbling into a length of chain-link fencing in a pile of unused set dressing pieces. Spotting an opportunity, Madrock rolls Daniels up inside the length of chain-link fencing, and props him up against a nearby wall. Daniels struggles inside the fencing, but is unable to free himself!] DD: Give me a break! Danny Daniels is rolled up inside some fencing -- and now what's Madrock doing? [Madrock grabs an eight-foot length of chain he has found nearby, and is now casting around for something else. He alights upon a steel chair, and ties one end of the chain around the back of the chair. Checking it's secure, Madrock moves back a few steps, and unleashes a roar that sends the nearby arena staff and production assistants scattering. Madrock begins to spin, swinging the chair around him!] DD: My God! Madrock is performing the giant swing -- with a steel chair on the end of a chain! BS: Somebody has to free Danny Daniels! This could seriously injure him! [Madrock goes around and around and around and around and around, faster and faster... and then releases the end of the chain, sending the chair hurtling towards Danny Daniels, who is entombed inside the chain link fence... but the chair misses, as Daniels manages to topple himself over. The chain-link fence unravels and Daniels rolls free... then keeps rolling right into a nearby service elevator! He groggily reaches up to press a button, and the doors on the lift begin to close!] DD: Thank goodness Madrock missed with that chair -- and now Daniels is making good his escape! [Madrock charges towards the elevator, but arrives just as the doors close. He beats on the door with his fist, and then stomps out of sight.] DD: Well... we seem to have lost both Danny Daniels and Madrock the Irrepressible now. Daniels is in an elevator, and... hold on! [The shot cuts back to a camera inside the arena, showing Madrock the Irrepressible emerging onto the steps in a floor section of the crowd! Big pop as fans mob Madrock, slapping him on the back as he makes his way up the steps towards an exit on the next level of the arena, a spotlight following his progress.] DD: Madrock is taking the stairs! He's not going to let Daniels get away that easily! [Madrock stomps up the steps and back through the next exit. After a moment's delay, we cut to another handheld camera, out on the arena concourse, showing Madrock stomping back in the direction of the service elevator. As the camera catches up with the big Australian, he is hammering on the door of the elevator with his meaty fists. Official Jim Bright, arriving on the scene behind him, suggests he press the button to open the doors.] SR: Baby Jesus in barbecue sauce! Meatman doesn't know how to operate a lift?! DD: Madrock's judgement may be clouded by rage, Steve Roberts. BS: Not to mention the tremendous amount of blood he's lost in this match, Don. [Madrock hits the elevator button, and the doors open... but the lift is empty. Madrock turns, his chest heaving in fury, and is met by a running clothesline from Danny Daniels!] DD: Danny Daniels was already outside the lift! [Fans start to make their way out on the concourse from the main arena as Daniels and Madrock brawl towards a nearby concession stand. Madrock grabs Daniels's head... and smashes it through the perspex casing of a popcorn popper, golden kernels showering everywhere, and Daniels crumpling to the floor under a huge pile of popcorn! Madrock grabs handfuls of the kernels and stuffs them in his mouth!] DD: Madrock is digging Danny Daniels out -- or perhaps he's *eating* him out! SR: Even by my standards, Ditka, that's an image I can do without. [Tiring of his progress, Madrock grabs the hose from the nearby soda fountain, and squeezes a gallon or so of the liquid down his own throat, before turning the hose on Daniels, and blasting the popcorn away with carbonated soda water! Big pop!] DD: Madrock availing himself of the fine refreshments available from all Rose Garden concessions, folks! SR: Friends don't let friends shill, Ditka. So shut the hell up! [Daniels splutters as he is blasted with soda, and tries his best to wriggle to freedom, but Madrock is hot on his tail. Daniels staggers to a nearby merchandise stand, piled high with t-shirts and other fine RCW product, and dives over it, sending the stall-holder running for his life! Madrock comes after Daniels, tossing t-shirts this way and that in an effort to find his opponent... and is then rocked back on his heels by a box of t-shirts flung in his face. Madrock swipes the t-shirts aside -- and is then floored by Daniels coming off the table with a big clothesline! Daniels balances a box of "YOUR HERO" t-shirts on top of the big Australian, then gets back onto the merchandise table, and...] DD: TOODLES~! TOODLES~! [Mixed pop as Daniels dives forward off the table, plunging through the box of t-shirts to hit Madrock with a big headbutt! Daniels groggily rolls onto the big Australian and places his arm across him, and Bright is there to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Madrock just barely kicks out!] DD: Madrock kicks out of the Toodles~! diving headbutt! And now surely Danny Daniels is out of ideas! [Not quite yet. Daniels drags himself to his feet, and pulls the big Australian up too. Madrock swings at Daniels... Daniels blocks! Daniels swings at Madrock... Madrock blocks! Madrock swings at Daniels again... and Daniels catches Madrock's arm, slinging his arm over his shoulder, then grabs Madrock's tights, and... HUGE POP!] DD: HEROPLEX! HEROPLEX -- RIGHT THROUGH THE DAMN TABLE! [Daniels hefts the 321lbs frame of Madrock the Irrepressible up and then brings him crashing down through the merchandise table with a fearsome exploder suplex. T-shirts and Derek Rage foam clawhands and all sorts of other paraphernalia are covering the monster from Almunster.] SR: Cover him, Danny! Cover him good! [But Daniels doesn't cover him. Instead, he grabs every box of merchandise he can find, and dumps them all on top of Madrock. He grabs the huge board on which sample shirts and other products are mounted, and pulls that on top of Madrock. And then he clambers on top of the whole pile, and instructs Bright to make the count!] DD: My God! Madrock is entombed under all that merchandise! [Jim Bright hesitates for a moment... but then drops to the floor of the concourse and slaps the hard tiled floor... 1... 2... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Big pop as "Afternoon Delight" kicks in over the PA, and Danny Daniels perches on top of the wreckage of the merchandise stand, giving a double thumbs up to the assembled rabble of fans. We hear Sy Simmons's announcement piped over the PA.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner... by pinfall... "YOUR HEEEERO" DAAAAAAAAAANNY DAAAAAAAAAANIELS! [Suddenly, a look of uncertainty crosses Daniels's face, as the pile of debris on which he is standing begins to move! Daniels hops down off the pile and makes good his escape. Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Well, folks, Danny Daniels has defeated Madrock the Irrepressible -- and, fittingly, it was back where it all began, surrounded by boxes of t-shirts and bandanas. BS: Certainly that was a memorable match, Don -- and a great victory for Danny Daniels. SR: They should drop more weights on that pile of crap before Meatman gets out from under there. Bury him back in 1997 where he belongs. DD: Steve Roberts, Madrock the Irrepressible is not the Meatman, and I'm sure that our staff are up there helping him out from underneath the wreckage of that merchandise stand. Folks, we must move on. I understand young Jamie Bond is backstage with "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy. Jamie? [Cut to the backstage area where Jamie Bond is standing in front of the RCW interview set with "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy. Cassidy is wearing his standard garb of black pants and the wifebeater. He has on his black fedora hat as always and is sporting a scruffier than usual beard. The camera slowly zooms in on the two. Only thing is, they aren't ready for an interview. They're too busy casually chatting it up to notice that the camera is actually on.] JB: Okay Liam, this is it. Are you sure you're ready? LC: Aye lad, I appreciate your concern, but I'll be fine out there. That sumbitch has it coming to Ôem, I can tell ya that. JB: Still... Did you...? You know. LC: Come again, lad? JB: Did you... drink? You know -- your usual pre-match warm up. [Cassidy grins at his friend and pats him on the shoulder.] LC: Oh, don't you worry about that. [Cassidy gives Jamie a less than coy wink. Jamie suddenly looks up to the camera and sees that the red light is actually on, and probably has been on for quite a while now. Jamie quickly pulls away from his friend and adjusts his tie. He raises the microphone.] JB: Jamie Bond backstage here at the Rose Garden with Liam Cassidy, The Jersey Drifter. [Liam takes a swig from a flask.] JB: Mr. Cassidy, what is going through your head now, mere minutes before your big moment? [Cassidy smirks at Jamie.] LC: What's with you lad? Why are you talking like that? You just asked me about that a moment ago and I said... [Jamie nudges Liam and nods towards the camera. The clueless Cassidy looks up and sees the camera for the first time.] LC: Oooooh... I get it. Doin' your job now, are ya? All right then. Ask me anything. [The Jersey Drifter turns to face the camera now, and the real interview begins.] JB: Well, you are about to step into the ring with the man that broke your hand. The man that embarrassed you countless times. The man that called you... [Liam cuts off Jamie.] LC: Yeah, yeah. We get it. Byron's a jerk. You know for all the crap he's pulled on me, he ain't managed to do the one thing he set out to accomplish. I'm still here, ain't I? He may've broken my wrist, but he can't break my will. And as long as that pompous son of a bitch is still walking around that locker room, I'll be there to punch him in the face the second he crosses my path. If he gets up, I'll hit him again. If he can pull himself up after that, I'll knock his arce out one more time. [Jamie pulls the mic away to ask another question, but Liam isn't done making his point.] LC: And if he gets on his hands and knees to crawl away to safety, I'll kick him in the butt, knock him over and yank him back up by that girlie pony tail of his, drag his ass to the ring, toss him around a lil' bit, lift him up, spit in his eye and you can damn sure bet I'd knock his ass out yet again. You see that's how personal that bastard has made this. And knowing that it's a street fight tonight, I guess that means I can do whatever the Hell I want to the poor guy, and it'll all be legal now won't it, Jamie? JB: Well, yes, given the rules of a street fight, anything is legal. LC: You hear that, Byron? Anything, and everything. I can hit you with the kitchen sink, and they won't disqualify me. This thing goes until one of us can't go no more, the way real men settle their fights. You may have the silver spoon up your arse, but for your sake I hope you have a horseshoe up there too. Because I am gonna hurt you, Byron. This won't be no pretty-boy fancy-smancy wrasslin' match. Not the type you're used to, anyway. No. This here tonight is gonna be a war. Are you prepared to bleed for your cause Byron? Because I know I am. And although I plan on beating your ass pillar to post and all over Portland, you can rest assured that with one easy move, it can all end real quick... [Liam holds his taped right fist into the air. The crowd in the arena instantly erupts into a chant of:] "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" LC: Like they say, Byron... It could be over in just one second. Chew on that, lad, while I go get ready to knock you out. JB: Liam Cassidy folks, he's one of a kind. Back to ringside. [Cut back to the announce position.] DD: That street fight between Lord Byron and Liam Cassidy is later on here tonight. But coming up next, a match that is sure to be brutal in its own unique way: a submission match pitting young Mark Coleman against the dangerous veteran, Akitoshi Ogawa. Let's get up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / SUBMISSION MATCH: /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Mark Coleman vs. Akitoshi Ogawa [Sy Simmons takes up his position in the centre of the ring, and RCW head official Juan Morales rolls into the squared circle behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is a SUBMISSION MATCH! [Big somebody's-gonna-tap pop from the crowd!] SS: In this match, there will be no pinfalls, no countouts, no disqualifications. The winner is the man who forces his opponent to submit! [Big yeah-we-get-it pop!] SS: Introducing first... [The arena lights dim and strobe lights pulse around the entranceway as "Ride or Die!" by Doomriders plays over the PA to a big heel pop.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Zeke Brackett, hailing from Kumamoto, Japan, and weighing in at 266lbs, here is... AAAAAAAAAKITOOOOOOSHI OGAAAAAAAWA! [A silhouetted figure steps out through the strobe lights and dry ice emanating from the entrance way, to a bigger heel pop from the fans. The three huge video screens show footage from Ogawa's previous matches. Another, smaller, figure walks out.] DD: What an imposing sight, Billy Shakespeare. Akitoshi Ogawa is a monster of a man, standing at 6'8". BS: And he has perhaps the most dangerous manager in RCW in Zeke Brackett. Ogawa may be a former King of the Death Match, but Brackett is no stranger to Death Match tournaments himself. SR: Now I like Death Matches as much as the next red-blooded barbarian, but tell me, what does being good at being set on fire and dropped on giant mouse traps have to do with submission wrestling? DD: An unusually perceptive question, Steve Roberts. But Ogawa also has a background in Mixed Martial Arts, which has a much greater emphasis on submission style competition. [Ogawa makes his way down the aisle, rubbing his hands together. He is wearing his normal ring attire of short black trunks and black boots. The smaller Brackett, his blond hair as ever styled up into a fauxhawk, runs his fingers through his handlebar moustache. He is wearing his usual BLACKOUT! t-shirt, with the sleeves cut off, his tattooed arms bulging out at either side.] SR: What is it with Brackett's hair, Donny-boy? DD: I'm told that is called a "fauxhawk", Steve Roberts. SR: Man alive, he looks like a miniature Hell's angel. A little tiny Hell's Angel! How tall is he, 4'3"? DD: I believe he's 5'9", but anybody looks diminutive standing next to that man-mountain Ogawa. [Ogawa slides underneath the ropes and stands tall in the center of the ring, turning slowly to all four sides, shooting cold stares to the crowd. The arena lights rise and "Ride Or Die!" fades over the PA, to be replaced by the opening guitar of "Copperhead Road" by Steve Earle, to a big, big face pop!] SS: And his opponent... hailing from Memphis, Tennessee, and weighing in at 251lbs, here is... MAAAAAAAAARK COOOOOOOOOOOLEMAAAAAAAN! [Coleman wastes no time in striding out to the head of the aisle, walking around the elevated platform underneath the three huge video screens, raising his fists to the crowd, beaming with that big Southern smile, which draws a few appreciative cheers from the ladies in attendance.] DD: Here he is! Here's the hottest rookie in wrestling today! SR: I hate him already! Could he be any more white-bread?! BS: Mark Coleman may be a wholesome young man from Memphis, Steve Roberts, but he can *go* in the ring. SR: I'll believe that when I see it. And *grey* trunks? What kind of a statement do grey trunks make? BS: What kind of a statement do multicoloured feather boas make, Steve Roberts? SR: That the Soundbite is more of a man than a fruity little man like you will ever be, Pukespeare. DD: Will you two please stop?! [Coleman is, you will not be shocked to hear, wearing his usual ring attire of grey trunks, grey boots, and white wrist tape. He makes his way down the aisle, slapping the hands of fans on either side. He stops when he spots a sign that says "OGAWA NEEDS A HUG!" and beckons to the fan to pass it to him. The sign makes its way to Coleman, who holds it above his head to a big pop! In the ring, Brackett is furious, but Ogawa -- who presumably doesn't read English -- continues to stare impassively down at Coleman. Coleman shrugs and hands the sign back to the fan with a grin, before making his way down to the ring.] DD: This is undoubtedly going to be the biggest test of this young man's career, Billy Shakespeare. But Coleman looks ready. BS: He does look ready, Don. He's got tremendous natural ability, but I do wonder whether he has enough big match experience to beat Ogawa here on the big stage. DD: It's a good point, Billy. Coleman has never wrestled a submission match before. SR: I give him five minutes. Ogawa's as tough as the day is long. Coleman, on the other hand, is as vanilla as Manilla -- Manilla, Iowa, that is. DD: Manila, Iowa? SR: Located in the beautiful rolling hills of southern Crawford County, Donny-boy. Just minutes from the county seat. And there's not a man alive who cares. [Coleman climbs the ringsteps and steps between the ropes. He winks at Brackett and Ogawa, then climbs to the turnbuckles in the corner. He raises his fists, and breaks out into an even wider smile when he hears the familiar chant:] "SCB! SCB! SCB! SCB!" [In the ring, Brackett covers his ears in mock horror. Ogawa continues to simply stare up at Coleman.] DD: These fans chanting for the Southern Cross Bomb, but Coleman can't win this match tonight with that move. [Coleman jumps down from the turnbuckle and moves to the middle of the ring, standing just a couple of feet from Ogawa and Brackett. Official Juan Morales checks Coleman's boots and pads, then moves to check Ogawa's. All the while, both men keep their eyes locked on one another, Coleman's with a slight twinkle, Ogawa's cold and unfeeling. Brackett motions for Ogawa to lean down, and he says something quietly in the big man's ear, before turning to Coleman, running his finger across his throat, and rolling from the ring to the outside. Morales motions to the timekeeper to ring the bell.] * DING! DING! DING! * [Coleman and Ogawa circle each other in the ring. The fans continue to chant "SCB! SCB!" as they anticipate the collision of these two men. Ogawa extends a hand to Coleman, who reaches out with his own hand. As their fingertips meet, they collide in the middle of the ring, locking up collar and elbow. Ogawa quickly breaks the lock-up, and pushes Coleman away, palming Coleman's face with his big hand. Heel pop! Coleman smiles to himself, and then charges in again, this time slipping behind Ogawa with an armwringer. The Japanese man slaps his shoulder, then twists out and grabs at Coleman's leg, pulling the Memphis man down to the mat with a single-leg takedown. Coleman kicks free with his other leg, then rolls clear and pops back to his feet.] DD: These two men have never faced each other one-on-one, Billy Shakespeare. BS: And Coleman thinks that's because Brackett is afraid Coleman has Ogawa's number, and that an Ogawa loss in a singles match against Coleman is an inevitability. We'll see about that. [Coleman still has a smile on his feet, and the two men continue to circle each other. Coleman motions for Ogawa to come at him, and the Japanese man does so. The quicker Coleman ducks behind him, and hits him with a standing dropkick, sending Ogawa into the ropes. As Ogawa turns, Coleman charges at him, clotheslining him over the top and to the outside! Big pop! Coleman acknowledges the cheers of the crowd before taking a few steps away from the ropes and bending down, putting his hands on his knees, watching as the furious Ogawa picks himself up and rolls back into the ring.] DD: Coleman showing us that he may well have the speed advantage in this match, Billy Shakespeare. [Coleman sportingly waits for Ogawa to get back to his feet, then once again motions for Ogawa to come at him. Ogawa comes in again, more cautiously this time, and Coleman grabs hold of his right arm, wrenching it around behind him in a hammerlock. Ogawa's face shows some discomfort as Coleman continues to cinch in the hold.] BS: Coleman's been doing his homework, Don. He knows that Ogawa's right shoulder is the one that was seriously injured in a match some eight or nine years ago. It nearly ended his career -- though he came back from the injury to win the King of the Death Match tournament in 1999. SR: Told you, Pukespeare. Tough, tough, tough. [Ogawa drops to his knees and rolls forward, flipping Coleman over him, and forcing him to release the hold. Ogawa immediately traps Coleman's head between his legs, scissoring them and applying pressure on Coleman's neck.] BS: What a smart move by Ogawa, Don. Coleman will be severely impaired in this match if he's unable to breathe. DD: Absolutely, Billy Shakespeare. Coleman's throat is perhaps his weakness in this match, having sustained that injury in his first confrontation with Ogawa some months ago. SR: Geez, you two are puttin' us to sleep here. If you were on 24 hours a day, Nyquil stocks would be through the floor. There's no drama here. Ogawa squashes Coleman in five minutes, and we're moving on to our next match. [Coleman tries to unwrap the Japanese man's legs with his hands, but doesn't have the strength to do it. Instead he tries to roll over onto his side, putting more pressure on his own neck, but forcing Ogawa to separate his legs a little. Coleman is then able to prise Ogawa's legs apart, and rolls free, his face redder for the temporary lack of oxygen.] BS: I think Ogawa was just warning Coleman there, Don. [Coleman brings himself back to his feet and once again faces Ogawa across the ring. With a more determined look on his face now, he charges at the Japanese man, nimbly ducking under an attempted palmstrike from Ogawa, then jumping up behind the big man, putting his boots in the small of his back and wrapping his hands around his neck, sitting down and snapping Ogawa down to the mat! Big pop!] DD: Coleman with a back cracker! And now he's going right back to that right shoulder! [Indeed, Coleman grabs hold of Ogawa's right arm, putting his boot into the big Japanese man's armpit, and wrenches on the arm, getting as much torsion as he can. Ogawa reaches over with his left arm and yanks on Coleman's other foot, pulling him to the mat, and rolls through, applying an anklelock on the Tennessean's left ankle. Coleman quickly grabs the ropes, and Morales puts the count on Ogawa, who gets awfully close to the five-count before releasing his man. After Ogawa releases the hold, Coleman rolls out of the ring to collect his thoughts. The fans immediately break into a chant of "SCB! SCB!" to encourage him.] DD: The fans here in the Garden solidly behind Coleman here tonight. SR: Just like these damn Portland morons to back a sure-fire loser. BS: Coleman needs to adjust his strategy here, Don. He's going for the shoulder, which is a great move, but Ogawa is still too strong. He needs to wear the big man down a bit, raise his heart rate, make him run a bit. DD: Coleman has ten years on Ogawa, and he's in great shape. Certainly you'd expect his conditioning to be better. Perhaps a faster pace to this match would be to his advantage. [Coleman climbs back up the ringsteps, and steps back into the ropes, whereupon he is immediately set upon by Ogawa, who hits him with a series of palm strikes, before sending him into the ropes. Coleman ducks under an attempted savate kick from the Japanese man, and as he bounces off the other side of the ropes, he takes off and hits Ogawa with a flying fist! Big pop as the Japanese man goes down! Coleman brings Ogawa back to his feet, hoists him up from a waistlock onto his shoulder, then swings him down, dropping to one knee and slamming Ogawa's right shoulder onto his outstretched knee. Pop! Coleman drops Ogawa back to the mat, then puts the boot into Ogawa's shoulder a couple of times, before Morales warns Coleman about the stomping.] BS: This is better from Mark Coleman, Don. Picking up the pace may be the key to this match. [On the outside, Brackett slaps the mat in frustration, shouting at Ogawa in his native tongue, as Coleman allows the Japanese man to get back to his feet. Ogawa once again comes at Coleman, and now Coleman grabs at his right arm, turning and flooring the Japanese man with a short-arm clothesline. Coleman hangs on, flipping Ogawa over onto his belly, and quickly slapping in a Fujiwara armbar. Big pop!] DD: Oh, that's a dangerous hold right there, putting tremendous pressure on Ogawa's shoulder. [Coleman leans back, pinning Ogawa's body to the mat with his own body weight, and Morales drops to check whether Ogawa wants to submit. The Japanese man shakes his head immediately, showing no signs whatsoever of wanting to throw in the towel yet. On the outside, Brackett jumps up onto the apron and enters the ring, marching right over to Coleman and kicking him square in the face, causing him to break the hold! Big heel pop! Morales immediately forces Brackett out of the ring, and Zeke is happy to go, putting his hands up passively -- but with a self-satisfied smile on his face.] DD: You knew it was going to happen, Billy Shakespeare. With no disqualifications in this match, Zeke Brackett was always going to get involved. BS: Absolutely, Don. Morales should send Brackett back to the locker room, but he's showing no signs of doing that right now. SR: Aw, let the little Hell's Angel stay, ref. [Indeed, Morales appears content to simply warn Brackett, who nods compliance. In the ring, Ogawa brings Coleman to his feet, and then lifts him right into a gorilla press! Big pop from the fans as cameras flash all over the Rose Garden! Ogawa drops Coleman behind him -- but Coleman somehow manages to land on his feet in a crouched position, and as Ogawa turns, he is met by a big dropkick from the Tennessean, knocking him to the mat, and Coleman follows up by driving a knee into the right shoulder of his fallen opponent.] DD: Coleman is so tenacious, focusing on that one body part. BS: Ogawa will have difficulty applying the Blackout, or indeed the Shunji Street Sweeper, with a weakened right shoulder. [Coleman brings Ogawa back to his feet and rocks him with some stiff rights and lefts, then attempts to send him for the ride into the corner. Ogawa reverses, holding on and sending Coleman chest-first into the opposite turnbuckles instead. As Coleman stumbles back out of the corner, Ogawa rushes forward and hits him with a brutal Yakuza kick to the back of the head, dropping him to the mat! Big heel pop!] SR: And there you see the value of educated feet, morons. One toe went to Harvard, another went to Princeton. The pinky, I understand, went to Ohio State. The other toes don't talk to that one. DD: What are you talking about, Steve Roberts? SR: I'm on the grind, baby. On the grind, all the time. [Ogawa brings Coleman back to his feet and sends him to the ropes again, catching him on the reverse and spinning him around before planting him hard with a ferocious spinebuster! Heel pop! Ogawa quickly flips Coleman onto his belly and applies a camel clutch, sitting back on the small of Coleman's back.] DD: Ogawa now, working over Coleman's back. The rookie can't afford to stay in a camel clutch for long, Billy Shakespeare. [As the crowd claps in support of the man from Memphis, Coleman has come to exactly the same conclusion, and manages to power his way to his knees, drawing a huge pop from the fans! Ogawa, frustrated, releases Coleman from the hold, and grabs him as if for a bodyslam -- but then drops him on his knee with a vicious backbreaker. And in an incredible display of strength, Ogawa hangs on, lifting Coleman up again and dropping him across his knee a second time! Big heel pop!] DD: Scary power from Akitoshi Ogawa, performing a double backbreaker on a 250lbs man like he weighs nothing at all! [Ogawa drops Coleman back to the mat, but pain flickers across his face as he feels his right shoulder. Ogawa goes to drop a leg across Coleman's throat, but the Tennessean rolls out of the way! Big pop! Brackett slaps the mat in frustration as the two men both get to their feet, Coleman arching his back and Ogawa shaking out his right arm.] DD: Neither man has been able to cement a clear advantage in this match, Billy Shakespeare. What do you think will turn the tide? BS: To be honest, Don, I think a mistake from one man or the other is likely to decide this one. SR: Coleman's already made that mistake, morons. He turned up. [Ogawa whips Coleman to the ropes. On the rebound, he lifts Coleman onto his shoulders for his signature Kumamoto Roll -- but suddenly, Coleman's weight shifts, and Ogawa topples backwards, Coleman still holding on. As they roll, Coleman changes positions and quickly traps Ogawa in a crossface, bending Ogawa's neck backwards sharply. Big pop!] BS: Beautiful counter from Mark Coleman! [Ogawa reaches out with his free arm but cannot quite reach the bottom rope. Brackett pushes the rope towards Ogawa, who grabs hold of it, and Morales puts the count on Coleman, who complies. Coleman brings Ogawa to his feet, and goes for a suplex... but Ogawa blocks the attempt, instead lifting Coleman up onto his shoulders and this time performing the Kumamoto Roll successflly! Big heel pop!] DD: This time Ogawa pulls off the Kumamoto Roll! Coleman is reeling! [Ogawa flips Coleman onto his belly, bends his legs at the knees, and crosses them, bridging backwards to reach over Coleman's head and lock his arms around it. Heel pop!] DD: MUTA LOCK! MUTA LOCK! SR: I give him twenty seconds, baby dolls. BS: This certainly isn't good for Coleman. The Muta Lock puts tremendous strain on both the legs and the small of the back. [Coleman's face is twisted into a grimace as he struggles to reach out to the ropes in front of him. Brackett takes great pleasure in positioning himself in front of Coleman and starts shouting at him to tap. Morales checks on Coleman, but the Tennessean won't quit.] DD: Coleman has plenty of heart, folks, but can he sustain this pain? [Brackett continues to goad Coleman on the outside, the Tennessean sucks it up and starts to pull himself towards the ropes by his fingertips, inch by agonising inch.] DD: Coleman is dragging himself towards the ropes! Will he make it? BS: If Coleman has the strength, there's nothing Ogawa can do about it. It's either break the hold, or hope that Coleman taps before he reaches the ropes. [But Coleman shows no sgns of tapping, inching closer to the ropes... and then he makes it, grabbing hold of the bottom rope! Morales calls for the break, but Ogawa fails to comply. The official eventually steps in to release Coleman himself, dragging Ogawa off Coleman. As Coleman lies face down by the side of the ring, Brackett yanks his head up by his black hair and hits him with a hard right hand. Big heel pop!] DD: Come on! That's the second time Brackett has laid his hands on Mark Coleman! SR: God love that miniature Hell's Angel. You're doing good work, Zeke! [Ogawa shoves Morales aside and brings Coleman back to his feet, attempting to Irish whip the young man to the ropes... but Coleman reverses, and sends Ogawa for the ride. Coleman puts his head down to execute a backdrop on Ogawa, but the big Japanese man catches himself on the ropes. When Coleman raises his head a moment later, he is met by a vicious DDT from Ogawa! Heel pop! Ogawa wastes no time in applying a Texas cloveleaf on Coleman, wrapping up his opponent's legs and leaning back.] DD: Yet another hold targeting Coleman's back, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Coleman knew that if he allowed Ogawa to tie him up in hold after hold he'd be in trouble, but it's not exactly a fair fight, with Brackett getting involved on the outside. SR: Oh, boo hoo, Mr. Whitebread can't handle a little friendly involvement from God's own miniature Hell's Angel! DD: Do you have any idea how ridiculous that sounds, Steve Roberts? [The fans once again break into a chant of "SCB! SCB! SCB!" to encourage Coleman, who once again has to claw his way towards the ropes. Ogawa allows Coleman to approach the ropes... and then sadistically pulls him back towards the middle of the ring! Big heel pop! Morales checks on Coleman, who still refuses to tap out.] SR: Just a matter of time now, baby dolls. [Coleman pushes himself up using his arms, using his upper body strength to relieve the tension on his lower back, and once again makes an effort to move towards the ropes. Again Ogawa lets him get agonisingly close, and then drags him back to the centre of the ring once more. Heel pop!] BS: Ogawa is just playing with Coleman in there now, Don. [Morales once again asks Coleman if he wants to submit, but the Tennessean cries out "NO!", and the fans cheer, knowing that the young man from Memphis still has fight in him! On the outside, Brackett continues to shout insults at Coleman, telling him to give it up. Coleman again forces himself up onto his arms.] DD: It's like doing a push-up with a 260lbs weight on your back. Coleman is strong as an ox! [Coleman again drags himself for the ropes, making one last lunge -- and he gets hold of the bottom rope! Huge pop!] DD: Third time's the charm for Coleman! Now Ogawa must break the hold! [Again Morales puts the count on Ogawa, and again the big man refuses to break the hold, and again the official is forced to step in to unwrap the Japanese giant from Coleman's legs. Coleman rolls to the outside as Ogawa once again towers over the diminutive Mexican official, threatening him. Brackett yells instructions to Ogawa, who pushes past the official and goes to the outside. He moves to the corner and grabs the top half of the steel ringsteps, turning it on its side so that it makes a taller structure at the corner of the ring. Under Brackett's instruction, he drags Coleman to his feet.] DD: Oh no -- Brackett now, directing traffic. He's going to send Coleman flying into those steps! SR: Whoo! Split him! Bleed him dry! [Ogawa goes to throw Coleman into the steps -- but Coleman manages to shove Ogawa instead, sending the Japanese man sailing, shoulder-first, into the steps!] * CLANG! * [The steps and Ogawa go flying, and Coleman drops to his knees on the arena floor. As Ogawa lies prone, a furious Brackett stalks up behind Coleman, and spins him around -- but Coleman reacts fast, and hits him with a big right hand! Big pop! Coleman then hits Brackett in the gut with a boot, doubling him over, and lifts him up over his head in a crucifix position!] SR: No! Not the mini Hell's Angel! DD: He's got him up! Coleman has got Brackett up! [And Coleman sits down, spiking Brackett onto the arena floor! Huge pop, and the chant immediately rings out around the Garden:] "SCB! SCB! SCB! SCB!" DD: A devastating Southern Cross Bomb on Zeke Brackett -- and Ogawa's manager has finally got his just desserts! [Coleman tosses Brackett's legs aside and picks himself back up, turning around... right into a palm strike from Ogawa! Heel pop! Ogawa rolls Coleman back into the ring, and then rolls back in himself. Both men get back to their feet, and slug it out in the middle of the ring. Ogawa goes for a chop -- and Coleman blocks it! Coleman sends Ogawa for the ride, and on the return hoists him up over his shoulder, and swings him down hard on his knee, then lets him drop to the canvas. Coleman gets up, drops the leg across Ogawa's neck, rises again, drops a fist on Ogawa's head, gets up again, then drops an elbow, and finally locks Ogawa into an armbar! Big pop!] DD: Coleman is finally finding his groove out here. He's got Ogawa reeling! BS: But Ogawa is twisting his way out of that armbar, Don. Coleman hasn't put him away just yet! [Indeed, Ogawa manages to twist free, and both men get back to their feet. Coleman sends Ogawa to the ropes, and on the return hits him with a drop toe-hold, then drops an elbow right into the small of Ogawa's back. Coleman rolls to his feet and jams his boot into the small of the Japanese man's back, standing over him and pulling back on his right arm, again straining that right shoulder.] DD: Coleman has just been relentless in going after Ogawa's shoulder, Billy Shakespeare. [Coleman releases Ogawa's arm and brings the Japanese man back to his feet. He tries to send Ogawa to the ropes, but Ogawa reverses, and on the return, locks Coleman into a full nelson! Big heel pop!] DD: He has the full nelson! He's going for the Shunji Street Sweeper! [But Ogawa's right shoulder is hurting him, and he's not able to fully lock his fingers! Coleman brings his arms down sharply, forcing Ogawa to release the full nelson. Coleman slips around Ogawa, and drives him to the mat with an inverted Russian leg sweep, then quickly crosses Ogawa's ankles. He leans on the ankles with one knee, and lies on top of Ogawa, wrenching his right arm back and applying a crossface submission! Huge pop!] DD: He's got it! Tennessee Valley Lock! SR: Aw, crap. [Morales checks on Ogawa, who refuses to submit. The veins on Coleman's neck are standing out, his face reddening, as he leans back with all his might on the neck and arm of Ogawa. The fans start to chant:] "TVL! TVL! TVL! TVL!" [Coleman continues to keep the hold locked in. Ogawa struggles with his left arm, but is unable to get any leverage on any part of Coleman's body. He tries to roll over, but that only increases the torsion on his right arm and shoulder.] DD: Mark Coleman now, perhaps just moments away from the biggest victory of his young career! [The fans are on their feet as Coleman, through clenched teeth, yanks back on Ogawa's arm back even harder. Ogawa's hand hovers above the mat, and Morales watches with eagle eyes.] DD: Ogawa is hanging on for dear life, but he's got nowhere to go! BS: Coleman is really leaning back. Ogawa must be in searing pain from that shoulder! SR: Tough as the day is long, morons. Ogawa's gonna jump up and put Coleman through a table in a moment, you wait! [Ogawa's hand continues to hover above the mat... ...and then he slaps the mat three times! Huge pop!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Morales signals to Coleman that he should release the hold, which the young man does, and he rolls to his knees in the middle of the ring. He blinks as Sy Simmons makes the result official:] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner... MAAAAAAAARK COOOOOOOLEMAN! [Huge pop as "Copperhead Road" kicks in over the PA, and Coleman gets back to his feet, allowing Morales to raise his hand in victory!] DD: He did it! Mark Coleman has defeated Akitoshi Ogawa, and what a victory it is for this young rookie! SR: It's a fluke, Ditka. A fluke. Ogawa wrestled rings around Coleman for the whole match. BS: Actually, Steve Roberts, it was a very even contest. In the end it came down to the fact that Coleman targeted Ogawa's shoulder right from the very start of the match -- and by the time Ogawa attempted the Shunji Street Sweeper, it was sufficiently weakened for Coleman to escape. SR: Can I get a little respect? Haven't I earned just a little respect, Pukespeare? DD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts, but I have to wonder whether Mark Coleman has tonight gained the respect of Akitoshi Ogawa. [Ogawa has rolled to his knees and, clutching at his wounded shoulder, looks up at Coleman, who is still standing in the ring. Coleman nods to Ogawa, but receives no acknowledgement from the stony-faced Japanese man. Coleman's face flickers with some hidden emotion, but he lets it go, rolling from the ring and making his way up the aisle, slapping the hands of fans as he goes.] DD: What a tremendous match that was, gentlemen. SR: Aside from the wrong guy winning, and Brackett getting slammed into the middle of next week, it was okay, Ditka. BS: Mark Coleman is coming on in leaps and bounds, Don. To defeat a twelve-year veteran like Akitoshi Ogawa is quite something. He may still be a little green, but let's hope he can build on this win. [Ogawa rolls from the ring and helps the still-groggy Zeke Brackett to his feet.] DD: And no shame in Ogawa's performance here tonight, either. BS: Absolutely not, Don. We could put these two in the ring again tomorrow and the result could be different. SR: Damn right it'd be different. Ogawa went easy on Mr. Cornbread. His next victim won't be so lucky. [As Ogawa and Brackett make their way up the aisle, cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Well, folks, that match was quite something -- and our next match is going to be something entirely different: a Street Fight between "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy, and legend of the squared circle Lord Byron. Let's take a look at how these two men came to be clashing here at Wild Summer Night. [The screen fades to black, and rests that way for a few moments. "April 6th, 2006" flashes on the screen quickly. We hear a loud sound that resembles a gun shot exploding and echoing through an empty hall. On the screen, a black and white image of "The Unbreakable" Trevor Lansing is shown, moments after being hit with a right hook. Lansing falls, slumping to the mat hard. The announcers' words have a similarly hollow, echo effect.] DD: Oh my! That could be it for Lansing! That punch really connected! BS: Lansing's not moving, Don. We could have the first knock-out in RCW history right here. [Cue back to a few seconds before and now in color. "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy competing against Lansing in RCW's first ever Last Man Standing match. Liam is dancing behind Lansing as he struggles to rise. Once up, he is cracked in the jaw by The Jersey Drifter, ending his RCW career. Fast forward to later in that night, when Dan Spreadbury talks to the victorious Cassidy backstage.] DS: Just wanted to say, nice work out there tonight. LC: No problem, bossman. You just set 'em up, and I'll keep knockin' 'em down. [The screen fades to black. A new date flashes on screen: "Thursday May 4th, 2006." Another black and white image is shown of Lord Byron making his Portland return, standing backstage with RCW PA Jamie Swanson.] JS: It's a pleasure to welcome you to Portland again, Lord Byron. Do I call you Lord..? LB: Byron's fine, Miss Swanson. [Cue to Byron making his entrance to the ring.] DD: It's him! It's him! Another coup for the RCW President! First Brody Thunder two weeks ago, now the man once proclaimed as the best technical wrestler in the world, Lord Byron! BS: Let's just hope that there's no unwelcome interruption this time, Don. [Cued just a little further, we see Byron shaking hands with President Spreadbury in the ring as the press photographers snap away with their cameras. Byron raises the mic.] LB: Portland, the world of professional wrestling thanks you -- and I thank you. Sunday, July 16th... RCW Wild Summer Night... wrestling comes home. [Byron's last word echoes as we dip to black and white again. "Home... Home... Home..." Byron is shown backstage, reminiscing with Spreadbury when a door is flung open and Liam Cassidy walks through it, colliding with His Lordship, spilling the contents of Liam's bottle of bourbon all over the aristocrat. The guitar intro of "Part of the Queue" by Oasis kicks in at the moment of contact.] LB: What the he...?! LC: Sorry lad, easy there! My bad! Let me take care of that... [Liam tries to wipe up what he can of the mess, but is immediately stopped by Byron.] LB: What is this.. this filth? Who is this, a cleaner? LC: I ain't no cleaner. I'm a wrassler, just like the rest of them. Liam Cassidy's the name. The Jersey Drifter. How do you do? # Suddenly I've found that I've lost my way in this city # The streets and their thousands of colours all bleed into one [Moments later. Byron gets a good chuckle as he tries to walk away.] LB: ...you wouldn't last a minute. LC: All right, lad. You're on. # I fall down heaven won't help me # I call out no one will hear # All of a sudden I've lost my way out of this city [Cut to the Rose Garden arena as "Thursday May 18th, 2006" flashes on the screen.] B: One minute, Daniel... one minute. [Images of Byron and Cassidy making their way to the ring for the famed 60 Second challenge. Cassidy appears to be stumbling over, drunker than usual.] DD: Oh... oh dear. BS: Cassidy certainly looks more inebriated than usual. [Liam staggers into the ring. The bell sounds, as Byron turns his nose down at the drunken hobo. The two meet in the center of the ring, and Cassidy belches loudly in Bryon's face. He responds with a hard slap across the face to start the match!] # Stand tall stand proud # Every begining is breaking its promise # I'm having trouble just finding some soul in this town [...Byron backslides Cassidy for a two count... The aristocrat slaps on a small package for two... Byron catches Liam with a leg scissor sweep followed by a stiff cuff to the back of the head.] BS: Byron's toying with Cassidy, Don. But he's got to be careful -- he's in danger of running down the clock completely and losing this match! [A countdown begins on the screen, starting at nine. Byron moves in for a tie up, but the inebriated Drifter ducks under it. Eight. DD: OH MY! Cassidy just *nailed* Byron with a vicious right hook! And Byron is down! Byron is down! [Seven.] BS: Pin him, Liam! Pin him! [Byron slumps to the mat under the force of the blow. Cassidy flops on top of him for the pin.] DD: He did it! He did it! Liam Cassidy has pinned Lord Byron! BS: And with three seconds to spare, Don! Unbelievable! # The names on the faces in places they mean nothing to me # It's all they can do to be part of the queue in this town # I fall down heaven won't help me # I call out no one will hear # There'll be no tomorrow they say, well I say "more's the pity" [We see various scenes of Cassidy celebrating his win, showing he was lying about his drunken state of mind. He celebrates with The Hobo Section as we see a close up of a semi conscious Byron glaring at the hobo, hatred swirling in the eyes. Later on that night, we see Byron is standing in Spreadbury's office.] 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-- DS: Nothing. 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. [Fast-forward to Daniel handing Byron what we know is a full time RCW contract.] 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. # Stand tall, stand proud # Every begining has broken its promsie # I'm having trouble just finding my soul in this town ["June 1st, 2006." The rematch. Cassidy makes his ring entrance, followed by Byron. Chants of "JUST ONE SEC-OND" are piped in as we see the two standing nose to nose in the ring once more.] 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. [Scenes from the match fly by. Byron whips Liam across the ring in a deep arm drag... Driving a knee into Liam's right hand... Byron hightailing it out of the ring once Liam threatens to hit with the right fist... Byron takes down the hobo with a headlock takedown... Liam finally mounting a bit of offense as he snags Byron with a clothesline. He grimaces in pain after using the hand Byron had been working over... Byron firmly takes back control after a release half-nelson suplex straight into the turnbuckles.] DD: Oh... oh, that's bad. Liam Cassidy may be out of it, Billy Shakespeare! [Next we see Byron finish off the Drifter with the Coup De Grace swinging ace crusher. He covers and gets the pinfall victory.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... LOOOOOOOOOOORD BYYYYYYYYRRRON! [Byron begins to put the boots to Liam, kicking him off of the apron sending Liam crashing 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 [He dislodges the ringsteps and places the fallen Hobo's famed right hand between the ring steps and the ringpost. He steps back a few and launches forward, dropkicking the ringsteps...] * CLAAAAANNNG! * "AAAAAAAUGH!" DD: Byron may have just broken Liam Cassidy's arm. [Not done yet, Byron rolls the injured Cassidy into the ring and applies the feared Aristoclutch, snapping back at Liam's wrist.] 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. [Byron is finally forced off of Cassidy by security and makes his way to the back, smirking at being "victorious". We get several closeups of concerned fans as they look on and see Cassidy writhing in pain and clutching at his injured wing.] # Stand tall stand proud # Every begining has broken its promise # I'm having trouble just finding my soul in this town # Finding my soul in this town # (Keep on trying...) [The next scene is late at night (or early in the AM?), outside of the hospital. Young Jamie Bond is picking up his friend Liam Cassidy, who's right wrist is in a cast and sling.] JB: How are you feeling, Liam? LC: Like I had the [BLEEP] kicked out of me.'Cause that's exactly what it was. I heard that Byron guy was a tough son of a bitch, but I didn't know he'd do something like that. [As we see several replays of the dropkick into the stairs, we hear Liam's voice echo.] LC: The son of a bitch broke my Goddamn hand... ["June 15th, 2006." Backstage, Byron is talking to Jamie Bond.] B: My attack on Cassidy was deliberate. It was calculated. And more importantly, it was a WARNING. A warning to Cassidy, to stay the hell out of my way. [We see Cassidy and Byron having a staredown with one another, as the injured hobo watches Byron from the front row at ringside. Byron wrestles Rick Marley while Liam hops the retaining barrier and takes up a position on top of the announcer's desk, and puts on a headset for himself.] LC: ...That bastich tried to take away my livelihood. I don't take too kindly to that. He made this thing real personal, real quick. And I know the odds are against me, but they've been like that my whole life. You know what, guys? I'm still here. I find ways to survive and I do it my way. [Forwards, post match. Byron is now on the outside, jawing with Cassidy in front of the announce position.] B: I gave you your warning, Cassidy... you want me at Wild Summer Night? I WILL break you -- don't think I won't. LC: Funny. I was about to say the exact same thing to you, lad. B: Break me, Liam? You? That's comical -- you're not in my league, fool. [Byron stiffs Liam with a slap across the face. Liam tries to follow it with a fist, but has to hesitate, due to his arm still being wrapped up and in a cast. Utilizing the opportunity, Byron catches the hand and twists it before blindsiding Liam with a fist that knocks Cassidy back to the floor.] BS: ...You're never going to beat that man if you keep relying on your fists to win your battles. LC: Then teach me. # Stand tall, stand proud # Every begining has broken its promise # I'm having trouble just finding my soul in this town # Finding my soul in this town # (Keep on trying...) [We see clips of Billy Shakespeare with Liam inside of a gym, rolling around the mat as Billy instructs The Jersey Drifter. We hear Byron's voice.] B: I think "just one second" is about the time remaining in Mr. Cassidy's fifteen minutes of fame. Once he steps into the ring with me at Wild Summer Night... that's it. Game over. [As we see Liam being taught the finer points of delivering a German suplex, we hear Billy Shakespeare's voice, addressing Byron himself.] BS: ...You underestimated Cassidy once and he hit you with a right hook that could knock out a horse. Underestimate him again and you may just find history repeating itself. [We slowly dissolves back to the image of Byron being knocked out by Liam's right hook. We hear his voice speaking over the slowed down and grainy footage.] B: ...at Wild Summer Night... I WILL finish the job. I WILL end his career... such as it is. [As the music begins to fade, we get a black and white close up of Liam on On The Wire, talking to Don Ditka.] LC: I hear about all this crap he's gonna do to me. I can sum up everything I wanna do to Byron in just one second. [He holds up that fist.] LC: 'Cause that's all it takes. [The screen slowly fades to black with the music. We hear a crowd chant...] "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" "JUST ONE SEC-OND!!!" [Cut back to the arena.] ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / STREET FIGHT: /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Lord Byron vs. "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy [A ringside camera shows that a couple of members of the ring crew are depositing an array of weapons at ringside. One places a large, apparently heavy trashcan at one corner of the ring, then scatters a bunch of kendo sticks, cookie sheets, Stop signs, and so on, liberally around the area. The other props a ladder and a table up on the other side of the ring.] DD: As you can see, folks, our ring crew are preparing the ringside area for this match -- and here comes Sy Simmons to make the introductions! [Simmons steps into the ring as match official Pat Nickrick rolls in behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall and will be contested under STREET FIGHT RULES! [Big we-can-see-that pop!] SS: There will be no countouts, and no disqualifications. The only way to win is to pin your opponent or make him submit -- and it will be one fall to the finish! [Big thanks-for-that-Sy pop!] SS: And now, introducing the combatants... [The arena lights dim, fading almost to total darkness. The capacity crowd hoots, whistles and jeers in anticipation.] SS: Introducing first, weighing in at 255lbs and hailing from Lancashire, England... here is... # 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: ...LORD BYRON!! # 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. He is wearing white tights, with the Three Lions motif picked out in gold, the red rose of Lancashire entwined amongst it.] # 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. The spotlight follows him as he strides purposefully towards the ring, snatching his arm away and glaring at a fan who dares to reach out and touch him.] SR: Now *this*, Donny-boy, *this* is what the Soundbite came for. Okay, to tell the truth, the Soundbite really came for the moolah, the green, the chutney. But if the Soundbite had an altruistic bone in his body, or if he even had the slightest interest in anybody or anything not called Steve Roberts, Lord Byron would be one of those things. DD: A ringing endorsement indeed, Steve Roberts. BS: Just look at him, Don. This man, so sure of himself. "Can ye endure to bear this arrogance?" SR: Can we endure the pretentious bull that flows so freely from that gaping maw you call a mouth, Pukespeare? DD: Now, now, gentlemen. Billy Shakespeare, we know you have your history with Byron -- and that you'd love nothing more than to see Liam Cassidy walk out of here with a win tonight. BS: Absolutely, Don. It's my heart's desire. DD: But in spite of the fact that the stipulations in this match favour Cassidy about as much as we could ever hope, surely you realise that in *any* kind of match, Byron has to be the favourite. BS: I know that, too. But I have faith in Liam. Favourites don't always win. [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, spits a few choice insults across at Sy Simmonds and starts stretching on the ropes as the music fades and the arena lights rise once more.] DD: Lord Byron, as always the very picture of confidence. We're about to find out whether Liam Cassidy has what it takes to shake the unshakeable confidence of this legend of the ring. ["Hobo Blues" by Jack Johnson kicks in over the PA to a huge pop from the fans!] DD: Here he comes! SS: And introducing his opponent... hailing from Hackensack, New Jersey, and weighing in at 237lbs... here is... "THE JEEEEEERSEY DRRRRRIFTER" LIIIIIIIIIAM CAAAAAAAAASSIDY! [A spotlight settles on the stage at the head of the aisle, but Cassidy doesn't appear. The cheers of the fans die down a little, as people turn to each other to ask where Cassidy is. Only the Hobo Section, Cassidy's hardcore fans in the floor seating area, continue to cheer loudly.] DD: Billy Shakespeare, where is Liam Cassidy?! BS: I honestly don't know, Don. We went over some final match strategy earlier today, but that was a few hours ago. SR: With Pukespeare as his life coach, Cassidy has probably done the smart thing and got back on the steamer for Ireland. DD: Liam Cassidy is from New Jersey, Steve Roberts, and Billy Shakespeare has been teaching him the fundamentals of wrestling. SR: I hope he has the receipt. [As the attention of the fans and Lord Byron is focused on the aisle, however, suddenly there is some motion at ringside: somebody is rising out of the big heavy trash can!] SR: Hey, look, Donny-boy, it's Oscar the Grouch! DD: Hang on a moment! SR: This half-assed pay-per-view has been brought to you by the letters S, U, C, K and S. DD: That's Liam Cassidy! BS: Byron hasn't seen him! [Indeed, as Cassidy rises out of the trash can, he grabs the lid with one hand, and with the other signals to the nearby fans to keep quiet. Cassidy carefully steps out of the can, then slides into the ring under the bottom rope, trash can lid in hand! He sticks his free hand into the pocket of his battered blue jeans and pulls out his hip flask, from which he swigs enthusiastically, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Cassidy is also wearing his "Just One Second!" tanktop, and his trademark black fedora, perched on his head at a rakish angle. He has both his wrists taped, and his right hand is still taped especially tightly, covering his injury.] SR: Holy crap, they really weren't kidding when they said this guy looked like a bum! DD: He's the first hobo of wrestling! SR: You say that like it's a good thing, Ditka. Why the heck would Byron want to wrestle a loser no-hoper like this guy? BS: This loser no-hoper, Steve Roberts, happens to have a tremendous fighting spirit and a strong character that strives in adversity. SR: So he's auditioning for a part in a TV movie on ABC Family?! Give me a break -- if the guy can't *go*, he can go. You dig? BS: Oh, he can go, Steve Roberts. Wait and see. [Cassidy stalks up behind Byron, who is still looking towards the aisle... and then *waffles* him over the head with the trash can lid! Pat Nickrick hurriedly signals for the bell, as Cassidy continues to batter the shocked Byron with the lid!] * DING! CLANG! DING! CLANG! DING! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! * [Byron is rocked by the repeated shots to the head from the trash can lid, which Cassidy tosses aside, and then winds the stunned Byron up and throws him through the ropes and to the arena floor! Big pop!] DD: It looks like Cassidy is going to make the most of the Street Fight stipulations here! BS: Absolutely, Don. Despite the work Liam and I have done over the past few weeks, he still doesn't want to be in a situation where he actually has to wrestle Lord Byron unless it's absolutely necessary! [Byron rolls to his feet on the outside -- and is then blasted with a kendo stick to the back! Byron arches his back in pain as Cassidy brings it down on the blueblood again and again, leaving ugly red welts rising on Byron's skin!] * CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! * [Cassidy, having split the bamboo of the kendo stick in two, tosses it aside, and spins Byron around, then takes him down to the floor with a headlock takedown! Pop from the fans! Cassidy grabs a nearby cookie sheet and clambers up onto the apron, then tucks it in the crook of his arm... and jumps off, blasting Byron with the cookie sheet via a modified elbowdrop!] DD: Byron is in big trouble out here -- and Liam Cassidy is in a big playground! BS: This is the first hardcore match Lord Byron has ever participated in, Don. DD: That's right, Billy Shakespeare. Byron walked away from North American wrestling altogether in 1999 after the tide of the so-called hardcore or extreme style threatened to engulf all other kinds of competition. SR: It was a tide of blood. A damn beautiful tide. DD: Byron saw one of his own most storied opponents, Creed, lose an eye in a hardcore match. One of the great national promotions of the late 90s, based out of Los Angeles, was run amok with hardcore matches. It was all too much for Byron. SR: God love him, Donny-boy. Byron has always believed that a man who can look you in the eye and break your ankle with his bare hands can beat a man who needs a steel chair or a trashcan to do it. DD: And he may be right. Certainly tonight is an opportunity to find out! [Cassidy gets up and drags Byron to his feet. The British aristocrat looks a little glassy-eyed and is all too compliant as Cassidy manoeuvres him such that his back is against the crowd barriers separating the floor section of fans from the ringside area... then winds up, and clotheslines Byron over the railing and into the crowd! Huge pop!] DD: Cassidy is taking this one out into the crowd in the early going here -- but he can only pin Byron if he's in the ring, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Oh, Liam knows that, Don -- he just has some friends he'd like Byron to meet! [Byron picks himself up on the other side of the barrier and, driven by self-preservation, starts to stumble away from the ringside area. Cassidy hops up onto the barrier, grabs another swig from his hip flash, adjusts the angle of his fedora, then drops down into the crowd and heads after Byron, the Drifter quickly catching up with his opponent... and then Irish whipping him directly into a section of fans!] DD: Oh boy. SR: Is Spreads running a mission here, or something?! How did those bums manage to get tickets?! BS: Liam spends some of his paycheck on buying tickets for his most devoted fans. He calls them the Hobo Section. SR: Cassidy is papering the Rose Garden? DD: I don't know about that, Steve Roberts, but the Hobo Section are certainly among the rowdiest of all the fans here in the Rose Garden tonight -- and Cassidy just sent Byron careering into them! [Indeed, Byron disappears into a sea of dirty overcoats and fingerless gloves, as the Hobo Section depend upon him. Cassidy roars with laughter, and then piles in himself. Quickly the rowdy hoboes part, forming a circle around Cassidy, who traps Byron's arms and hits him with a series of headbutts, striking him clean across the bridge of the nose. Big pop! The crowd counts along!] "ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR! FIVE! SIX! SEVEN! EIGHT! NINE!... ...TEN!" [Byron, in desperation, raises his knee up between Cassidy's legs, and then starts to retreat, leaving Cassidy bent double!] DD: Low blow from Byron -- but in this match it's as legal as a headlock! SR: What do you expect Byron to do? A man of class, of stature, of taste... the one British person with teeth as good as his manners... and you throw him into a heaving mass of the very dregs of society. What's a man supposed to do, Ditka? What's a man supposed to do? DD: Somewhere in the middle of that rant, you may have a point. However, we may never know. SR: So we're different colours and we're different creeds, and different people have different needs. DD: Very eloquently put. SR: I gots needs, Ditka. I gots lots of needs. Like a grilled cheese sandwich. Oh, how the Soundbite could use a good grilled cheese sandwich right now. [Byron retreats through the Hobo Section and back down towards the ringside crowd barrier, vaulting over it. Cassidy, meanwhile, gives chase -- and is handed a big brown bottle of liquor by one of his many fans as he does so. Cassidy makes his way back to the barrier, where Byron is waiting for him -- and Byron goes to take a swing at Cassidy, but Cassidy jams a thumb in the blueblood's eye. With a grin on his face, Cassidy takes a big mouthful of rotgut... then palms the bottle and *smashes* it into Byron's head, shattering the bottle and showering liquor everywhere! Big pop!] DD: It was Cassidy spilling liquor on Byron that started all this -- and now Byron's taken another shower in the less than pleasant liquid. BS: I think he's been busted open, Don! SR: Time to see if Byron's blood really *is* blue, baby dolls. [It's not, it's red. And it's trickling down his face, mixed with the stinging brown liquor. Byron staggers backwards, and ends up leaning against the ring apron. Cassidy vaults over the barrier, and rolls Byron into the ring.] DD: This is getting ugly in a hurry -- that looks like a very nasty gash on Byron's head. [Byron gets to his feet and blinks the blood out of his eyes. Cassidy rolls into the ring after Byron and challenges his opponent to take him on. Byron moves towards Cassidy, blood continuing to run down his face, and the two men lock up. Byron immediately takes the upper hand, winding Cassidy's arm up behind him, and taking him down to the mat with a single-leg takedown. Byron stays on Cassidy, putting his body weight on Cassidy's back, pressing his body onto Cassidy's cinched-up arm. The Drifter lashes out with his free arm, catching Byron with an elbow in the ribs that forces the Brit to release him. The two men stand, and immediately lock up again. Byron slips behind Cassidy into a rear waistlock, lifts him and takes him down to the mat, then rides him, slapping the back of Cassidy's head. Heel pop!] DD: Look at that, Billy Shakespeare! Despite having taken one heck of a beating here in the early going, and despite bleeding all over the place, Byron is still confident enough that he is slapping the back of Cassidy's head! BS: This is what I warned Liam about. He mustn't believe that Byron is any less dangerous just because he's bleeding. Byron could tie most people up in knots with both arms tied behind his back -- a little lost blood's not going to slow him down. [Cassidy struggles free of Byron, who wipes some blood from his forehead... and flicks it at the rising Jersey Drifter! Heel pop! Cassidy, angered, flies at Byron -- who neatly side-steps him and puts him down with a drop toe-hold. Cassidy is right back up again, and charges at Byron once more... and this time Byron hiptosses Cassidy... right over the top rope! Big heel pop!] DD: My goodness! What a hiptoss from Byron -- and Cassidy just landed hard on the arena floor! [Cassidy quickly picks himself up, slapping the mat in frustration, but then spots something out of the corner of his eye. As Byron walks over to the ropes and leans through to pull Cassidy back in by his hair... Big pop!] DD: CANE! CANE! Liam Cassidy just nailed Lord Byron with that brass-topped cane! [Indeed, Byron flies backwards after receiving a blow to the forehead with the brass top of his own cane, the aristocrat landing on the mat hard. Cassidy raises the cane above his head to the cheers of the crowd!] BS: There's a bit of poetic justice, Don. Byron allowed that cane to be used by Ryan Faith on Liam Cassidy just a few weeks ago -- and then used it on Derek Rage earlier tonight. Now, finally, Byron has had a taste of his own medicine. SR: It's a bitter, bitter pill, Pukespeare. DD: I don't believe I've ever seen Byron struck by his own cane before. This really is a night of firsts for Byron -- but not necessarily happy ones! [Cassidy enters the ring, still clutching the cane, and brings Byron to his feet. He sends the blueblood to the ropes... and on the return drives the head of the cane into Byron's midsection, doubling him over! Cassidy then brings the cane down hard on the back of Byron's neck, putting the Brit down on the mat! Big pop!] DD: Cassidy seems to be tiring of the cane as a weapon -- and he's heading to the outside again! [Cassidy drops the cane at ringside and looks out into the fans, encouraging them to throw him a weapon. A few balled-up paper cups and empty nacho trays find their way to him... and then he is handed something slender and metallic by somebody in one of the front rows.] DD: What's Cassidy got there? He's getting back into the ring... what is that?! SR: Oh, sweet baby Jesus. Not on Byron's beautiful forehead. Not on his smooth, genetically superior cranium. DD: It's a FORK! FORK! FORK! FORK! [Ditka yells in horror as Cassidy jams the fork into the forehead of his opponent, even the official turning his head in disgust as the Drifter jabs and jabs at Byron's head with the sharp tines of his new weapon. The blood flows freely from the wound on Byron's head, and Cassidy tosses the fork aside, standing and looking at his own blood-stained hands, the formerly white bandage on his right hand now stained with crimson.] BS: Oh my god... what have I done?! Cassidy... Cassidy's revenge was supposed to be a thing of beauty... not this... DD: Sounds more like Mary Shelley than the Bard, Billy? [Cassidy brings Byron to his feet and drags him towards the ropes, where he grinds the face of the aristocrat into the ropes, before slamming him back to the canvas. Cassidy again rolls out of the ring and motions to the fans for more weapons...] DD: Cassidy has got Byron right where he wants him! What does he need with more weapons?! [Several more objects make their way down to Cassidy -- a few cuddly toys, a "YOUR HERO" t-shirt, a half-eaten burger -- but then suddenly Cassidy receives an object which draws a huge reaction from the assembled fans.] DD: Is that a... tricycle?! BS: Oh boy. SR: Damn those tricycles. Of all the gin joints in all the world for that tricycle to roll into... [Cassidy clasps the tricycle in one hand, and yells out in a bemused manner to the front row fans.] LC: What the hell am I supposed to do with this?? [Quickly a chant builds up!] "MOON-SAULT! MOON-SAULT! MOON-SAULT!" LC: Moon-WHAT?! CROWD: Just hit him with it! [Cassidy shrugs, rolls into the ring, and then clobbers Byron with the tricycle!] * CLANG! * [The crowd pops huge as Cassidy tosses the tricycle out of the ring, and drops onto Byron to cover him, Pat Nickrick dropping to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Byron kicks out! Disappointed pop!] DD: So close! Liam Cassidy has really been controlling this match so far, Billy Shakespeare! BS: It's been going pretty much according to plan. But Liam has to stay on Byron, to make sure he doesn't turn the tide. [Cassidy drags Byron to his feet and whips him into the ropes... but Byron has the wherewithal to grab onto the ropes! Cassidy charges at him as he turns, and Byron is able to take a couple of steps forwards, lifting Cassidy and dropping him throat-first across the top rope! Big heel pop!] DD: HOTSHOT! Hotshot by Byron! [Byron chokes Cassidy on the top rope, simultaneously pulling the middle rope up, round and over Cassidy's head -- so that the Drifter's head is trapped between the twisted two top ropes! Heel pop! Byron lifts Cassidy's feet up... and then flips him over the top rope, so that he is dangling by the neck from the ropes! Huge heel pop! Byron slumps in the corner as Cassidy struggles, dangling by the neck, unable to breathe!] DD: Cassidy -- he's hung up in the ropes! This is a very dangerous situation! SR: Aw, let him hang, Donny-boy. [Nickrick immediately tries to spring the ropes free, but Cassidy is trapped. As the official continues to struggle, Byron gets back to his feet, and runs the opposite ropes. Byron bounces off the opposite side of the ring and launches himself with a dropkick at Cassidy, sending him clattering to the arena floor as the ropes finally spring free.] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" [The grim-faced, bloody Byron again slumps to the canvas as Cassidy lies sprawled on the arena floor, clutching at his throat.] DD: My goodness. I've never seen Lord Byron execute anything like it! BS: I'd better go and check on Liam. DD: You stay right there, Billy Shakespeare. SR: Don't give Byron any more of an excuse to kick your ass, Pukespeare. [Nickrick puts the count on both men, Cassidy on the outside and Byron on the inside.] DD: The official is now counting both men out -- this match could be over right here! [As Nickrick's count reaches seven, Byron rolls from the ring to the outside. He drags Cassidy to his feet and rolls him back into the ring.] BS: Byron wants to keep Cassidy in the ring. It's where he feels at home, where he can control the pace of the match. This is going to be bad for Cassidy. [Byron rolls back into the ring after Cassidy and drags the Drifter to his feet. Byron locks in a rear waistlock... and then throws Cassidy with a belly-to-back suplex, dumping Cassidy on the back of his head. Heel pop! Byron stays on Cassidy, bringing him to his feet again and hitting him with an exploder suplex, driving him down onto his head and neck!] DD: Byron now, wrapping Cassidy up and imposing his will upon him! [Byron brings Cassidy back to his feet again, and hits a Rude Awakening reverse neckbreaker! Heel pop! Byron drops his knee onto Cassidy's throat, then brings him back to his feet, sends him to the ropes, and fells him with a clothesline. Byron flips Cassidy onto his belly and applies a rear chinlock, cinching his forearm in low. Nickrick, out of instinct, checks to see if Byron is choking Cassidy, but there's not a great deal he can do about it even if he is. Byron releases Cassidy and brings him to his feet, then snapmares him right back to the canvas before applying another chinlock, Cassidy unable to catch his breath and sagging under the onslaught.] BS: This is what I warned Liam about, Don. Byron is working up to the Coup de Grace. [Nickrick checks on Cassidy's condition, lifting his arm and letting it drop down to his side. Byron keeps the hold locked in tight as Nickrick raises Cassidy's arm a second time... and again it drops to the Drifter's side. The fans start to stomp their feet and clap their hands to encourage the Drifter as Nickrick goes to raise Cassidy's hand a third time!] DD: This could be it! Cassidy could be out! [Nickrick releases Cassidy's hand... and it drops... but not all the way! Huge pop as Cassidy clenches his fist, and tries to fight free! Cassidy, fueled by adrenaline, forces his way to his feet, and pushes Byron off him. He sends the blueblood into the ropes, then shoulderblocks him to the mat on the return! Byron is right back up, and Cassidy sends him to the ropes again. Cassidy sticks his head down, telegraphing his backdrop attempt... and Byron goes to kick Cassidy in the midsection. Cassidy's quick reactions allow him to catch Byron's foot as he straightens up -- but Byron reacts just as quickly, *blasting* Cassidy in the back of the head with a vicious enzuigiri!] DD: My God! What an enzuigiri from Byron! And just like that, he's back in control. [Byron drops onto Cassidy to make the cover... 1... 2... ...and Cassidy kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Cassidy is still alive in there -- but only just! [Byron stays right on Cassidy, immediately applying another lateral press and hooking both legs. Again Nickrick drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...Cassidy kicks out again!] BS: Come on, Liam! [Byron again stays right on Cassidy, rolling him up once again in an inside cradle, and Nickrick yet again makes the count... 1... 2... ...and Cassidy kicks out one more time! Pop!] DD: Liam Cassidy is surviving on pure instinct in there! BS: Come *on*, Liam! DD: Sit down, Billy Shakespeare! SR: Keep your tights on, Pukespeare, for once in your miserable life! [The camera cuts to show Shakespeare standing at the broadcast table, trying to urge Cassidy on from ringside. Byron, the whites of his eyes peering out through his crimson mask, turns and sees Shakespeare standing -- and rolls out of the ring to head towards the announce table.] DD: Steady on, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Do you have something to say to me, Byr--- * THUMP! * [Byron slaps the headset clean off Shakespeare's face, and then grabs Shakespeare by the ruffled front of his dress shirt, leaving bloody handprints on it. Byron hisses insults at Shakespeare, pulling the announcer up so that the two men are nose to nose across the table, but the camera microphones don't pick up their words.] DD: Please... please, Byron, Billy... can we turn our attention back to the match... SR: Let them go, Ditka. It took wrestling naked on a rug in front of a fire for Alan Bates and Oliver Reed to work out their issues. I'm sure Little Willie here would be more than happy with such an arrangement. DD: Hang on -- Cassidy... Cassidy is climbing the turnbuckles! [While Byron and Shakespeare continue to spar verbally, a groggy Liam Cassidy has stepped through the ropes and is climbing up onto the top turnbuckle. Cameras all over the arena start to flash as Cassidy teeters on the top turnbuckle, standing and looking down on Byron, who is still leaning across the table, with handfuls of Shakespeare's shirt.] DD: Oh, dear Lord, no. SR: Jump, you moron! What have you got to lose?! [Cassidy kisses his bandaged right fist -- and then hurls himself from the top turnbuckle, fist outstretched, no particular body shape in mind, his body sprawling as he falls... Shakespeare yanks himself away, dragging Byron across the table, but is unable to completely avoid the impact as Cassidy smashes into Byron and Shakespeare, the table splintering, TV monitors tumbling onto their bodies...] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" SR: Ah, so you *do* wear pants, Ditka. I had it in my mind that you were sitting out here in your smalls, a grilled cheese sandwich on one knee and a basket of fries on the other... DD: Steve Roberts, our announce table has just been demolished, our broadcast colleague Billy Shakespeare is in the wreckage in front of us, and all you can think about is food and undergarments. SR: No love, no learnin', Donny-boy. The Soundbite wants what it wants. Ain't that right, morons? [The fans behind Ditka and Roberts chant "SHOOT, SOUNDBITE! SHOOT!" enthusiastically.] DD: Good grief. Folks, I... I don't know whether this match will continue. Liam Cassidy has just performed one of the *ugliest* suicide dives I have ever seen, destroying our announce table, and catching both Lord Byron and Billy Shakespeare in the impact. SR: It was a thing of beauty. Terrible, terrible beauty. [Pat Nickrick is down on the floor at ringside, counting both men out. As his count reaches five, Cassidy shows signs of life. He pulls himself to his feet, using the referee himself as a leaning post, and the fans give a big pop for the "Jersey Drifter"! Cassidy pulls Byron from the wreckage of the table, and rolls him back into the ring.] DD: My God, Steve Roberts. Lord Byron looks to be in terrible shape! The wound on his head is still bleeding profusely, and he may have sustained broken bones when he was put through that table. SR: It's like something out of "Carrie," Ditka. Did somebody make fun of you, Sissy Spacek? Is it the rising of the red tide? Do you want to go to the prom? DD: Billy Shakespeare... Billy, are you all right? [As Shakespeare picks himself up from the wreckage of the announce table, in the ring, Cassidy brings Byron to his feet. Byron slaps away Cassidy's hands, and tries to send Cassidy to the ropes with an Irish whip... but Cassidy reverses! As Liam comes off the ropes, Byron dives in with a clothesline -- but Liam ducks! Byron wheels around, and...] * BLAM!! * [Huge pop! Cassidy catches Byron with a right hook out of the blue, and Byron is down!] DD: My God! My God! Cassidy just *nailed* Byron with a tremendous left hook! He's out! Byron is out! BS: ..ove...Liam! SR: Ha, your headset's working about as well as you ever did, Pukespeare! [The fans immediately break into a chant of "JUST! ONE! SECOND! JUST! ONE! SECOND!" as Cassidy drops on top of Byron, Nickrick right there to make the count...] DD: It's over! [His hand hits the mat once...] "ONE!" BS: ...go...him! [His hand hits the mat twice...] "TWO!" [And his hand...] "THRREREEOOOOOOHHH!" [Huge disappointed pop as... Byron. Kicks. Out.] DD: Lord Byron just kicked out! Unbelievable! [Cassidy rises to his knees, his face ashen, his face falling into his hands as Byron somehow... somehow... struggles to his knees.] BS: Shake it off, Liam! Stay on him! DD: We can hear you now, Billy Shakespeare, loud and clear -- and this match isn't over yet! [Cassidy lashes out with a kick to Byron's midsection, doubling him over, then puts his head between his legs and goes to cradle him, ready for a cradle piledriver... ...but Byron yanks on Cassidy's tights, dragging the Drifter down to the mat in a pinning predicament! Nickrick is right there! ...1!] DD: No! No! Byron's got him! [Nickrick's hand comes down a second time... ...2!] BS: Not like this! [...but suddenly, Cassidy reverses out of nowhere! Showing he's learned to wrestle, Cassidy rolls Byron up and pins his shoulders down! Nickrick restarts the count... ...1! ...2!] DD: Cassidy's grabbed the ropes! BS: It's a street fight! It's legal! [...3! As the crowd pops huge, Nickrick signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Cassidy gets to his knees, a look of shock on his face, dissolving to elation as Nickrick grabs his arm and raises it, and "Hobo Blues" kicks in over the PA!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... "THE JERSEY DRIFTER"... LIIIIIIIIIAM CAAAAAAAAASSIDY! [Cassidy comes to his feet, unable to believe his win. He climbs unsteadily to the second turnbuckle and raises his fists to the crowd.] DD: I cannot believe it, folks! I cannot believe it! Liam Cassidy has defeated Lord Byron -- and he did it with a wrestling hold! BS: I can't tell you how proud I am of Liam Cassidy right now, Don. SR: Geez, Louise! Pardon me while I fetch my chuck-bucket! DD: Steve Roberts, this is quite a historic moment here. Hang on -- Byron is on his feet! [The bloodied Byron, crimson not only covering his face but also dripping down his chest and besmirching his lilywhite wrestling tights, crawls to his feet and stumbles across to Cassidy, who clambers down from the turnbuckles and looks at Byron warily. "Hobo Blues" fades from the PA and the fans in the arena hush as the two men face one another... ...and Byron offers his hand, a look of resignation on his face.] DD: Is Lord Byron truly offering to shake the hand of Liam Cassidy? What a sign of true sportsmanship! [Cassidy accepts Byron's outstretched hand, to a huge pop from the crowd! Both men shake hands and pat shoulders in a show of respect. Byron raises Cassidy's arm in the air... ...fast as a snake, armwrench by Byron and...] DD: STO!! STO!! DIVING STO BY BYRON!! WHAT IN THE HELL?! [Byron's face is suddenly impassive, cold... Cassidy stumbles to his feet... Byron snatches his hair from behind...] DD: And the Coup de Grace! The match is over -- there's no need for this! [Byron reaches into his trunks... and produces... Heel pop!] DD: What the hell?! Scissors!! Byron's got surgical scissors!! BS: This is too much, Don -- too much! Has Byron not got a single speck of honour in his body?! SR: Honour, class, dignity... and self-respect, Pukespeare. There's no way Byron can let this match stand. [Byron locks Cassidy's right arm in an armbar -- the injured fist that he's ignored throughout the match -- and tears at the taping protecting his hand with the scissors, ripping the protection free! He releases Cassidy, reaches out of the ring and grabs a discarded steel chair. Byron walks back across to the downed Drifter... the chair hanging from one hand, dripping blood down on the prone Cassidy...] DD: What's he's doing now? BS: That's it. I've had enough of this. [Byron snaps the chair shut across Cassidy's left hand... spits once on his rival as the crowd goes berserk in a heel pop, throwing garbage into the ring... Byron sprints to the ropes, just as a burst of feedback is heard from the broadcast booth!] DD: Byron's going to break Cassidy's hand again! NO! [And Byron slams face first to the mat, tripped by a furious Billy Shakespeare! Roar of approval from the crowd!] DD: Shakespeare!! Shakespeare broke it up!! SR: Aw, give me a break! [Byron rolls in the ring staggering back up to his feet -- and is sent crashing to the canvas by a clothesline from an engraged Billy Shakespeare! Byron springs up again... his eyes widen...] DD: And Cassidy! CASSIDY WITH THE STEEL CHAIR!! [Cassidy's back to his feet himself, and hurls the chair at Byron -- who rolls out the ring in the nick of time, backing quickly away from the ring and up the aisle, pelted by cups and garbage from the fans as a frenzied Cassidy beats the ropes with the chair and Shakespeare leaps up to the second turnbuckle. Byron points at Cassidy once... then Shakespeare... mouthing the words... "This isn't over!"] DD: Billy Shakespeare coming to the aid of the man he has coached to victory here tonight... and what a match it has been! ["Hobo Blues" kicks in over the PA once more to a big pop from the crowd, Shakespeare and Cassidy celebrating in the ring as the fans cheer. Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Well, Steve Roberts, what did you make of that? SR: I'll tell you, Ditka. Think as it was, then again it will be -- and though the course may change sometimes, rivers always reach the sea. DD: That's, uh, very profound. SR: Jimmy Page, Donny-boy. Jimmy Page and Led Zeppelin. Good times. DD: I was always more of a Kansas man myself. SR: That does not surprise me in the least, Ditka. DD: Well, we'll surely be rejoined by Billy Shakespeare in just a few moments, but let's move on. In various matches tonight we've seen fighting all over this arena, and even in RCW President Daniel Spreadbury's office... but up next, we're *guaranteed* that the fight will stay in the ring. It's time for the No Escape Three-way Cage Match. [Cut back to a ringside shot of steel ring-fence walls being erected around the ring by members of the ring crew, attaching two fence sections per side of the ring.] DD: As you can see, folks, our dedicated ring crew are assembling the steel cage that will be the battleground in which -- we hope -- this long-running rivalry will be put to rest. Billy Shakespeare has rejoined us here at ringside -- what do you make of this upcoming match, Billy? BS: It's a tough one to call. On the one hand, Dorado is among the most innovative and talented high-flyers I've ever seen. Carmazzi is the embodiment of determination, and a great technician. And LeBlanc is power, explosiveness... SR: ...and swarthy Canuck good looks, right, Pukespeare? The Cat-man does it for Little Willie, right? DD: Will you stop, Steve Roberts?! Folks, let's get back up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / THREE-WAY NO ESCAPE CAGE MATCH: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Orin "The Lynx" Leblanc vs. Vinny Carmazzi vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado [As the ring-crew put the finishing touches to the steel cage, ring announcer Sy Simmons climbs up the steps in one corner of the ring and enters the cage through the door, taking his place in the middle of the squared circle, joining match official Bobby Belshee, who is already there.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one fall, and it is a NO ESCAPE CAGE MATCH! [Big rage-in-the-cage pop!] SS: This match will be decided by a single pinfall or submission. There will be no disqualifications, and no countouts. During the match, none of the competitors may leave the cage. If any of the competitors attempts to leave the cage, he will automatically forfeit the match! [Big thanks-for-clearing-that-up pop!] SS: Introducing the combatants... ["I Stand Alone" by Godsmack kicks in to a big, big pop from the crowd! The lights in the arena drop, and red spotlights in the rig above the ring pulse, throwing a crimson light over the entire arena.] SS: ...hailing from Jersey City, New Jersey, and weighing in at 235lbs... here is... VIIIIIIIIIIINNY CAAAAAAAARMAZZZZZZZZI! [The crowd renews its cheers again as Carmazzi steps out into the aisle. As usual, his skin is glistening with the beads of water from a recent pre-match shower, his dirty blond hair slicked back. As usual, he is wearing his long black wrestling tights with red tear-shaped droplets printed on them. He adjusts his right elbow pad as he steps out onto the stage. His face is set in a determined scowl as he starts down the aisle.] DD: And here is Vinny Carmazzi -- looking very focused on the task at hand tonight. SR: Who's this? DD: Vinny Carmazzi. SR: Who? DD: Vinny Carmazzi, Steve Roberts. SR: Who? DD: Come on, Steve Roberts. I see what you're doing here. SR: No, seriously, who is this? [Carmazzi makes his way down the aisle, fans on either side of the aisle reaching out to touch him. Carmazzi makes no effort to acknowledge the fans at all, remaining focused on the ring -- and more specifically, the steel cage that awaits him.] BS: Carmazzi looks reluctant to get inside that steel cage, Don, and frankly I don't blame him. DD: Absolutely, Billy Shakespeare. This is the first steel cage match in RCW history -- but certainly not the first steel cage match that Vinny Carmazzi has competed in over his 12-year career. Carmazzi knows what these matches can do to you. BS: They can be career-shortening, no doubt about it. SR: Who's this guy? [Carmazzi stands at the foot of the ringsteps, looking up at the imposing steel ringfence walls before him, and appears to gird himself before he walks right up the steps, ducks between the ropes, and stands in the middle of the ring. He goes right to the corner, climbs up on the second turnbuckle, and starts testing the strength and build of the cage with his hands, as "I Stand Alone" fades over the PA.] SS: And introducing... [Jurassic 5's "What's Golden?" begins thumping over the loudspeakers and the RCW fans respond with a lusty round of booing as they recognize whose theme music this is. A loud explosion triggers a shower of golden sparks cascading down over the entrance and through the curtains steps the shapely and curvaceous figure of Jodee Burwick to a chorus of wolf whistles from the appreciate male members of the audience. Burwick smiles broadly as she pauses at the top of the aisle, hands held high in the air as she points directly above the cage.] DD: What's going on? Where's Dorado? BS: Don't tell me the "Walking Boy" has walked yet again?! [But as all eyes and camera lens turn towards the area above the cage, a single golden spotlight shines on a shimmering cascade of reflections from a myriad of small golden discs suspended high in the air. This blinding spectacle turns out to be a familiar slender, muscular man wearing a new glittering golden robe made up of what appear to be highly polished coins.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Jodee Burwick... hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 236lbs... here is... "GOOOOOOOOLDEN BOOOOOOY" NOOOOOOOLAN DORAAAAAADO! DD: That's definitely not walking... that's flying! [Dorado, dazzling to the eye as the spotlight reflects off his new robe, is suspended by two ropes as he raises his arms to either side in double bicep bodybuilder pose while hanging in mid-air. As "What's Golden?" continues to play, he is slowly lowered towards the ground next to the cage as the crowd screams insults and epithets up at him.] BS: Dorado choosing an... unconventional way to make an entrance... DD: He certainly likes to be the center of attention! [Jodee Burwick marches quickly down the aisle to join Dorado as he lands beside the cage, his trademark golden wraparound sunglasses hiding his eyes as "The Golden Boy" flashes a megawatt smile at the nearest camera. Burwick helps unfasten the ropes and remove the robe of shining golden coins as Dorado then mounts to the top of the stairs and flexes his biceps once again. Before stepping into the cage, Dorado pauses long enough to remove his sunglasses which he then stretches like a slingshot before flinging them over towards the announce table where they land in front of Ditka, Shakespeare, and Steve Roberts.] BS: [sarcastically] Oh look, Don... he's offered us a souvenir! DD: That'll get us, what? Five cents on eBay? SR: And that's about fifty bucks more than the going rate for a signed Don Ditka headshot. Though I did have a headshot once... DD: And how did that work out for you, Steve Roberts? SR: Give it a rest, Ditka. I'm not a performing pony, turning tricks for sugar lumps and a good grooming from my special little princess. [Dorado enters into the cage and swaggers around the ring, his brilliant smile fading as he stretches against the ropes while his music begins to die down.] SS: And finally... ["Do The Evolution" by Pearl Jam begins booming over the loudspeakers and the fans respond with a loud cheer.] SS: ...hailing from St. Catherine's, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 275lbs, here is... OOOOOOOORIN "THE LYYYYYYNX" LEBLAAAAAAAANC! [The cheering grows even louder but nothing seems to be happening near the entrance curtains. Suddenly, all eyes and heads turn towards a section of the bleachers where a commotion can be seen. From amidst the fans themselves, LeBlanc marches into view with a half-smile on his face surrounded by a rough two-day growth of stubble. Several RCW security guards accompany him to keep the crowd from getting too close but several adventurous fans reach forward and clap hands on the big Canadian's brawny shoulders.] DD: Orin LeBlanc making his entrance from out of the crowd and you can see how much they have taken to the big, burly "Lynx". SR: And how about you, Pukespeare? How have you taken to this big, burly man? BS: Steve Roberts, I've been put through a table already tonight -- what makes you think I'm in the mood for listening to your verbal effluent now? SR: Need I remind you who's single-handedly saving you two morons from losing the attention span of the same crowd who can watch a re-run of "Monk" and still not work out who did it? DD: I like that show! SR: Figures. A cable network will happily commission a show about an ugly guy with obsessive compulsive disorder, but will they commission the Soundbite's great unscripted drama show? No, no, they won't. DD: Dare I ask what your great unscripted drama concept is, Steve Roberts? SR: It's simple, yet devastatingly compelling. Big Poppa Soundbite, Jessica Alba, Mandy Moore, Natalie Portman, and a big bathtub full of jell-o. DD: Right. Anyway, LeBlanc is making his way down through the crowd now. [LeBlanc moves as if to head down through the crowd towards the cage when a high-pitched voice overrides his entrance music and "The Lynx" pauses to check out the source of the interruption.] V: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE, LEBLANC! [The fans begin booing and jeering lustily as the source of the strident voice is revealed to be none other than Jodee Burwick, who brandishes a sheaf of papers as she struts beside the cage holding a wireless microphone to her bee-stung lips. In the cage, Nolan Dorado looks on with an expectant smirk on his face.] JB: DON'T YOU DARE COME ON STEP FURTHER OR I'LL HAVE YOU ARRESTED!! [This announcement increases the volume of the booing as LeBlanc merely stares across the distance at Burwick, an amused grin on his face.] DD: What is this harpy up to now? BS: I'm not sure, but whatever it is... it doesn't look as if it's caught LeBlanc off guard at all. It's almost as if he expected something from Burwick. [Indeed, LeBlanc folds his muscular arms across his broad chest as he stands there amongst the fans, waiting for Burwick to continue.] JB: Earlier today, I went before a local magistrate and explained to them about your "unwanted attentions". You're a menace, LeBlanc, and right here... [Burwick raises the papers in her hand high into the air.] JB: ...this is a court order preventing you from coming anywhere within one hundred feet of me! Go back to your locker room and sulk, bozo! You're not going to be in this match tonight and if you try to come any closer... YOU'LL BE TAKEN AWAY IN HANDCUFFS!!! DD: What the--?! That can't be legal! BS: If it is, it certainly is a unique way of eliminating one of Dorado's opponents right off the bat, Don! [The crowd's response is one of disbelief and scorn as they loudly heap verbal abuse down on the uncaring Burwick who strikes a pose beside the cage, a triumphant smile on her face. The smile fades somewhat, however, as LeBlanc does not retreat but rather is handed a microphone of his own.] OL: Ya know, Miz Burwick, I'd like to think that, despite all my troubles involvin' that slack-jawed crotch maggot o' a man you call yer boyfriend up there runnin' away all the time, I've acted pretty damn professional around you in spite o' yourself! My folks always taught me to treat my elders with respect an' I thought I was doin' so... [A loud cheer bursts from the fans at the dig against Burwick's age as both Dorado and Rip City Wrestling's resident "cougar" glare angrily at the big Canadian. LeBlanc is unfazed by this as he has the hint of a smile on his face now despite the circumstances.] OL: ...but I can see now the error o' my ways. Where exactly I went wrong. An' that needs to be addressed. So Miz Burwick, I apologize for thinkin' you were worthy o' respect in the first place! [An even louder cheer and this time Burwick's response is a livid temper tantrum as she screams unladylike epithets. "The Lynx", however, quickly cuts her off.] OL: Even when you were layin' yourself out like a cheap Chinese buffet, I left you alone. Every time you threw yourself at me, I turned you down. I never did one improper thing around you. You know it, I know it, the Man Upstairs an' all these fans know it. Even Dorado playin' Tweety Bird right now knows it as much as he hates to admit it! Speakin' o' which, I got business to attend with him... [Dorado rattles the bars of the cage futilely as he hollers at LeBlanc, who steps easily over the guardrail.] JB: DON'T YOU DARE MOVE, LEBLANC! [She thrusts the papers in front of her as if they were a shield.] JB: I've GOT the order... arrest him!! [Burwick frantically looks over at the security guards over by LeBlanc, who haven't budged from their place. The hint of a smile that was earlier on the Canadian's face has finally broken out into an all-out grin.] OL: Yeah, you got an order... looks an awful lot like the one I had issued against you *yesterday*! [The outbursts of cheering and applause earlier are dwarfed by the deafening ovation that greets this announcement as both Burwick and Dorado adopt matching open-jawed expressions of shock and disbelief.] DD: Ha! Quite brilliant! Orin LeBlanc has outmaneuvered Jodee Burwick at her own game!! BS: Ill deeds are doubled with an evil word... and Jodee Burwick is discovering just what her words have cost her! OL: All these weeks, you left a long video trail o' evidence behind you. I made sure I documented everythin' with my lawyer. An' found me a judge in the twenty-first century mind o' legalities who agrees that if anyone was doin' any sort o' harassin', it was YOU! Since my order came out earlier, if you get within one hundred feet o' ME, it'll be you the one arrested. Which means, you can't stay at that cage anymore during my match. Gentlemen, if you will... [The security guards surround LeBlanc finally move but towards Burwick much to the delight of the crowd and despite the vehement protests of both Burwick and Dorado. As the guards herd Burwick away from the ring, LeBlanc gives her a small wave.] OL: [calling out after her] I warned you. You only have yourself to blame for this... ma'am! [This final insult is too much as Burwick attempts to launch herself back at LeBlanc only to be restrained by the guards. The vitriol and expletives that she screams in the big Canadian's direction are fortunately not picked up by nearby microphones but it's clearly evident that she's abandoned any pretense of civility. Dorado looks on in dismay as LeBlanc slowly climbs the steps and enters into the cage as the crowd's cheering grows even louder.] DD: Nolan Dorado will have to do without the... *ahem* "services" of Jodee Burwick at ringside as she's being escorted to the back courtesy of a court order obtained by Orin LeBlanc. BS: Perhaps now we'll see this match take place without any outside interference. [LeBlanc looks across the ring at Carmazzi and Dorado. He moves towards Carmazzi, raising his palms to him and apparently trying to extend an olive branch.] DD: Having taken care of one problem, Orin LeBlanc now seems to be trying to smooth things out with Vinny Carmazzi here. LeBlanc, of course, inadvertently nailed Carmazzi with a chair -- but Carmazzi now believes that LeBlanc and Dorado could be working together. BS: I don't entirely blame Vinny, Don... SR: You don't entirely blame anybody, you gutless wonder. Come on, Pukespeare. The Mets or the Yankees? BS: Both teams have had a lot of success. SR: The Bears or the 49ers? BS: Uh... SR: Star Wars or Star Trek?! BS: Er... SR: Ashley Judd or Judd Nelson?! BS: Who are they? SR: In the name of all that is holy, Pukespeare, will you just take sides for once! [Carmazzi doesn't seem too impressed by LeBlanc's offer of friendship, and moves past the burly Canadian -- piling right into Dorado with a forearm uppercut! Bobby Belshee signals for the bell...] * DING! DING! DING! * [...and the match is underway! Carmazzi sends Dorado for the ride and hits him with a Thesz press on the return, pinning him to the canvas and pounding away with hard right hands as LeBlanc looks on. Dorado is forced to cover up under the onslaught, and Carmazzi grabs one of Dorado's arms, placing his hand in Dorado's armpit and lifting Dorado's arm, twisting it painfully. Dorado grabs at his shoulder with his free arm, and then reaches up and grabs a handful of Carmazzi's hair, yanking back on the New Jersey man's head, reducing the leverage on his arm somewhat, and allowing him to clamber back to his feet. With Carmazzi still hanging on, Dorado runs to the ropes, jumps up on the second rope, and then leaps backwards, back into the ring, twisting in mid-air and dropping Carmazzi to the mat with a modified bulldog! Big pop!] DD: Tremendous counter from Dorado! BS: And now he's going after LeBlanc! [Dorado pops up from Carmazzi, and executes a lightning-quick standing dropkick on LeBlanc, knocking the big Canadian back into the ropes. Quick as a flash, Dorado flips towards LeBlanc with a handstand, winding up with his legs around the neck of the Lynx, and attempts to flip him backwards with a modified hurricanrana -- but LeBlanc hangs onto the ropes, preventing Dorado from getting the necessary leverage. LeBlanc grabs hold of Dorado, and in a tremendous display of power, hefts him up so that he's perched on his shoulders. The camera catches a brief look of panic on the face of Dorado -- but before LeBlanc can powerbomb him back to the mat, Nolan reaches out his hands and grabs hold of the steel cage wall, pulling himself up and off LeBlanc's shoulders. As LeBlanc turns to grab Dorado down, the "Golden Boy" launches himself off the side of the cage with a back elbow, knocking the Canadian down to the mat! Big heel pop!] DD: Another incredible counter from Dorado! SR: He's quicker than a hiccup, baby dolls. I like this kid -- he doesn't know when he's beat. [Carmazzi is by now back up on his feet, and he waits a moment as Dorado picks himself back up... and then charges him from behind, clipping his knee and taking him down to the mat! Pop! Carmazzi works quickly, grabbing Dorado's leg and applying a spinning toe-hold. LeBlanc stands, and immediately moves to join in the assault, grabbing Dorado's other leg. LeBlanc and Carmazzi look at each other -- and then apply a double stomp on Dorado's inner thighs! Pop!] DD: Looks like Carmazzi and LeBlanc are going to try working with each other after all, Billy Shakespeare! BS: However much they may have issues with each other, Don, they want to take Dorado out even more. [Carmazzi and LeBlanc each grab one of Dorado's arms, bringing him back to his feet and sending him to the ropes with a double Irish whip. On the return, Dorado ducks under a clothesline attempt from LeBlanc -- and runs right into a spinning heel kick from Carmazzi! Big pop! LeBlanc grabs at Dorado, bringing him right back to his feet, and then puts him right back down again with a uranage! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi and LeBlanc are now taking it in turns to beat on Dorado! SR: I've not seen this kind of two-on-one man-on-man action since that tape of Little Willie here leaked onto the Internet. DD: Steve Roberts... SR: Don't you want to know what it was called, Donny-boy? DD: Steve Roberts, there's no such tape. SR: Come on, Donny-boy, play along with the Soundbite. Won't you play along with the Soundbite? DD: Fine. What was it called? SR: King *Leer*. Get it? Huh? Get it? DD: Very droll, Steve Roberts. BS: I'm sitting right here, you know. SR: So you are. Make yourself useful -- go fetch me some biscuits! [Carmazzi immediately grabs at Dorado's leg again, flipping the hapless Tacoma native onto his belly and applying a half Boston crab. LeBlanc, meanwhile, stomps away at the back of Dorado's head. Bobby Belshee steps in to admonish LeBlanc, but his powers to prevent this kind of double-teaming are limited. LeBlanc draws himself to his full height in front of Belshee, who visibly shrinks back from the Canadian with the notoriously short temper. Meanwhile, Dorado drags himself to the ropes, pulls himself up to the second rope, then ducks his head down, rolling through the half-Boston crab and yanking Carmazzi towards the ropes -- the back of Carmazzi's head hits steel! Heel pop!] DD: Yet again Dorado is forced into an inventive counter! [Carmazzi staggers forwards into the ring, and Dorado comes to his feet, bouncing off the ropes himself and then launching himself with a back elbow to the back of Carmazzi's head, knocking him to his knees. Dorado, quick as a flash, turns right back around with a dropkick to the back of Vinny's head, felling the man from New Jersey and leaving him on his belly in the ring. Mischievously, Dorado walks across the small of Carmazzi's back, drawing a heel pop from the crowd. Dorado turns -- and is met by a thunderous clothesline from LeBlanc! Big pop!] DD: That's poetic justice for you! SR: Hogwash. Poetic justice would be this rhyming dictionary next to us being locked away where he can do no further damage to the English language -- or to impressionable young wrestlers. BS: Still sitting right here, Steve Roberts. SR: Where are my damned biscuits, Pukespeare?! [LeBlanc grabs Dorado's right arm, and applies an armbar, cinching it in tight. LeBlanc looks over at Carmazzi as Vinny pulls himself back to his feet, and the two men lock gazes.] DD: An unusual move for LeBlanc to be using, Billy Shakespeare. BS: I think LeBlanc is sending a none-too-subtle message to Vinny Carmazzi, Don. LeBlanc is not going to just stand aside and allow Carmazzi to have his way in this match -- LeBlanc won't play second fiddle to the rivalry between Carmazzi and Dorado. SR: I played second fiddle once. DD: I'm not even going to ask. [Carmazzi gets the Lynx's message loud and clear, walks right up to LeBlanc -- and stomps on LeBlanc's arms, forcing him to break the hold! Big pop! LeBlanc gets right to his feet, and LeBlanc and Carmazzi stand nose-to-nose in the middle of the ring. The fans buzz as the two men jaw at each other!] DD: Uh-oh... I believe we may see an end to the ceasefire! [Indeed, suddenly LeBlanc winds up with his big right hand and hits Carmazzi with a big soupbone, staggering him. LeBlanc stays on him, following up with another right hand, and another, and another, until he has Carmazzi backed up against the ropes. LeBlanc sends Carmazzi for the ride, on the return grabbing his opponent and hitting him with a tremendous tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! Big mixed pop!] DD: LeBlanc is bringing out the big guns! [LeBlanc gets right back up from his kneeling position... and stomps right on Vinny's hand! Big mixed pop!] DD: Was that deliberate?! BS: I believe so, Don -- LeBlanc wants to neutralise Carmazzi's Kimura Armbar... apparently at any cost. SR: Perhaps I underestimated LeBlanc. Could he be the first decent Canadian since Derek Mota? [Carmazzi grabs at his hand, his face showing the pain he feels in his fingers, and he's defenceless as LeBlanc brings him back to his feet, locks in a rear waistlock... and then hefts Carmazzi up and over with a German suplex! Big mixed pop! Still not done, LeBlanc brings Carmazzi back to his feet again, bends him double, crosses his arms underneath his chest... and then hoists him up -- then brings him crashing down!] DD: CROSSED-ARM POWERBOMB! Carmazzi may be out of it! [Rather than cover Carmazzi, LeBlanc instead picks himself up, and turns his attention to Dorado. Dorado begs off, but LeBlanc is having none of it, grabbing the Golden Boy and sending him with an Irish whip into the ropes. But Dorado jumps up and lands on the top rope with one foot, bouncing off that to plant his other foot on the high side of the cage wall as he flips over backwards to crash down on top of the Lynx with an extraordinary high-elevation springboard Asai moonsault! Big, big pop!] DD: WHAT A MOONSAULT! BS: Unbelievable. SR: What is this, an Ang Lee film? Hey, Pukespeare, what did you think of that last film of his? DD: Dorado... Dorado is going right back to the top buckles! [Indeed, Dorado goes right back to the corner, vaults nimbly up onto the top turnbuckle, turns himself around with a single hop, and then launches himself with an attempted elbow-drop on LeBlanc... but the Lynx rolls out of the way at the last moment! Big pop!] DD: LeBlanc saves himself -- and now he needs to shake off those cobwebs! [As Dorado kicks his feet on the mat, clutching his sore elbow, LeBlanc pulls himself to his feet again. Carmazzi, meanwhile, has rolled to one side of the ring, and lies recuperating from LeBlanc's assault. LeBlanc grabs Dorado and plants a kick to his midsection, doubling him over. The Lynx hoists Dorado up onto his shoulders, making ready for a powerbomb. LeBlanc turns, Dorado on his shoulders, as cameras flash all over the arena! But before LeBlanc can bring Dorado crashing down, suddenly LeBlanc's legs are taken out from under him -- by a chopblock from Carmazzi! Huge pop as LeBlanc tumbles backwards, Dorado landing hard on top of him, and Carmazzi picks himself back up!] DD: Carmazzi knocks LeBlanc down! And that was an ugly landing for the Lynx! [Carmazzi stays right on Dorado, grabbing hold of his arm, yanking him up, and then down flat onto his back. Vinny grabs Dorado's wrist and cinches it into a "figure four"-style wristlock, then cranks Dorado's arm backwards! Huge, huge pop!] DD: KIMURA ARMBAR! KIMURA ARMBAR! CARMAZZI'S GOT HIM! [But the fans' cheering is short-lived as Dorado quickly manages to snake his free hand around to Carmazzi's face and repeatedly jabs his thumb into the New Jersey native's eye, forcing him to relinquish his hold as the fans boo the "Golden Boy" viciously!] BS: Not the prettiest of counter-holds I've ever seen -- but effective! [Carmazzi stumbles to his feet, rubbing his eyes, and Dorado hops back up, working the kinks out of his right arm. Carmazzi checks his position in the ring, making sure he's not too close to the ropes. Dorado comes at him, but Carmazzi ducks behind him, wrapping the Golden Boy up in a sleeperhold!] BS: Notice how Carmazzi always moves towards the center of the ring, Don. He doesn't want to be anywhere near those ropes or the steel cage beyond them. DD: And he's got Dorado in a sleeper right in the middle of the ring! [But Dorado uses his greater strength and weight to shove both men backward so that the back of Carmazzi's head is rammed into the bars of the cage. This stuns Carmazzi and forces him to release his grip so that Dorado is able to spin around, grab the smaller man and lift him high upside down to drop him onto the top of his head with a painful brainbuster! Heel pop!] BS: Again Dorado counters the attack! [As Carmazzi lies prone, Dorado hops back to his feet and turns around -- to be met by a clubbing blow from LeBlanc, felling him with a huge clothesline! Big pop! LeBlanc stays on Dorado, bringing him back to his feet, and winding up to whip him into the opposite corner. Dorado hits the corner with such force that he flips upside down, and ends up hanging from the top turnbuckle! Big pop!] DD: TREE OF WOE! TREE OF WOE! BS: And now here comes LeBlanc! [The huge Canadian gives a big yell and launches himself across the ring after Dorado... executing a baseball slide that connects directly with Dorado's head! Big pop!] DD: My God! My God! Right in Dorado's face! BS: Don, he's busted right open! [Indeed, as LeBlanc roughly grabs Dorado's legs, flipping him down to the canvas, the camera catches a close-up of his face. Dorado seems to be bleeding not only from his nose, but also from a cut under his right eye.] DD: My goodness -- Dorado's nose has got to be broken, and that's a nasty cut under his eye. SR: He'll suck it up, Donny-boy. BS: He's going to have to -- here comes LeBlanc again! [LeBlanc drags Dorado to his feet and whips him into the ropes. Cameras all over the arena flash as LeBlanc presses Dorado up above his head on the return! LeBlanc holds Dorado there for just a second... but suddenly LeBlanc is hit with a dropkick from Carmazzi, which knocks LeBlanc down with Dorado on top of him, and Carmazzi dives on top of the Lynx for good measure! Big pop as Belshee drops to make the count! 1... 2... ...and LeBlanc kicks out, rolling Dorado off his body! Big pop!] DD: Even with both men on top of him, LeBlanc has the upper body strength to kick out! SR: He's a bear, right, Little Willie? BS: He's very powerful, certainly. [Carmazzi and Dorado each grab one of LeBlanc's arms... and then find themselves looking at each other. The moment passes -- and Carmazzi and Dorado work together to slingshot LeBlanc into the ropes! On the return, they both put their heads down for a double backdrop... but LeBlanc sees it coming, and... HUGE POP!] DD: DOUBLE DDT! DOUBLE DDT! BS: LeBlanc just put *both* Carmazzi *and* Dorado down! And now all three men are down! [The crowd stamp their feet in encouragement as all three men lie in the ring, their chests heaving, LeBlanc and Carmazzi beaded with sweat, Dorado bleeding from his nose and the cut under his eye. Chants compete as groups of fans do their best to rouse their favourites...] "VIN-NY! VIN-NY! VIN-NY!" "O-RIN! O-RIN! O-RIN!" "NO-LAN SUCKS! NO-LAN SUCKS!" [Okay, so the fans aren't trying to encourage all three men.] DD: Just listen to these fans, Billy Shakespeare! BS: What an incredible atmosphere it's been here in the Rose Garden all night -- and with our main event and the Lights Out match still to come, these fans have got plenty more to cheer about! DD: Let me tell you something I've been impressed with in this match, Billy Shakespeare: Nolan Dorado hasn't made any attempt to escape this cage. BS: You're right, Don. I think Dorado came into this match wanting to prove himself, wanting to show that he's the real deal. Both Carmazzi and LeBlanc are here for their pound of flesh -- but I believe Dorado wants to rise above that and fulfill some of the incredible potential he displays. SR: Blah, blah, blah. Leave it to the Soundbite to tell it how it really is, morons: Dorado wants to win this match. He can't win the match if he leaves the cage. Simple cause and effect, people. Cause and effect. A butterly flaps its wings in China, and Katharine McPhee's panties drop to the floor at the end of Big Poppa Soundbite's bed. Y'all hear me? Hollah! DD: Who's Katharine McPhee? SR: She's America's sweetheart, dumbass. Sweet pipes, even sweeter rack. You know what I'm sayin', morons? [The fans behind the announce desk chime in with their customary response:] "SHOOT, SOUNDBITE! SHOOT!" DD: Good grief. [Meanwhile, Bobby Belshee's count has reached six... seven... and all three men begin to stir, the fans' cheering and stamping finally rousing them all. All three men eventually get back to their feet! Carmazzi grabs an arm and sends Dorado racing towards LeBlanc with an Irish whip so that the big Canadian can take his head off with a running clothesline. But the nimble Dorado performs a baseball slide between the big man's legs -- as LeBlanc continues charging forward and ends up ploughing into Carmazzi instead!] DD: What a miscue! LeBlanc knocks Carmazzi to the mat! [Dorado smirks as he kips to his feet and races up from behind, grabbing LeBlanc by the back of his head as he runs past him to jump up and drive the Lynx's face into the canvas with a running bulldog. Carmazzi gets back to his feet, drags LeBlanc to his feet with a stony look on his face, and lights up his chest with a series of reverse knife-edge chops!] * SMACK! * "WHOOOOO!" * SMACK! * "WHOOOOOOOOOO!" * SMACK! * "WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" [Carmazzi backs LeBlanc up against the ropes, and sends him for the ride. Carmazzi takes only a couple of steps forwards, then quickly ducks his head down and backdrops the approaching LeBlanc... very close to the ropes! Big mixed pop as LeBlanc sails over the ropes and collides hard with the steel ring-fence cage wall, slumping to the apron between the ropes and the cage wall!] DD: My goodness! Carmazzi deliberately backdropped LeBlanc right into the wall of the cage! BS: Dorado's up on the ropes -- look out! [Indeed, Dorado has climbed to the top rope, in spite of his increasingly bloody face, and is perched up on top, about to launch himself at Carmazzi. Carmazzi lunges at the ropes, knocking Dorado from the buckles... and landing gingerly, crotched on the turnbuckle! Sympathetic pop from the men in the crowd!] DD: Now *that's* got to hurt! SR: Unless you're a eunuch. DD: I very much doubt Nolan Dorado is a eunuch, Steve Roberts. SR: When was the last time you heard the word "eunuch" on a wrestling broadcast, morons? Don't ever say Big Poppa Soundbite doesn't broaden your horizons! Don't say it! [Carmazzi moves to the corner, climbing up the buckles and dragging the stunned Dorado up to his feet, Carmazzi climbing all the way up to the top turnbuckle, so that both men are standing perched on the top... cameras flash all over the arena as the fans buzz in anticipation of what comes next... and then... HUGE POP!] DD: BELLY-TO-BELLY SUPLEX OFF THE TOP ROPE! "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Carmazzi and Dorado have got to be broken in half! They've got to be broken in half! [All three men are down, but it's LeBlanc who stirs first, rolling back under the ropes and pulling himself to his feet. He stalks over to Carmazzi, brings him to his feet... and then plants him face-first into the mat! Big pop!] DD: SNOWBLIND! SNOWBLIND ON CARMAZZI! [LeBlanc wastes no time in grabbing Dorado, bringing him to his feet... and then plants *him* face-first to the mat as well!] DD: ANOTHER SNOWBLIND! SNOWBLIND ON BOTH MEN! BS: That Guillotine facedriver is devastating! DD: LeBlanc now -- going for the cover on Carmazzi! BS: Dorado is down! LeBlanc's got him! [Belshee drops to the mat to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Carmazzi kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Carmazzi is still alive in there! But look at LeBlanc -- he's getting frustrated! [LeBlanc drags Carmazzi back to his feet, hooking one of his legs, and then hoisting him up... and bringing him down hard on his head!] DD: FISHERMANBUSTER! LeBlanc is firmly in control here! [LeBlanc turns his attention back to Dorado, dragging him to his feet, and Irish whipping him with tremendous force, actually sending him off his feet and flying upwards into the cage! Dorado's bloodied face bounces off the cage, and he staggers back into the ring, where he is planted to the mat with a running bulldog from LeBlanc, leaving a bloody print on the canvas! Big pop!] BS: LeBlanc is just running wild in there! [LeBlanc drags Dorado back to his feet yet again, and lifts him up for a vertical suplex... holding him vertical as cameras flash all over the arena... holding him vertical, walking to the side of the ring, and... dropping him gut-first over the top rope! Big pop! LeBlanc follows up with a big boot to the head of Dorado, sending him crashing back to the mat on the inside!] DD: What endurance here from the Lynx. He's got to be running on pure adrenaline right now! [LeBlanc turns his attentions back to Carmazzi again, and wraps him up into an inverted surfboard with an inverted facelock. Carmazzi's face is etched in pain as his body is twisted and stretched by the Lynx!] DD: MISSING LYNX! LeBlanc has Carmazzi in the Missing Lynx, and Vinny has nowhere to go! [Belshee checks on Carmazzi, but the New Jersey man refuses to give up! LeBlanc keeps the hold locked in, and doesn't notice as the bloody Dorado drags himself to his feet, moves to the corner, and climbs up the buckles. The fans buzz as Dorado unsteadily balances himself on the top rope and pauses... before starting to climb the cage!] DD: My God -- is Dorado trying to escape?! [Dorado climbs a few feet more above the buckles... but goes no further! Without even looking backwards over his shoulder, he pushes himself off the cage, launching himself with a moonsault, landing hard on both Carmazzi and LeBlanc, breaking up the hold! Huge, huge pop!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: What an unbelievable moonsault from Dorado onto LeBlanc and Carmazzi! All three men are out of it! [Once again the fans start stamping their feet and clapping their hands, urging the three combatants in the ring to pick themselves up and continue beating the hell out of each other! Carmazzi and Dorado are the first to stir, pulling themselves exhaustedly to their feet. Dorado takes a wild swing at Carmazzi, who ducks underneath the swing and slips behind Carmazzi, grabbing him and preparing for a German suplex -- but suddenly LeBlanc is up, grabbing *Carmazzi* from behind, and hefting *both* men up, in a double German suplex! Huge, huge pop!] DD: DOUBLE GERMAN SUPLEX! Have you ever seen anything like that, Billy Shakespeare?! BS: Unbelievable power from LeBlanc! Unbelievable! SR: Holy hot damn! [LeBlanc stays right on Dorado, picking him up and hoisting the Golden Boy up onto his shoulders for an attempted Death Valley Driver -- but Nolan manages to shift his body around the bigger man's thick neck so that he can plant his feet against the bars of the cage, kicking off and twisting so that he pulls the top of the Lynx's head down into the canvas with a devastating Tornado DDT variation! Huge pop!] DD: Yet *another* incredible counter from Dorado! He has both of his opponents incredibly well-scouted here tonight! BS: This could be his night, Don. This could be Dorado's night! [Dorado picks himself up... and walks right into a jumping Rude Awakening from Carmazzi, *snapping* Dorado down to the mat! Big pop! Carmazzi picks himself up... and points up to the sky! Huge pop!] DD: Carmazzi... Carmazzi is going to climb?! BS: Unfamiliar territory for this mat-bound technician, that's for sure! [Carmazzi runs to a corner, springboards onto the top turnbuckle... uses that to springboard onto a side of the cage... then quickly pushes off that into a leg drop across Nolan's throat! Cameras flash all over the arena as Carmazzi executes the flying legdrop! Huge, huge pop!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Cover him, Vinny! Cover him! [Carmazzi does so, and Belshee drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...and LeBlanc yanks Carmazzi off Dorado! Mixed pop!] DD: LeBlanc wants to be the one to finish this match -- but Carmazzi is certainly not happy about that! [While Carmazzi and LeBlanc engage in a shoving match, Dorado is once again dragging himself to his feet. Carmazzi nails LeBlanc with a hard uppercut right, staggering him back against the ropes. Carmazzi works quickly, grabbing the second rope and lifting it up over LeBlanc's arms, tying him up in the ropes! Carmazzi continues to pelt LeBlanc with hard uppercuts, the Lynx attempting to lash out with his legs... but Carmazzi dodges out of the way. He turns around... and is met by a tremendous spinning heel kick from Dorado! Heel pop!] DD: Dorado has Carmazzi down! LeBlanc is trapped -- and Dorado is climbing! [Dorado is yet again up on the turnbuckles, facing into the ring. He looks down on Carmazzi in the middle of the ring... and then turns and starts to climb the cage yet again! Carmazzi is motionless in the ring, and LeBlanc is still struggling to free himself! And then, cameras flashing all over the arena... Dorado launches himself with a beautiful backflip, rotating backwards and extending his leg... attempting to drop the leg on Carmazzi, and...] DD: Modified Golden Guillotine from Dorado -- AND IT MISSES! [Huge, huge pop as Carmazzi dodges out of the way of the inverted somersault legdrop, and immediately Carmazzi grabs hold of Dorado's right arm, cinching in a "figure four" wristlock, and then wrenching back!] DD: KIMURA ARMBAR! KIMURA ARMBAR! BS: Carmazzi was playing possum! Unbelievable! [As LeBlanc struggles vainly to free himself from the ropes, Carmazzi leans back as hard as he can, trying to break Dorado's arm! Belshee checks on Dorado, and the fans are on their feet, cheering, wanting to see the moment Dorado is forced to tap... ...and Dorado's free hand hits the mat three times! Huge pop! Belshee calls for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He did it! He did it! Carmazzi has made Nolan Dorado tap to the Kimura Armbar! [As "I Stand Alone" kicks in over the PA, Belshee forces Carmazzi to release the Kimura armbar, and Dorado rolls to one side of the ring, clutching at his right arm. At that moment, LeBlanc finally manages to free himself from the ropes!] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by submission... VIIIIIIINNY CAAAAAAAAARMAAAAAAAAZZI! [Carmazzi allows Belshee to raise his hand in victory -- but then LeBlanc shoves Belshee away. "I Stand Alone" fades from the PA as Carmazzi and LeBlanc stand face-to-face in the middle of the ring again.] DD: Uh-oh -- business could be about to pick up here! [Carmazzi and LeBlanc stare at each other for a moment, and the fans hush in anticipation. LeBlanc extends his right hand to Carmazzi, who looks down at the offered hand...] DD: Will Carmazzi shake LeBlanc's hand, after the beating these two put on each other in this match? [...and Carmazzi accepts, to a big pop from the crowd! LeBlanc raises Carmazzi's arm as "I Stand Alone" kicks in again, before the Lynx leaves the ring through the door in the cage that has now been opened by the official.] DD: A tremendous display of sportsmanship from the Lynx! SR: He should have creamed Carmazzi and stuffed him into a cannoli. BS: There's clearly a lot of respect between LeBlanc and Carmazzi -- and perhaps even more than before, after they have taken the best that the other can dish out in this match. [LeBlanc makes his way up the aisle as Carmazzi looks down at Dorado, who has pulled himself to a sitting position and is still clutching his right arm, his right eye now more or less swollen shut and blood drying on his face from his busted nose.] DD: Just look at Nolan Dorado in there, Billy Shakespeare. He looks like he's been in a terrible car accident! BS: Dorado certainly took all kinds of punishment in that ring tonight, but he so nearly had this match won on a number of occasions. DD: You can't fault the effort. He fought with everything tonight... absolutely everything. SR: Don't you two morons be getting all teary-eyed about some punk kid who couldn't get the job done. Sure, Dorado's got some good moves -- but when it came down to the wire, he came up short. Deal with it, baby dolls! DD: Well, I may not agree with Steve Roberts's assessment, but there is certainly argument that, after all the things Dorado has done to Carmazzi, and after all the trouble Jodee Burwick has caused for Orin LeBlanc, he got what was coming to him. [Carmazzi doesn't make any effort to help Dorado to his feet, instead simply turning and walking from the cage, making his way back up the aisle, now finally extending his hands to the fans on either side of the aisle and acknowledging their support. Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Now, folks, it's very nearly time for tonight's main event. We're going to see the RCW Champion, Johnny Pleasence, defend his title in what is a hotly-anticipated encounter with the number one contender, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. It feels like we've been waiting for this night to come for months, Billy Shakespeare! BS: We have, Don, and finally it's time for the big match. DD: Let's get up to the ring! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / MAIN EVENT: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / RCW CHAMPIONSHIP: /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ Johnny Pleasence (c) vs. "Pistol" Paul Driscoll [A shot of the ring shows that the steel cage has now been disassembled by the ring crew, and Sy Simmons now stands in the middle of the squared circle, raising the microphone to his lips once more. RCW head official Juan Morales slides into the ring behind him.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is tonight's MAIN EVENT! [Big pop from the jam-packed Rose Garden audience!] SS: This match is scheduled for one fall, with a sixty minute time limit, and it is for the RCW CHAMPIONSHIP! [Big all-the-marbles-on-the-line pop!] SS: Introducing first, the challenger... [The instantly recognizable beginning to "Walk All Over You" by AC/DC blasts out into the Rose Garden as the fans give a huge pop!] SS: ...hailing from Odessa, Texas, and weighing in at 263lbs... he is the number one contender... "PIIIIIIIIIISTOL" PAAAAAAAAAUL DRRRRIIIIIIIISCOLL! [The curtains are quickly swept aside and out from the back strides "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, paying no attention to the fans. Driscoll is clad in dark blue wrestling trunks, with matching boots and kneepads. His hands are heavily wrapped up in white athletic tape, much like a boxer. Driscoll also wears a sleeveless denim vest to the ring.] DD: Here comes the challenger! This is the night he's waited for, Billy Shakespeare! BS: What an opportunity for Driscoll here tonight, Don. In a way, it's a shot at redemption, a shot at proving himself to be the wrestler he has always said he is. Driscoll gets Pleasence, one on one, and may the best man win. DD: But will it be one on one, Billy Shakespeare? We know that wherever Johnny Pleasence is found, typically Dave Bryant and Ryan Faith aren't far behind -- not to mention Matilda! SR: Ah, Matilda. The bat-shit crazy girl with fashion sense to match. BS: It's a good point, Don. Pleasence rarely comes alone -- but Pleasence has just as much to prove in this match. DD: Indeed he has. I've certainly made no secret of the fact that I don't think Johnny Pleasence is the kind of champion that RCW needs. I don't think he's any kind of champion, in fact. SR: Hey, come on, Donny-boy. Like him or not, you can't deny that Pleasence is one sick son of a bitch. DD: No argument from me on that point, Steve Roberts, but there's more to Pleasence than simply ultra-violence. He's an unscrupulous man who will take any shortcut that presents itself at any time. SR: And what's your point, Ditka? BS: Paul Driscoll, by contrast, has always kept within the rules. He has always shown that the end does not always justify the means. DD: How will he approach this match tonight? He certainly looks to be very focused indeed! [Driscoll's chin length, wavy brown hair is shiny and wet looking, slicked back against his head, although he shakes it loose as he walks. As he enters the ringside area, Paul quickly hops up the steel stairs and enters the ring, whipping off the denim vest and throwing it outside, then ascending the nearest turnbuckle, raising one hand into the air and surveying the crowd. Big pop!] DD: Driscoll has a lot of support here in the Rose Garden tonight, which I'm sure is more than we'll be able to say for the RCW Champion! BS: We're about to find out! [Indeed, "Walk All Over You" fades from the PA and Simmons raises his microphone once more.] SS: And introducing the champion... [Huge heel pop as "Into The Night" by Tommy Iommi kicks in over the PA!] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Matilda, hailing from London, England, and weighing in at 236lbs... he is the RCW CHAMPION... JOOOOOOOOHHHHHHNNY PLEEEEEEAAAAAAASENCE! [The lights go out, signalling the arrival of the World Champion... and the crowd doesn't like it one bit.] # And you say you wanna live forever... # And you've got all the time to kill... # And you're living in the dark forever... # In your own little private hell... # Ow! # I wanna rule this world! # I wanna walk the night! # I wanna bleed this girl # Gonna take it all night 'til the morning light- # Ow, I wanna lead this world... # I wanna wake the dead... # And all the undead souls who walk the night # They can suck my... # [The lights go back up to full power as the song kicks in. Johnny Pleasence and Matilda Agutter come out the back to a huge heel crowd pop. Matilda's clad in her usual blood red dress, while the champion is oddly dressed in a black t-shirt and black jeans, a pack of cigarettes rolled up in one sleeve, and his World Title on his other shoulder. Needless to say, the champ looks *focused*. As the song continues, Pleasence hurriedly heads to the ring, getting in and immediately asks for a ring mic.] JP: Before... [The boos continue.] JP: Bloody hell, let me say my piece! Before we begin... [Pleasence shoots a look at Matilda.] JP: ...there needs to be a sacrifice. [Matilda's eyes go wide, everyone looks on with interest.] JP: Not you, ducks. *Mine*. [Pleasence suddenly hauls off and punches himself in the forehead -- once, twice, three times, repeatedly until... ...he starts to bleed. The crowd gasps as Pleasence wipes the blood off his face and wipes it on the belt, chuckling to himself before slinging the belt back across his shoulder. Grabbing the mic once again, he snarls... ] JP: Never say I didn't sacrifice myself for that soddin' thing! Tonight, each and everyone of you get to find out what happens when I do! [And with that, he throws the mic down, and hands the bloodied title belt to Juan Morales, who holds it above his head to a big pop from the crowd!] DD: That's what this is all about, Steve Roberts. SR: The strap. The belt. The big cahuna. The gouda. The roulade. The pasta sauce. DD: I lost you somewhere around "the belt", Steve Roberts. BS: Both men look super focused here tonight, Don. DD: That they do, Billy Shakespeare. And I think Juan Morales is about ready to get this one underway! [Morales hands the belt off to a ringside attendant, and signals for the bell to start the match!] * DING! DING! DING! * [Pleasence walks right up to Driscoll, and the two men stand jawing in the center of the ring, nose to nose, as the fans cheer and buzz in anticipation of the inevitable collision. And it comes sooner than they thought, Pleasence winding up and unleashing a hard slap across the face of Driscoll, who rolls with the blow!] "OOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" [Driscoll looks right back into Pleasence's eyes, the expression on his face giving nothing away!] DD: Driscoll just took that slap, and what's he going to do about it? BS: I think Driscoll is doing his best to keep his temper in this match, keep his cool. If Pleasence isn't able to frustrate Driscoll, he'll have a harder time getting his own way in this contest. [Pleasence winds up once again, and goes for a forearm shot -- which Driscoll blocks! The crowd pops as Driscoll fires back with shots of his own, backing Pleasence against the ropes, and he then shoots Pleasence across the ring with an Irish whip, lunging at the champion with a lariat, but Pleasence ducks underneath it, wheels around, and immediately lands a kick on Driscoll's left knee! Heel pop!] DD: Pleasence unsurprisingly going right for Driscoll's chief weakness! [Driscoll grits his teeth and backs off, turning around, and eats a big forearm shot to the neck! Driscoll is rocked back on his heels, and Pleasence follows up with two more big forearms to the neck, before grabbing Driscoll's left leg and applying a single-leg takedown, immediately applying as much torsion as he can on the left knee, stumping it with his boot. Driscoll reaches up with his hands and grabs Pleasence's hair, yanking on it in an effort to break the hold. Morales comes in to admonish Driscoll -- and while the referee is trying to force him back, Driscoll nails Pleasence in the nether regions with his fist! Surprised pop from the crowd!] BS: Driscoll cleverly going behind the official's back to hit Pleasence with a low blow! DD: A call directly from Pleasence's own playbook! [Pleasence staggers backwards, and Driscoll rises, buffetting the champ's head with a series of forearm shots of his own. Then Driscoll sends Pleasence to the ropes again, and on the return catches Pleasence in position for a uranage! Pleasence elbows his way free, spinning around behind the challenger and hitting him with a belly to belly suplex! Big heel pop!] SR: Toss that useless cowboy out of his boots, Johnny! DD: I should have known which side you'd pick in this match, Steve Roberts. SR: The Soundbite is attracted to greatness, and greatness is attracted to the Soundbite, Donny-boy. [Pleasence walks right over to Driscoll and again plants a big boot behind the challenger's left knee, then drops and applies a rear chinlock, jawing to Driscoll as he locks in the chinlock as tightly as he can. Driscoll again grabs at Pleasence's hair, but Morales again steps in. On the outside, Matilda is strangely subdued, watching the match with little emotion showing on her face. Driscoll forces his way to his feet... then lifts Pleasence off his feet and drops him with a modified side suplex! Big pop!] BS: Great counter-wrestling from Paul Driscoll! [Driscoll hops to his feet and now it's his turn to use his boots to put the beating on Pleasence, drawing a big reaction from the crowd! Pleasence rolls from the ring, to the jeers of the crowd -- but then the champion spins around, grabbing Driscoll's legs and *yanking* him down to the mat, before pulling him out of the ring, and then *whipping* him hard into the steel barriers at ringside! Heel pop!] DD: No stalling from Johnny Pleasence tonight -- he's determined to fight this one bell to bell! [Driscoll arches his back painfully after the collision with the barriers, and steps forwards, only to be lifted by Pleasence and dropped across the champion's knee with a backbreaker! Heel pop! Pleasence again drags Driscoll to his feet, wheels around, and sends him *clattering* into the steel ringsteps! Another heel pop!] DD: Juan Morales is putting the count on both men, but it doesn't look as if Pleasence cares! BS: These two men just want to beat the hell out of each other, Don. SR: The heart wants what it wants. And what it wants is blood! [Pleasence drags Driscoll back to his feet and attempts to whip him into the steel ring post at the adjacent corner -- but Driscoll reverses the whip attempt, and it's Pleasence who's sent for the ride, colliding shoulderfirst with the ringpost, and hitting the arena floor hard! Pop! Driscoll marches after the groggy Pleasence, dragging him to his feet and leaning him against the ringpost. Then Driscoll winds up... and attempts a Discus Punch on Pleasence, against the post... BIG HEEL POP!] DD: Pleasence dodged out of the way! Driscoll just punched cold, hard, unforgiving steel! BS: He may have broken his hand right there, Don! What a risk to take early in the match! [Driscoll clutches at his hand, his knuckles already reddening and beginning to swell, and is powerless to prevent Pleasence rolling him back into the ring, breaking Morales's count. Pleasence himself rolls back in after Pleasence, and immediately stomps on Driscoll's right hand. Heel pop! Pleasence aims a well-placed kick at Driscoll's left knee for good measure, forcing Driscoll to cover up, and then immediately kicks him in the neck, knocking him to the mat! Heel pop!] DD: Johnny Pleasence is literally kicking seven shades out of Paul Driscoll here! BS: Notice how Pleasence is focusing on several body parts -- not just the knee, but also the neck, the back, and now the right hand. This is more than just pure opportunism: this is great tactics. DD: Certainly Driscoll can't have expected to have suffered an injury that effectively neutralises one of his signature moves so early in the match. It lengthens the odds of us seeing a new RCW Champion crowned here tonight. SR: As if it was ever in doubt, Ditka! Pleasence has always had Driscoll's number. We're just watching it unfold! [Pleasence drags Driscoll to his feet, subduing him by applying a quick wristlock on his injured right hand, then sends him to the ropes. On the return, Pleasence lifts Driscoll up, and drops him behind him, hotshotting him over the top rope on the other side of the ring. Heel pop! Driscoll staggers back into the middle of the ring, and Pleasence plants him to the mat with a snap DDT! Another heel pop! The champion makes the cover, being sure to hold Driscoll's right hand down to the mat with as much pressure as he can muster... 1... 2... ...and Driscoll kicks out! Big pop!] DD: Beautifully executed DDT from Johnny Pleasence, but not enough to put Driscoll away just yet! [Pleasence stays right on Driscoll, immediately applying a cobra clutch on the challenger that wrenches on his lower back. For good measure, Pleasence makes sure that he gets Driscoll's right hand under his boot, and grinds away at the injured hand! Heel pop!] BS: Paul Driscoll really needs to step up the pace of this match, Don. While Pleasence is able to work on these damaged body parts, Driscoll is forced onto the back foot. DD: And Pleasence is colder and more vicious tonight than I have ever seen him before, Billy Shakespeare. [Driscoll reaches out with his left hand, and is able to reach the bottom rope. Morales puts the count on Pleasence, who finally breaks the hold after the count of four. Pleasence stands, wiping a trickle of his own blood from his face, and stares down at the Mexican official, challenging him. Driscoll rolls to the outside, clutching at his right hand. Pleasence turns, and goes to grab Driscoll and bring him back into the ring, pulling him up onto the apron by his hair. Driscoll hits out at Pleasence with a big uppercut forearm, staggering the champion, but Driscoll hangs on, hitting him with another big blow... and then he slings the champion's arm over his shoulder. The crowd pops in anticipation!] DD: Oh my... is Driscoll going to suplex Pleasence from the inside to the outside?! [He is! Driscoll lifts Pleasence up, and applies as much rotation as he can, Driscoll himself tumbling backwards to the floor -- but the champion flying further, flying and landing, gut-first, across the steel crowd barriers! Huge, huge pop!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Paul Driscoll has just bought himself some time! Johnny Pleasence has been hung out to dry on the steel crowd barrier! BS: But Driscoll took quite a bump there as well, Don. [Matilda scurries over to Pleasence, helping him off the barrier, and tending to him. Driscoll, meanwhile, drags himself to his feet, and rolls into the ring to break Morales's count, before rolling right back out again. He rounds on Matilda and Pleasence, grabbing the champion away from the grasping arms of his main squeeze, and blasts him with a shot to the midsection, then lifts him with a gutwrench and hits him with a gutbuster across his knee!] DD: Paul Driscoll is taking control! [Driscoll allows Pleasence to drop to the arena floor, then hits him with a hard stomp to the midsection, before dragging him back to his feet and rolling him back into the ring. Driscoll climbs back in after his opponent, who is picking himself up. The Texan grabs Pleasence and sends him for the ride... and on the return, he hoists Pleasence up onto his shoulders, hooks one arm over his neck, the other over one leg, and wrenches down as hard as he can! Big pop!] DD: TORTURE RACK! TORTURE RACK! BS: Pleasence has just got to be ravaged with pain right now! [Driscoll's face reddens as he keeps Pleasence locked into the torture rack. Pleasence reaches out behind him with his right hand, and is somehow able to get hold of the top rope. He pulls on the rope as hard as he can, and manages to fell Driscoll backwards, Pleasence himself tumbling over the top rope and saving himself on the apron. Heel pop!] DD: A great counter by Pleasence -- and now both men are down! [Pleasence rolls back into the ring, and both he and Driscoll pick themselves back up. The two men meet once more in the middle of the ring. Driscoll goes to throw a punch with his right fist, but stops short, remembering his injury -- and that's enough of an invitation for Pleasence, who jams a thumb directly in Driscoll's eye. Morales steps inbetween the two men, admonishing the champion, and Pleasence simply shoves the Mexican official aside, before launching a lightning-quick blow to Driscoll's private parts, bending him double. As Morales wheels around again, all he sees is Pleasence dropping Driscoll to the mat with a vicious DDT! Big heel pop! Pleasence signals to Matilda to pass him a cigarette, and his main squeeze obliges. As Driscoll lies prone on the mat, Pleasence takes a couple of big drags.] DD: Johnny Pleasence now... we've seen this before. BS: The champion's cigarette breaks usually end badly for his opponents! [Pleasence bounces incredibly lazily on the ropes, and takes a few lazy steps across the ring...] DD: Pleasence going for the Pleasantries from England, and... NO! An absolutely *vicious* knee drop onto Driscoll's neck! BS: That could collapse Driscoll's larynx! [Pleasence takes one more drag on the cigarette, and then flicks it onto the prone form of Driscoll. Heel pop! Morales stubs out the cigarette and removes it from the ring as Pleasence drags Driscoll to his feet, locking his head and arms and bringing his knee up repeatedly in Driscoll's midsection, hitting him again and again and again, until finally he takes Driscoll down to the mat with a short-arm clothesline. Pleasence immediately follows up with a boot scrape to Driscoll's forehead, and then drops onto the Texan, punching and punching and punching and punching at Driscoll's forehead! Heel pop!] DD: The intensity of Johnny Pleasence is quite frightening in this match, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Are we witnessing the emergence of the *real* Big Bad here tonight, Don? SR: You're damned right you are, baby dolls! Johnny Pleasence is finally showing his true colours. The stalling, the cowardice... all a big act. Pleasence is downright dangerous, baby dolls! DD: Oh -- oh, Billy Shakespeare, Driscoll has been busted open! [Indeed, the camera shows that Pleasence's boot scrapes and punches have opened up a nasty cut on Driscoll's forehead, and blood is already starting to run down into his eyes. Morales turns his attention back to the ring as Pleasence drops an elbow across Driscoll's neck, then applies a chokehold! Heel pop! Morales is quickly on Pleasence, putting the count on him. Pleasence releases the choke hold after the count of four, raises his hands to the official -- and then immediately starts choking Driscoll again! Again, Morales puts the count on Pleasence... and this time he physically has to remove the champion's hands from Driscoll's throat! Pleasence again squares up to Morales, but only for a moment: he is too focused on Driscoll to waste time on the official.] DD: Pleasence now, dragging Driscoll to his feet... and whipping him hard into the corner! [Driscoll collides with the turnbuckle at speed, the top buckle crashing into his sternum. The Texan staggers backwards... and Pleasence grabs his neck from behind, yanking him down to the mat with a sit-out reverse neckbreaker! Pleasence kicks Driscoll onto the apron, then the champion slingshots himself over the top rope, landing brutally with one foot on Driscoll, and the other foot on the ringsteps! Huge heel pop!] DD: What a heinous move! A curbstomp on Driscoll! SR: That's the Big Bad End, Ditka! And that's the end of Driscoll, baby dolls! BS: You want to talk about having the wind knocked out of you, Don... Driscoll may have suffered a cracked rib or fractured sternum right there! [Pleasence strolls down the ringsteps, a big smile on his face, and encounters Matilda, whose hands are close to her nether regions, and who has a slight flush about her face.] SR: Hey, look at the crazy chick! She's getting all hot under the collar! Turned on by ultra-violence... that's my kind of woman, baby dolls! DD: This pair simply disgust me, Steve Roberts! [Pleasence smiles at Matilda, but he quickly turns back to the ring, sliding in under the bottom rope. He pulls Driscoll back into the ring and back to his feet, then sends him to the ropes. On the return, Pleasence hits him with a double fist to the chest, and Driscoll goes down hard. Pleasence immediately drops onto him to make the count... 1... 2... ...and Driscoll kicks out! Big pop!] DD: I don't know how Paul Driscoll does it, Billy Shakespeare! He's got an injured hand, an injured knee, he's been choked, stomped on, slammed... and yet he simply will not quit! BS: It just shows you how much the RCW Championship is worth to Paul Driscoll -- and what it would mean to defeat Johnny Pleasence here at Wild Summer Night! [Pleasence stands, and picks up Driscoll's left leg. With a smirk on his face, Pleasence wrenches on the leg as hard as he can, drawing yells of pain from Driscoll, and drawing little moans of pleasure from Matilda on the outside. Pleasence yanks and wrenches on the leg, twisting it every which way he can, stumping it, tearing at it... The crowd is on its feet, furious with the Big Bad!] DD: My God! Pleasence is an animal! That's a man's leg, not a piece of meat, you monster! BS: This is very bad for Driscoll, Don. If he can't get free of this, he may not be able to even stand, let alone beat Pleasence here tonight! [Pleasence wraps up Driscoll's left leg with his own, and drops backwards onto the canvas! Big heel pop!] DD: FIGURE FOUR! FIGURE FOUR! BS: This could be it for Driscoll... SR: It's only a matter of time now, baby dolls! [Pleasence leans back, applying as much pressure on the knee and leg of Driscoll as he can. Driscoll grabs at his bloody face, the pain shooting through his body almost unbearable. He places his hands palm downwards on the mat, leaving a bloody hand-print, and Morales is there, eagle-eyed, watching for the tap-out!] DD: Come on, Driscoll! Don't give up now! BS: Don, Driscoll may *have* to give up, if he doesn't want to suffer potentially career-ending damage to that knee. SR: Yeah, let's all listen to Pukespeare, here. Live to fight another day, Driscoll! Who cares if you're a loser on the biggest stage of your career so far?! DD: Steve Roberts, there's no shame in submitting to a devastating hold like a figure four leglock, particularly after the beating Driscoll has taken in this match. SR: You keep telling yourself that, Donny-boy. [Driscoll lifts his hand off the mat... he looks to be about to drop it down to submit... and the crowd is on its feet, clapping and chanting for him!] "LET'S GO DRIS-COLL! LET'S GO DRIS-COLL!" DD: Just listen to these fans! BS: Driscoll may not always care for the fans, but right now, they're trying to help him get out of this hold and beat Johnny Pleasence! SR: What the hell do these morons know?! What are they going to do, go and get [Driscoll's hand continues to hover above the mat... but then he clenches it into a fist! Big pop!] DD: Driscoll's not going to submit! He's going to find a way out! [Driscoll reaches out behind him for the ropes... but they are just too far away from his fingertips!] DD: He's going to have to get Pleasence on his belly! Come on, Paul! [With Pleasence still applying as much pressure as he can, Driscoll tries to roll himself over, trying to get Pleasence over onto his belly, and thus reverse the hold. Driscoll strains... and strains... and he manages to lift Pleasence's shoulder off the mat! The crowd pop like crazy as Driscoll *does* flip the champion onto his belly, and suddenly it is Pleasence who yells out, as the leverage is reversed and his own leg is put under strain! Pleasence quickly extricates himself from the hold, and both men get back to their feet, Driscoll pulling himself up on the ropes, heavily favouring his left leg.] DD: Driscoll is free! Driscoll is free! Now take it to him! Take him out! SR: Geez, and people say that *I'm* biased. [Pleasence marches towards Driscoll and tries to whip him towards the opposite side of the ring, but Driscoll reverses, and, adrenaline pumping through his veins, he launches himself at Pleasence with a Thesz press, knocking the wind out of the champion as he hits the mat hard. The crowd is on its feet as Driscoll rips at Pleasence's forehead, and then unleashes a volley of hard left hands on the champion, left hand after left hand after left hand after left hand, until Pleasence is groggy and glassy-eyed, the cut on his forehead now bleeding freely.] DD: Driscoll has really opened up that self-inflicted cut on the head of Johnny Pleasence, Billy Shakespeare! BS: He may not be a southpaw, but those punches from Driscoll's left hand are pretty effective! Both men are bleeding heavily. That may affect how much longer they can go at this kind of pace, Don! [Driscoll brings Pleasence back to his feet, positions Pleasence such that Pleasence's body blocks the referee's view, and *blasts* the champion in the nether regions, doubling him over! Big pop!] DD: Pleasence getting a taste of his own medicine, and these fans love it! [Driscoll roughly places Pleasence's head between his legs, and then executes a devastating gutwrench powerbomb on the champion! Huge, huge pop! Driscoll drops onto Pleasence, and makes the cover!] "ONE!" DS: He's got him! He's got him! "TWO!" DS: We have a new champion! "THREEEEOOOOOOOOOOOHHHH!" BS: Pleasence kicked out! Pleasence kicked out! SR: Damn skippy he kicked out. He's the Big Bad, morons! [Driscoll brings Pleasence right back to his feet and sends him for the ride again. On the return, Driscoll grabs him and executes a powerslam! Big pop!] DD: What rotation on that powerslam! Pleasence is reeling! [Driscoll drops an elbow across the chest of the champion, then drags him to his feet once again. He slings Pleasence's arm across his shoulder... and then *drives* him down to the canvas with a uranage! Another big pop!] DD: URANAGE! Cover him, Driscoll! You've got him! [But Driscoll doesn't cover Pleasence. He brings the winded champion to his feet yet again, and executes a beautiful bridging fisherman's suplex, holding Pleasence's shoulders down to the canvas!] "ONE!" DS: Beautiful suplex! He's got him! "TWO!" DS: This time, surely! "THREEOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" [Pleasence somehow gets his shoulder out again. Driscoll comes to his knees, and puts his hands on his hips. He looks up at the referee, as if implying that the count may have been slow.] DD: Don't let this put you off your game, Paul! Stay on him! You can beat him! SR: You're like the Fox News of play-by-play, Ditka. [Driscoll brings Pleasence back to his feet yet again, and attempts to whip him into the opposite corner. Pleasence attempts to reverse the whip, and send Driscoll into the near corner instead... but then Driscoll reverses a second time, and sends the champion flying at a tremendous pace towards the opposite corner... BIG POP!] DD: Oh my -- Pleasence just collided with Juan Morales, and the official is down! SR: Ref bump! Ref bump! Now the fun and games can begin! [Pleasence staggers backwards as Morales goes down, and Driscoll grabs him from behind, lifting him and planting him with a German suplex. Big pop! Driscoll performs a boot rake on the forehead of Johnny Pleasence, opening up the maw of the wound even wider. Another big pop from the crowd!] DD: Finally Driscoll is able to take out all that frustration on Pleasence, without Pleasence taking it out on him! SR: This is outrageous! Driscoll's cheating! We need another official out here! [Driscoll grabs Pleasence, brings him to his feet, and hoists him up for a suplex... then shifts him in mid-air and brings him down hard with a brainbuster! Big pop! The champion is reeling as Driscoll drags him to his feet, whips him against the ropes, and then hefts him up onto his shoulders. The crowd pops huge!] DD: DEATH VALLEY DRIVER! DEATH VALLEY DRIVER! [Driscoll brings Pleasence *crashing* down to the canvas, and makes the cover... but there's no official to make the count! The crowd chants the pinfall they wish they could see:] "ONE!" "TWO!" "THREE!" [Driscoll looks up, and Morales is still motionless. He stands, and goes over to the official... and meanwhile, Matilda rolls into the ring, clutching a steel chair! The crowd yells at Driscoll to turn around, and he does, just as Matilda is bringing the chair up to swing it at him. Despite being rumbled, Matilda swings the chair at Driscoll anyway -- but the Texan catches it, and snatches it from her. He brandishes the chair himself, and the crowd cheers him on, encouraging him to take a swipe at her!] DD: Will Paul Driscoll strike Matilda with a steel chair?! How far will he go?! BS: He won't do it, Don, despite these fans encouraging him to do so! He's not that kind of man! SR: What a crock, Pukespeare. If Driscoll isn't willing to crack a chick's skull in order to get the strap, he doesn't want it nearly enough. Just ask yourself: WWJD? DD: WWJD? SR: "What Would Johnny Do?", you potato farmer! DD: I come from Illinois. SR: And they don't have potatoes in Illinois? [As Driscoll weighs up his options, he is unaware that Johnny Pleasence has got unsteadily to his feet behind the Texan. Matilda slides from the ring, and Driscoll watches her grab a *second* steel chair, and toss it over his head. Driscoll wheels around, just as Pleasence grabs the steel chair, and brings it crashing down on Driscoll's head! Huge heel pop!] DD: My *God*! What a chair shot! Driscoll has got to be out! [Driscoll lies on the canvas as Pleasence grabs the chair dropped by Driscoll and unfolds it in the corner of the ring. He takes the other -- now rather malformed -- steel chair and lays it in the centre of the ring. The fans buzz in anticipation of what the Big Bad is going to do. Pleasence grabs Driscoll, and hoists him up on his shoulders.] DD: Is Pleasence going for the Manchester Driver, his own version of the Death Valley driver? [But Pleasence doesn't immediately drop Driscoll with his Manchester Driver. Instead, he steps up onto the steel chair in the corner of the ring, Driscoll still on his shoulders, and then puts one foot up on the middle turnbuckle, and then puts his other foot on the top turnbuckle... and as cameras flash all over the arena, Pleasence executes a Manchester Driver *from the top rope*, bringing Driscoll crashing down with tremendous force on the steel chair lying in the middle of the ring! Deafening, roof-raising heel pop!] DD: MY GOD! MY GOD! "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: MY GOD! Pleasence just executed the Manchester Driver all the way from the top rope -- right onto a steel chair! BS: But the official's still down! [Pleasence rolls Driscoll off the steel chair and shoves it out of the ring as Matilda shakes Morales from the arena floor to rouse him. Morales stirs, and sees Pleasence covering Driscoll in front of him. Weakly, he lifts his arm, and lets it hit the mat... ...1!] DD: No! Not like this! [Morales lifts his hand a second time, as the fans in the arena continue to boo and jeer Pleasence... ...2!] DD: Come on, Driscoll! Come on! [Morales lifts his hand a third time... ...3!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: He did it! He did it! BS: Unbelievable! SR: I knew it, morons. I knew it, and I called it, right from the start! ["Into The Night" by Billy Idol and Tommy Iommi kicks in over the PA again, as the fans let Pleasence know exactly what they think of his continued title reign.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, your winner, by pinfall... and *STILL* RCW CHAMPION... JOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHHNNY PLEEEEEEAAAAAASEEEEEENCE! [Matilda slides into the ring, carrying the RCW Championship belt, and hands it to Pleasence, who looks down at his precious title, a trickle of blood running down his nose and dropping onto the big gold plate of the belt. And then suddenly the crowd pop even louder!] DD: Hang on a minute -- hang on a minute! It's Faith and Bryant! [Indeed it is. Ryan Faith and Dave Bryant are running down the aisle, much to the dismay of the crowd, and roll into the ring to congratulate Pleasence. The fans jeer as both Faith and Bryant take it in turns to congratulate the bloodied but unbowed Pleasence, and then the three men look down at the mat, where Paul Driscoll is still lying prone!] DD: Oh, I do not like the look of this! BS: Faith, Bryant and Pleasence have had their differences -- but it looks very much as if they're all on the same page right now! SR: Come on, Johnny! Finish the job! DD: *Finish* the job?! Paul Driscoll has gone down after an incredible display on his part, after being hit with a Manchester Driver from the top rope, *onto a steel chair*! What part of the job needs finishing, Steve Roberts?! SR: He's still breathing, morons! [Faith and Bryant drag the prone Driscoll to his feet, and hold him up for Pleasence, who winds up and kicks him in the private parts, then grabs him as he bends double, and *drops* him with a sit-down facebuster! Huge heel pop! The timekeeper rings the bell repeatedly to request help as Pleasence's music is cut from the PA.] * DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! DING! * [Faith drags Driscoll to his feet, and underhooks his arms, then hoists him up... and *drives* him to the mat!] DD: TEST OF FAITH! This is obscene! We need some help out here! [Faith drags Driscoll right back to his feet, and holds him up, as Dave Bryant measures him... measures him... and *blasts* him with a superkick!] DD: CALL ME IN THE MORNING! Bryant just about took Driscoll's head clean off! Somebody has got to come out here and impose some order! [And suddenly, as if answering the call, the fans are on their feet and popping huge, as a figure comes pelting down the aisle, dressed in jeans and a vest top, to the delight of the capacity crowd!] DD: IT'S MARK COLEMAN! MARK COLEMAN! [Coleman hits the ring at a heck of a speed, charging right at Bryant and clotheslining him out of the ring to a huge pop! Faith pounces on him, but Coleman reverses his Irish whip attempt, and whips Faith into the ropes. Faith grabs hold of the ropes with a smirk on his face -- but that smirk is wiped right off it as Coleman charges at him, and clotheslines him out of the ring and practically out of his boots. Then Coleman turns into the ring to face Pleasence, and... HUGE HEEL POP!] DD: Pleasence just charged Coleman down with that title belt! Damn him! Damn that son of a bitch! [Indeed, Pleasence *nails* Coleman with the big gold belt, felling him with tremendous force. And Matilda then grabs at the arm of the champion, pulling him away from Coleman and Driscoll in the ring. Pleasence complies, rolling under the bottom rope, and retreats up the aisle, bringing Faith and Bryant with him. The fans jeer and shout insults at them as they go, but Pleasence couldn't care less: he holds the belt up above his bloodied head, and nods to the fans.] DD: Damn that Johnny Pleasence! It's not enough to beat a man -- he has to try and destroy him! SR: That's what it means to be the Big Bad, Ditka. You'd better get used to it, because I can't see anybody -- not Driscoll, and certainly not that rookie Coleman -- knocking him off his perch anytime soon. [In the ring, Coleman sits up, rubbing his forehead and trying to blink away the stars he's seeing, and moves over to Driscoll, talking to him. He brings Driscoll to his feet, the Texan favouring his left leg and holding his right hand gingerly across his body -- and receives a huge pop from the crowd!] "DRIS-COLL! DRIS-COLL! DRIS-COLL! DRIS-COLL!" ["Walk All Over You" kicks in over the PA as Coleman helps Driscoll from the ring, and Driscoll shrugs off Coleman's assistance in order to walk unaided up the aisle, receiving the applause of the fans.] DD: Mark Coleman showing Paul Driscoll the respect he deserves, as are these fans here in the Rose Garden. Just listen to this standing ovation! SR: I never could understand these Portland morons. Why cheer for the loser?! DD: Because they are proud of how Paul Driscoll has carried himself in this match, Steve Roberts. There's no shame in losing with honour. SR: Donny-boy, if you really believe that, I despair for you. I truly do. [Coleman follows behind Driscoll, receiving his fair share of adulation from the fans on either side of the aisle.] DD: And thank goodness for Mark Coleman, Billy Shakespeare! He defeated Akitoshi Ogawa here earlier tonight in a gruelling submission match, but he still came to the aid of Paul Driscoll. BS: There are few men in RCW that Mark Coleman dislikes more than Johnny Pleasence, Don. Pleasence had better watch himself -- that young man from Tennessee may just come a-knocking! [As Driscoll limps back behind the curtain, Coleman right behind him, cut back to the announce position at ringside.] DD: Well, folks, that tremendous championship match marks the end of the sanctioned matches for this evening, and as you can see, our ring crew is already going to work. [Cut to a shot of the ring crew replacing the ring aprons with the RCW logo printed on them with plain black aprons. One man is even untying the turnbuckles in the ring, since they are also adorned with the RCW logo. Sy Simmons steps into the ring to make an official announcement.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been asked to inform you that RCW Wild Summer Night has officially concluded. On behalf of the RCW Board of Directors, and RCW President Daniel Spreadbury, thank you very much for attending. You have played a tremendous part in making this event so successful! [Big pop from the by-now exhausted fans!] SS: Please note that any further wrestling action that may take place in the Rose Garden tonight is *not* sanctioned by RCW, and any persons who remain in the arena do so at their own risk. The house lights will be dimmed in three minutes -- please be careful leaving the arena, and have a safe journey home! We look forward to seeing you at another RCW event here in the Rose Garden very soon! [With that, Simmons steps out of the ring between the ropes and hands his microphone back to the timekeeper, before heading up the aisle. However, a wide-angle shot of the arena shows that no fans are leaving the building.] DD: Viewers at home, don't adjust your sets. Our broadcast has not yet concluded, though we cannot vouch for what you are about to see. There is one more, unsanctioned match to take place here tonight, and it will be contested under what are termed in the business "Lights Out" rules. SR: Lights Out matches are awesome, Donny-boy. All the officials go home. All the house lights go out. And the rule book is thrown out of the window! DD: That's right, Steve Roberts. Though it's probably not accurate to call what we are about to see a match. It is more likely to be a fight -- and not a very pretty one. The combatants will be Owen "Truth" Curtis, and the "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, who dropped the bombshell earlier tonight that this will be his last-ever match. Let's take a brief look at what has brought these two men to this most extreme of circumstances. A tribute has been prepared to the career and times of one "Lone Wolf," Brody Thunder. BS: And it's all being done to the music of the "Man in Black," Johnny Cash. You simply can't get more cowboy than that. DD: Indeed you cannot. This is especially poignant given that Thunder has vowed to retire from wrestling for good tonight, win or lose. This is fixing to be our last look at the one and only, legendary "Lone Wolf." Let's roll the tribute. [A guitar slowly strums for two bars, and in comes the deep baritone of Johnny Cash, singing a country-gospel-type hymn, as a package of video clips plays in slow motion on the screen.] # I have been ungrateful ... and I have been unwise ... [Clips of various old IIWF matches play... against Requiem... Steve "Fury" Kowalski... J.W. Hardin... Serge Annis...] # Restless from the cradle ... but now I realize ... [Spreadbury honors Thunder in the Rose Garden by giving him a championship belt, mounted on a plaque, as flashbulbs illuminate their faces...] # It's so hard to see the rainbow ... through glasses dark as these ... [Owen has Brody Thunder in the Good Night And Good Luck sleeper, and he's fading fast.] # Maybe I'll be able ... from now on ... on my knees ... [Thunder drops to his knees from the effects of the sleeper... and Owen slaps him...] [A string section swells subtly, and piano chords accent the acoustic strumming.] # Ohhhhhhhh I am weak ... [Owen drops Thunder into an Obituary suplex-piledriver on the belt-plaque...] # Oh I know I am vain ... [Eddie Curtis snaps photos of Thunder's bloodied, agonized face...] # Take this weight from me ... [Spreadbury tends to the fallen legend...] # Let my spirit be ... [Medics cart Thunder away...] # Unchained ... [Thunder is motionless on the stretcher. The second verse begins, this time with more momentum.] # Old man swearin' at the sidewalk... and I am overcome... ["Brody Thunder" -- actually Eddie Curtis in Thunder garb -- slowly pushes a walker down the aisle, while wearing a T-shirt that says "Feeble, Green and Pasty"...] # Seems that we've both forgotten ... forgotten to go home ... [Thunder and Spreadbury stand side by side, as Brody signs a RCW contract...] # Have I seen an angel ... Or have I seen a ghost ... [Thunder pins Truth later that night... but then Eddie's flashgun goes off in Thunder's face after the match...] # Where's that rock of ages ... When you need it most ... [Thunder staggers around, blinded... and Curtis blasts him with a chair!] # Ohhhhhhhh I am weak ... [A bundle of Oregonian newspapers, thrown by Eddie, slides across the canvas, with the headline: "STORM OVER! THUNDER IS FINISHED!"] # Oh I know I am vain ... [Thunder's grinning visage on the front of the newspapers turns blood red, as Owen piledrives him onto the bundle...] # Take this weight from me ... [Owen legdrops the bundle onto Thunder... and again... from different angles... Brody is motionless... and Owen shows the newspapers to Tamara Thunder...] # Let my spirit be... [Logan Thunder neckbreakers Brody... Owen executes more moves on Thunder as Eddie takes more pictures...] # Unchained ... [Thunder is unconscious... with a crimson hood covering his hair and face.] [The final chord is strummed, bringing the song to a close ... but then the sound of a needle skipping is heard.] # fffbip! fffbip! fffbip! fffbip! fffbip! [The frame shows an image of an old phonograph record player spinning, the grooves on a shining vinyl record glimmering in the dark. The frame pans up... and we see the sneering visage of Owen "Truth" Curtis crouched over the phonograph, grinning a knowing and evil smile. He nods, stands up to his full height... and the next thing we see is his size 12 boot crashing through the old record player, making a huge scratching sound. We hear footsteps as he walks away... and the image is black. Cut back to the announce table at ringside, the crowd behind the table now swathed in darkness.] BS: Wow. Now that was in poor taste. SR: I loved it! First time I ever heard a Johnny Cash song and didn't want to get loaded on whiskey. DD: Folks, I apologize, but that obviously was not prepared by the RCW staff, as I had been led to believe. That was obviously scripted, funded, directed and produced by one Owen "Truth" Curtis. It wasn't exactly what you would call a "fair and balanced" portrayal. BS: Are you kidding me? Fox News has "We report, you decide"... but Owen Curtis is more along the lines of, "We *retort*, you *deride*." What a complete and utter travesty. I didn't think one could be that distasteful using the music of the legendary Johnny Cash as a backdrop. Leave it to one man and one man only -- Owen Curtis. DD: I think if Cash were still alive, he would disapprove in no uncertain terms. [Cut back to a wide-shot of the arena, where the house lights have now dimmed, but the fans are still all in their seats, buzzing with the anticipation of what they may be about to see.] DD: As you can see, the house lights have now been put out, and we're just about ready to get underway. BS: It's been years since I've even heard of a Lights Out match taking place, Don. We're talking old school here tonight. DD: And given the storied history of the Lights Out match here in the Pacific north-west, it's hard to think of any more appropriate combatants in this match than Oregon native Owen Curtis, whose uncle ran a wrestling promotion here in Portland in years gone by, and "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder, a man who has been at the top of this sport for more than a decade, a man who is perhaps the very embodiment of what "old school" wrestling is all about, and a man who is bowing out of the squared circle tonight -- after he has laid one final demon to rest. We're ready. Any predictions? BS: I didn't predict Owen's jealousy. I didn't predict Owen Curtis inside Tamara and Brody Thunder's home in Arizona. I didn't predict Logan Thunder. I didn't predict Logan Thunder... turning... on his father. And I didn't predict the knock-down brawl on the last RAMPAGE with Owen and Thunder practically tearing apart the audience with their hatred for each other. Predictions fail me, enough that I almost don't want to watch this. SR: Quit your yapping! I want to see that ol' cowpoke get his head busted wide open one... last... time! Whoo! DD: Let's get up to the ring. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / UNSANCTIONED LIGHTS OUT MATCH: / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Owen "Truth" Curtis vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Lone Wolf" Brody Thunder [The fans buzz as Jim Bright comes down the aisle, to no fanfare or introduction. He isn't wearing his usual RCW polo shirt: he's wearing a plain t-shirt.] DD: And here comes the man who has agreed to officiate this contest -- for whatever that's worth. BS: Talk about drawing the short straw, Don. DD: The referee is there for one purpose and one purpose only -- to administer the ten count which will end this thing. I never imagined that Owen Curtis could do the things he has done out of sheer jealousy and pure hatred for Brody Thunder. He must be made to pay, and I think he will be, for the horrible things he has done in his failed bid to sully the legendary Thunder name. SR: So much self-righteous indignation, Ditka! Anybody would think Thunder's a damned *saint*, the way you're putting him over. DD: Brody Thunder is most definitely not a saint, Steve Roberts. He has done things in the squared circle that would keep most men awake at night. But Brody Thunder *is* a family man, and Owen Curtis has done his damnedest to take that way from him. [Bright rolls into the ring and looks back up the aisle.] DD: There'll be no ring announcer, no entrance music, no fancy lighting, and no pyro, folks. This is going to be a straight-up fight -- and we're just waiting for the combatants. [Suddenly a huge cheer goes up as a figure emerges from the entranceway. Wearing cowboy boots, jeans, a black leather belt with a big silver buckle, and an "EVIL, MEAN & NASTY" t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, Brody Thunder stalks out into the aisle... and he's carrying an iron bar.] DD: Brody Thunder is coming dressed for a fight, Steve Roberts! SR: One thing I'll say about Brody Thunder: he knows how to fight. BS: We've seen how devious Owen Curtis is, Don, but I don't know whether Curtis has the same fighting mentality that Brody Thunder has displayed through his long career. DD: That's a good point, Billy Shakespeare. Thunder can mix it up on the mat with the best of them, but he's a truly formidable brawler. How will Curtis fare in this kind of environment? [Thunder arrives at the ring, and rolls in under the bottom rope. Immediately the fans break into a huge chant:] "THUN-DER! THUN-DER! THUN-DER!" DD: These fans showing their appreciation for Brody Thunder. It's hard to accept that this will be the very final time we see Brody Thunder inside a wrestling ring. [Thunder grips the iron bar tightly and stands facing the aisle, awaiting the arrival of his opponent. The crowd hush for a moment... and then erupt into deafening boos as another figure steps out from behind the curtain. It's Owen Curtis... and he, too, is wearing jeans, cowboy boots, a belt, and a sleeveless t-shirt, emblazoned with the text "YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH". He opens his arms wide to the crowd, receiving their jeers with a smirk on his face, before he starts down the aisle towards the ring.] DD: Would you look at that, Billy Shakespeare! Curtis is coming out here wearing exactly the same outfit as Brody Thunder. BS: It's all part of Curtis's mind-games, Don. Curtis wants to make out that he can go toe-to-toe with Thunder in any kind of situation. Whether he actually can or not... remains to be seen. [Curtis arrives at the foot of the aisle and looks up at Thunder in the ring. Thunder continues to stand there, iron bar in hand. Curtis signals to Thunder that he won't get up into the ring while Thunder is holding that iron bar.] DD: Owen Curtis is already stalling here, folks. SR: Do you blame him, Ditka? Why should he get into the ring with a senile old cowboy carrying an iron bar? If nothing else, that broken-down hack is a danger to *himself*, carrying that thing around. BS: It doesn't look like Curtis is going to get his own way here, though -- here comes Thunder! [Indeed, to the delight of the crowd, Thunder drops to the canvas and rolls to the outside. Curtis's eyes widen as Thunder bears down on him with the iron bar. Curtis backpedals, but Thunder is furious, and he catches up with Curtis, blocking a punch in desperation from the Oregonian, and *slamming* the iron bar into the midsection of the Truth! Huge pop! Curtis is bent double, and Thunder brings the end of the bar down on the back of Curtis's neck, sending him sprawling to the floor! Another big pop!] DD: My God! Thunder may have busted Curtis's ribs with that iron bar! [Thunder is merciless, and immediately takes the iron bar to Curtis's left knee, hitting it not once... not twice... but three times! Big, big pop!] DD: Thunder said that he was determined to take away the thing that Curtis holds dearest -- and that's Curtis's wrestling career. That left knee kept Curtis out of the ring for *years*, and Thunder is fixing to achieve a repeat performance here tonight! [Thunder discards the iron bar, grabbing Curtis's left leg, lifting it, and then *spiking* his knee against the arena floor. Curtis flips himself over, using his right leg to kick Thunder off him, and then starts to crawl towards the ring, trying to pick himself up as he goes. Thunder is delayed only for a moment, going after Curtis, grabbing him by the tights, dragging him to his feet, and then driving clubbing blows into the small of his back. Thunder walks with Curtis to the padded matting at ringside... and then *hurls* Curtis into the steel ringsteps!] * CLAAAAAANG! * [Curtis collides with the ringsteps knees first, tumbling over them and down onto the other side. Thunder stalks after him, climbing up onto the top ringstep, looking down on the prone Curtis below him, and then jumping off the steps, planting one boot *hard* into Curtis's knee! Big pop!] DD: Thunder is just demolishing Owen Curtis here, Billy Shakespeare! BS: He's waited too long to get his hands on Owen Curtis. We knew this wasn't going to be pretty -- but this may get very ugly indeed. [Thunder drags Curtis to his feet, grabs him by the hair, and then *throws* him with tremendous force backwards, Curtis's head *bouncing* off the steel crowd barriers! Huge, huge pop! Thunder grabs Curtis's head again, and *smashes* it against the barriers a second time! The crowd chants for the "Lone Wolf"!] "THUN-DER! THUN-DER! THUN-DER!" DD: Owen Curtis could be out of it already! [Thunder moves away from Curtis, and starts ripping away at the thin black padding on the floor between the ring apron and the crowd barriers. We hear the distinctive rip of velcro as Thunder lifts one of the mats, exposing the cold, hard concrete below. The crowd pops in anticipation as Thunder brings Curtis back to his feet, and drags him onto the exposed floor, putting his head between his legs and lifting him up for a piledriver!] DD: No, Brody! No! Don't do that! Don't do that! Not on the concrete! [Curtis suddenly flails his legs, threatening to overbalance Thunder and forcing him to take Curtis back down to the arena floor -- and then Curtis lifts Thunder up and over with a backdrop, Thunder landing on the thin padding behind the Truth, who immediately falls to his knees.] DD: Curtis may have bought himself a little time here. Even falling onto that padding is pretty damned painful -- one inch of foam doesn't do much to shield your bones, tendons and ligaments from the unforgiving kiss of concrete. SR: Especially not when you're 170 years old, Donny-boy. DD: Steve Roberts, Brody Thunder is considerably younger than *you*, so enough already with the old cracks. SR: I had some old cracks, once. BS: That's enough, Steve Roberts. SR: Oh, you don't shut *me* up, Pukespeare. I'll come over there and shut *you* up, personally. DD: All right, gentlemen, let's focus on the matter at hand -- I was going to say "match at hand", but this doesn't resemble any wrestling match I've ever seen. BS: It's a fight, pure and simple. [Curtis drags himself to the corner and props himself up against the steel ringsteps, looking decidedly groggy, a large shadow darkening on his midsection already where he was blasted with the iron bar in the early going. Thunder picks himself up, and stalks over towards Curtis, attempting to put his big cowboy foot directly in Curtis's face...] * CLAANG! * [But Curtis ducks out of the way at the last second, and Thunder kicks nothing but steel step. Curtis reacts quickly, bringing his forearm up between the cowboy's legs, bending him double, and then hits a shot to Thunder's throat, which staggers the cowboy backwards. Curtis drags himself up onto the apron, pulling himself up on the ropes, and ponders entering the ring... but then he thinks better of it, turning back to Thunder on the floor, and launching himself off the apron onto the stunned cowboy with a Thesz press, taking Thunder down to the padded floor with force! Curtis stays in the mounted position, and blasts away at the cowboy's head with punch after punch after punch... but then Thunder suddenly grabs hold of Curtis's hair, and yanks him off him, Thunder quickly mounting Curtis and blasting him with right hand after right hand, the crowd baying for the Truth's blood, cheering Thunder on! Not satisfied with leaving Curtis's face black and blue, Thunder again picks up Curtis's head, and repeatedly *smashes* it against the padded floor! Big pop!] DD: Just look at the intensity of Brody Thunder! Owen Curtis is in serious trouble here! [Thunder drags Curtis back to his feet and rolls him into the ring, before following in behind.] DD: Finally these two men are in the ring! [Thunder grabs the t-shirt on Owen Curtis's back, and literally *tears* it off him! Big pop! The Arizona native then unfastens his big silver belt buckle and yanks it out of the loops on his jeans.] SR: Now we get down to the real bidness, baby dolls: Thunder wants to go all Brokeback on Curtis's ass! DD: Steve Roberts! What a horrendous thing to say! BS: It looks to me as if that's the furthest thing from Thunder's mind. SR: But not from yours, eh, Little Willie? [Thunder wraps one end of the belt around one hand, and wraps a length of it around the other... and then puts the belt around Curtis's neck, and yanks backwards on it, choking the Oregonian! Big pop! Curtis starts to turn blue as he clutches at his throat. Thunder relinquishes his hold on his opponent, and shoves him down to the mat. Thunder releases one end of the belt... and then *whips* Curtis's back with it!] * CRAAAACK! * "OOOOOOOOOOOOH!" * CRAAAAAACK! * "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" * CRAAAAAAAAACK! * "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" DD: Just look at Owen Curtis's back -- it's coming up in welts almost instantly! [Thunder stomps away at Thunder with his big cowboy boots, Curtis trying to cover up... and then there is a huge heel pop from the fans!] DD: Hang on a moment -- there are people in the aisle... is that...?! It is! BS: It's Tamara Thunder! DD: But she's with Eddie Curtis! What in hell's name is going on here?! [The crowd jeer as Eddie Curtis, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt that reads "I'M FULLY DEVELOPED", walks down to the ring, with Tamara Thunder on his arm. Tamara is herself wearing jeans and a demure v-necked top, and has the shadow of a smile playing on her lips.] DD: Tamara Thunder... is coming out here on the arm of Eddie Curtis?! BS: Brody Thunder told us that his wife had been seeking counseling concerning the revelations of the past few months, but... SR: "Counseling"?! I've never heard making the beast with two backs called *that* before. DD: Steve Roberts, I'm sure there's an explanation for why Tamara is coming out here with Eddie Curtis... I... I just don't quite know what it is. SR: Of course there's an explanation, Donny-boy. Tamara's been treated to some up-close and personal shots from Eddie's flashgun, if you know what I'm saying, baby dolls! [In the ring, Thunder has now spotted Eddie and Tamara coming down the aisle, and he clearly can't believe his eyes, watching his wife walk to the ring arm in arm with the brother of his hated enemy. And that's all the invitation Owen Curtis needs, grabbing Thunder from behind and executing a devastating sit-out inverted neckbreaker on the cowboy! Heel pop!] DD: That snake Owen Curtis just jumped Thunder from behind! SR: Oh, boo-hoo! [Curtis kicks away at Thunder's forehead with his boots, scraping the soles over the cowboy's skin, trying to open up a wound. Curtis drags Thunder to his feet, and sends him to the ropes. On the return, Curtis lifts him up and over, *driving* him to the canvas with a backdrop driver! Big heel pop! Curtis stands and looks down at Eddie Curtis and Tamara on the outside. He motions to Eddie, who ducks down and fishes about under the ring for something.] DD: What have the Curtises got up their sleeves here tonight?! [Eddie emerges from under the ring with a decent-sized cardboard box, which he slides under the bottom rope to Owen. Owen opens the box, and puts his hand into the box, emerging clutching a small glass bulb.] DD: What's that? Is that a flashbulb? BS: It looks like it, Don. [Curtis tosses the flashbulb onto the canvas, then picks up the entire box, and empties it out onto the ring, showering literally hundreds of little glass bulbs all over the canvas. Big heel pop!] DD: That's a *lot* of glass! [Curtis moves over to Thunder, the glass bulbs crunching under his boots as they shatter, and drags the cowboy to his feet. He roughly pulls Thunder's t-shirt over his head, and now both men are bare-chested in the middle of the ring. Curtis sends Thunder for the ride, and on the return, grabs the cowboy and *powerslams* him onto the bulb-covered canvas, the bulbs smashing under the cowboy's body! Huge heel pop!] DD: My God! Thunder's back has got to be lacerated and full of shards of glass! [Curtis pulls Thunder to his feet, and indeed, we can see that blood is beginning to seep from dozens of small cuts on his back. Curtis grabs a handful of bulbs from the canvas... and then *smashes* Thunder in the face with them! Big heel pop! Thunder goes down, and Curtis is right on him, flipping the cowboy onto his belly, and grinding Thunder's face into the glass-covered canvas! Fans all over the arena turn their heads away, not wanting to watch this spectacle -- except for Tamara Thunder, who stands alongside Eddie Curtis, with a smile on her face.] DD: Brody Thunder's face has got to be cut wide open! He may even have glass in his eyes -- Curtis could *blind* Brody Thunder in there! BS: And look at Tamara Thunder, Don -- she's *smiling*! SR: The cat that got the cream, baby dolls. The pecan pie that got the whipped cream topping. The whipped cream topping that got to be on the naked belly of Jessica Alba. Aw yeah! DD: Steve Roberts, can we focus on this match? Oh -- oh, look at Brody Thunder! [Curtis lifts Thunder's head off the canvas, and his forehead is a bloody mess, little pieces of glass sticking out of a number of gashes.] DD: Folks, we knew this wasn't going to be for the faint of heart, but... but... my *God*, how can Brody Thunder continue in this match?! SR: Looks like raw hamburger, Donny-boy! DD: You're a disgusting human being, Steve Roberts. SR: I am rubber, you are glue -- bounces off me, and sticks to you. [Curtis brings the groggy Thunder to his feet, the cowboy blinking the blood out of his eyes, and calls for Eddie to bring something else into the ring. Eddie disappears under the ring once more, only to emerge again, this time with a bundle of newspapers, which he tosses into the ring. Curtis fells Thunder with a short-arm clothesline, then moves over to the pile of papers, picking one up and making a pantomime of reading it. The banner headline on the front page of the paper reads "STORM OVER: THUNDER IS FINISHED".] DD: We've seen these papers before, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Curtis is quite the comedian, Don. [Curtis grabs a bundle of papers held together with plastic binding, and points up top. Eddie applauds, but all the other fans in the building let Curtis know they don't think this is a great idea. Curtis carries the papers up with him as he climbs to the top turnbuckles. Cameras all over the arena flash as Curtis *leaps* from the top buckle, positioning the bundle of papers under his outstretched leg, and landing *hard* on Brody Thunder with a huge top rope legdrop!] DD: Good God! Good God! Those papers must weigh twenty or thirty pounds, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Add that to 240lbs of Owen Curtis... Thunder may be out! [Curtis yells at Bright to put the count on Thunder as Owen takes a breather, hopping up to sit on the top turnbuckle. Bright complies, and starts to count Thunder out... 1... 2... 3...] "LET'S GO THUN-DER! LET'S GO THUN-DER! LET'S GO THUN-DER!" [...4... 5... 6... Big pop!] DD: Thunder is moving! Brody Thunder is moving! [Thunder pulls the newspapers off his head and chest, rolling to his knees, and putting his hands down on the canvas, broken glass digging into them. Curtis, a scowl on his face, hops down from the top buckle and stalks Thunder as the Arizona man gets back to his feet -- but Thunder wheels around in the nick of time, plants a boot into Curtis's midsection, and then drops him with a vicious DDT, Curtis's face smashing into the broken glass on the canvas! Big pop!] DD: DDT! DDT! Thunder is back in this thing! [As Curtis lies face-down on the jagged glass covering the canvas, Thunder grabs hold of Curtis's weak left leg, and stumps it with his boot, grinding the leg into the glass on the canvas! Big pop!] DD: Brody Thunder is viciously trying to grind glass into that injured knee of Owen Curtis, Billy Shakespeare! BS: And who can blame him?! [Thunder flips Curtis over, and the crowd gasps as they see that Curtis's face is almost in as bad shape as Thunder's, several deep cuts on his forehead bleeding freely. On the outside, Eddie seems to be making eyes at Tamara, and Tamara glances back at "Flash", a smile flickering on her lips. Thunder yells out at Tamara, who looks up at her husband with a start -- and again Curtis capitalises on Brody's distraction, grabbing him from behind and rolling him up with an inside cradle, more broken glass being driven into his back, shoulders, neck, and even the back of his head!] DD: Curtis can't pin Thunder in this match, but I don't think he cares -- he just wants to debilitate the Lone Wolf as much as he possibly can. [Again, on the outside, Tamara smiles to herself.] BS: Don, is Tamara Thunder... is she *smiling* when Brody's getting hurt? DD: She could be, Billy Shakespeare. SR: Hell, why not? Thunder's been playing away from home all these years. It's about time the lovely Tamara got a little payback for all the cheap motel whores. DD: Steve Roberts, you're slandering the good character of Brody Thunder. SR: So sue me, baby dolls! Sue me if it isn't true! [Curtis releases Thunder, and brings the cowboy back to his feet. Thunder swings wildly at Curtis, who ducks out of the way, the two men standing in the centre of the ring, both their faces dripping with blood, both men with cuts on their arms, their backs, their shoulders from the broken glass strewn about the ring. Thunder swings again -- Curtis blocks! Curtis fires back with a couple of jabs of his own... he ducks... he weaves... he dances with his feet to a big heel pop from the crowd... and then he fells the cowboy with a big haymaker right! Curtis immediately drops an elbow on Thunder's chest, then picks himself up, bounces off the ropes, and goes for a full body press -- but Thunder rolls out of the way, and Curtis lands on nothing but broken glass!] DD: My God! These two men are lacerated all over their upper bodies with this broken glass! Unbelievable! [Both men lie on the canvas, and Jim Bright puts the count on the two of them... 1... 2... 3...] DD: We could be headed for a double count-out here, folks! BS: Not in Thunder's last match. Come on, Brody, get up and put him away! [Bright's count continues as the crowd applaud and stamp their feet, yelling at Thunder to follow Shakespeare's advice and keep fighting! And as the count reaches six, both men do indeed stir, and pull themselves to their feet. Thunder grabs his discarded belt from the canvas as the crowd goes crazy, both men moving once more to the centre of the ring! Curtis takes a swing at Thunder, but Thunder ducks out of the way, then steps in... and *drives* Curtis into the mat with a uranage! Big, big pop!] DD: Another hard landing on the broken glass for Owen Curtis! [Thunder drags the groggy Curtis back to his feet... and rakes at his forehead and eyes! Big pop as Thunder opens up the cuts on Curtis's head even wider, blood running down the Oregonian's face. Thunder pushes Curtis backwards against the ropes, and hangs Curtis's arm over the top rope. Using his belt, Thunder quickly puts the belt around Curtis's arm and the top rope, doing it up as tightly as he can.] DD: What's Thunder doing here?! BS: He's restraining Owen Curtis -- and that could be very bad news indeed for the "Truth"! [Thunder roughly yanks the belt off Curtis's own jeans, and restrains his opponent's other arm in a similar fashion. Curtis struggles against the ropes, kicking with his feet, but he can't go anywhere. Big pop from the crowd!] DD: And now Brody Thunder has got Owen Curtis right where he wants him! [Thunder drives his shoulder repeatedly into the gut of Owen Curtis, then stands and drives his big boots into his midsection, kick after kick after kick, the crowd getting rabid as Thunder unleashes the full force of his fury against the Truth. Thunder looks out at the crowd, wiping the blood from his face, and they cheer him on. He rolls from the ring and goes to the vacant timekeeper's table, picking up a steel folding chair and sliding it into the ring.] DD: Thunder now, with a chair! [Thunder rolls back into the ring, and picks up the chair. The helpless Owen Curtis is powerless to do anything as Thunder winds up... and *blasts* Curtis in the head with the chair!] * CLAANG! * "OOOOOOOOOHH!" [Thunder winds up a second time, and hits Curtis even harder!] * CLAAAAANG! * "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOHH!" [Thunder tosses the chair aside, grabs Curtis by the hair and snarls something at him, then rolls out of the ring again -- and stalks after Eddie Curtis! Huge pop!] DD: Thunder is going for Eddie Curtis! You'd better get out of there, Eddie! [Thunder spins the backtracking Eddie around, and Eddie goes for a punch... but Thunder blocks it, and peppers Eddie with a series of punches of his own, rocking Curtis back on his heels. Tamara yells at Thunder to stop!] DD: Look how upset Tamara Thunder is right now -- but Brody Thunder will stop at nothing to rid himself of the scourge of the Curtis brothers! [Tamara tries to pull her husband away from Eddie, but Thunder is unstoppable, stomping away at Eddie on the floor, practically stomping him into a paste on the thin ringside matting. Tamara walks away in disgust, but Brody's not done. He drags Eddie to his feet, hoists him up onto his shoulder... and then brings him down with a huge slam... onto the exposed arena floor! Huge pop!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Oh, oh -- Eddie Curtis has got to be *out*! Slammed right onto that concrete floor -- nobody can get up from that! [And then...] VOICE: Brody... Brody, stop! [The crowd hushes as Thunder stands bolt upright, and turns around -- to see his wife standing in the middle of the ring, holding a microphone!] DD: Tamara Thunder has something to say! TT: Brody, listen -- please, just listen to me. I have something very important to tell you. [Thunder stands on the arena floor, staring up at his wife. He wipes blood from his face with his right arm and listens. Behind Tamara in the ring, Owen Curtis's head is slumped to one side, the "Truth" apparently silenced for now.] TT: Brody, I know we've been having our problems. I know we've not spent much time together over the past couple of months. I know you feel like we've been drifting apart -- but I need you to listen to me, and not judge me. [Thunder gives the slightest nod as he continues to listen to his wife.] TT: Last night... last night, I partied with Owen and Eddie Curtis and their frat boys. [Huge heel pop from the fans! Tamara Thunder's face turns a bright shade of red.] SR: Whoo-hoo! Spit roast at the frat house! That's what the Soundbite is talking about! DD: Steve Roberts, why do you always have to assume the worst of everybody? SR: That way I'm rarely disappointed, baby dolls! DD: That's sad -- but let's hear Tamara Thunder out. [On the outside, Brody looks down, apparently not able to look at his wife. Tamara struggles to be heard over the din of the shocked fans.] TT: No, wait! Brody, wait! Listen! [And suddenly crackly audio is heard, amplified by the microphone... the voices are those of Owen Curtis and Eddie Curtis.] EC: "That's not Logan Thunder... that's Logan 'Thunder' Curtis! My little brother!" OC: "You mean, my little brother's little brother?" EC: "Yeah!" OC: "Boy, how dumb is Thunder to have believed *that*?!" [Big heel pop from the crowd! Brody looks up at the ring, and sees that Tamara Thunder is holding a little pocket tape recorder against the microphone.] EC: "It's just been too easy, my bro. Too damn easy to put one over on Thunder!" OC: "And how hot is his wife, anyway?" EC: "Oh, she is *sweet*, Owen. I'd love to tap that ass -- but she's a real cold fish." OC: "You just don't have the moves of your big brother, Eddie my man!" EC: "Oh yeah?! You struck out, too!" [Big pop from the fans. A smile starts to play on the face of Brody Thunder, and he looks up at his wife, whose face is still red, but she also allows herself to smile again.] DD: Well, folks, now we know why Tamara Thunder has been smiling to herself all evening -- she has played Owen and Eddie Curtis like the proverbial fiddles! BS: Tamara hasn't cheated on Brody with either of the Curtis brothers! DD: I never doubted her! SR: No "Tamara does Tau Kappa Phi" video to leak onto the Internet? Won't somebody think of the Soundbite?! Won't somebody please think of the Soundbite?! DD: And more importantly -- Logan Thunder was never Brody's son! He's yet another damn Curtis brother! BS: That certainly explains the blond hair! [Brody Thunder now rolls into the ring, and stands before Tamara, who slips the tape recorder back into her pocket. Brody Thunder speaks to his wife -- the microphone in her hand now by her side doesn't pick up the words, but as the estranged couple embrace in the middle of the ring, no words are necessary. Huge pop from the crowd!] SR: Aw, man, I'm crushed. Crushed, I tells ya! DD: This is a very moving moment, Billy Shakespeare. Tamara Thunder ingratiated herself with her husband's enemies to blow the story about the so-called "Logan Thunder" and prove herself to him. And now Brody and Tamara have been reunited, here as Brody Thunder is wrapping up his wrestling career! BS: "All's well that ends well," Don! Not a comedy, by any means, but not a tragedy! [But as the couple continue to embrace in the centre of the ring, Tamara apparently not caring that Brody's blood is on her face and hands, suddenly the crowd give a huge heel pop!] DD: OWEN CURTIS IS FREE! OWEN CURTIS IS FREE! [Indeed he is! Owen Curtis has somehow freed himself from the leather shackles binding him to the top rope, and launches himself at Thunder from behind, hitting him with a high knee to the back, knocking him down, and sending Tamara flying painfully into the ropes, and tumbling out of the ring! Huge heel pop!] DD: Damn that Owen Curtis! Damn him! BS: Don, I think Tamara's hurt -- she's not moving out there! [Official Jim Bright leaves the ring to tend to Tamara, and quickly stands up, crossing his arms above his head to call the medics to ringside. In the ring, Curtis stays right on Thunder, grabbing hold of the discarded steel chair, and jabs the end of the chair into Thunder's gut. Big heel pop!] DD: Owen Curtis has got that steel chair -- and Thunder looks to be in trouble! [Curtis lifts up Thunder's head, opens up the chair a bit, and places it around the cowboy's head. The fans jeer as Curtis runs the ropes, bouncing off the opposite side of the ring... and then drops the leg right onto the steel chair, bending it around the skull of Brody Thunder! Huge, huge heel pop!] "HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT! HO-LY SHIT!" DD: Oh, that has got to be it! Thunder is out! [On the outside, a pair of EMTs have arrived at ringside with a stretcher, onto which they gingerly lift Tamara Thunder, and start to carry her out. Curtis leans through the ropes and yells at Bright to get back into the ring and make the count. The official obliges, rolling back in under the bottom rope, and immediately puts the count on Thunder... 1... 2... 3... 4...] DD: Thunder's not moving! He's got to be out! BS: Come on, Brody! Not like this! SR: Whoo! Curtis has truly put the ol' cowpoke's lights out! [The crowd clap and chant and cheer and stamp their collective feet, urging Thunder to get back to his feet, but Bright's count continues... 5... 6... 7... ...big pop! Thunder pulls the chair away from his head, and rolls onto his side. Bright raises his arms in the air, to signal that Thunder has answered the count.] DD: Thunder's not out of this match yet -- but, my God, Billy Shakespeare, look at Thunder's face! [Brody Thunder's bloodied face was in a bad way before... but this is a whole different kind of bad way. One of Thunder's eyes is bloodshot and swelling closed, his nose is busted open, and the cuts on his forehead show no signs of slowing their bleeding.] DD: How in God's name is Brody Thunder even conscious after that vicious legdrop, Billy Shakespeare?! BS: The "Lone Wolf" is tougher than the toughest, Don! [Curtis, growing frustrated, grabs Thunder and brings him back to his feet, sending him to the ropes. The Truth sticks his head down, expecting to backdrop Thunder right back down onto the broken glass -- but the cowboy sees Curtis with his head down, and meets him with a kick to the head. Curtis is staggered, and Thunder grabs him, slings his arm over his shoulder... and then, somehow, against all odds, hoists Curtis up into the air in position for a vertical suplex... ...and then brings him crashing down with a DDT! The roof threatens to come off the Rose Garden!] DD: WIDOWMAKER! WIDOWMAKER! WIDOWMAKER! BS: The most famous signature maneouvre in Brody Thunder's arsenal, and he pulls it off -- out of nowhere! SR: Damn! Damn that Thunder! Get up, Curtis! [Both men lie in the ring, Thunder's chest heaving, blood running down his face, Curtis lies on his belly, his head turned sideways, blood trickling down *his* face, his blond hair a macabre pink, broken glass digging into his cheek. And Jim Bright puts the count on both men!] "ONE!" DD: Come on, Thunder! Curtis is done! All you have to do is stand up! "TWO!" BS: Neither man is moving! "THREE!" DD: Just listen to these fans! "FOUR!" SR: Come on, Curtis! "FIVE!" DD: Brody Thunder is lying there, a bloody mess -- and Curtis hasn't fared much better! "SIX!" DD: What an absolutely brutal match this has been! "SEVEN!" BS: We're heading for a double count-out! "EIGHT!" [And as Bright's count nears its end, one of the men in the ring stirs!] "NINE!" [The crowd pops like crazy as one of the two men pulls himself to his knees using the ropes!] "TEN!" [The crowd is absolutely beside itself, making so much noise that it's impossible to hear anything... and Bright moves over to the man who has managed to stir, and raises his arm... ...the arm belonging to...] DD: OWEN CURTIS HAS DONE IT! OWEN CURTIS BEAT THE COUNT! [Huge heel pop as Bright stands beside the bloody, groggy Curtis, who apparently can't believe what has just happened. Lolling dangerously on his feet, he turns and looks at the form of Brody Thunder on the canvas opposite him... and then drops to the mat and rolls out of the ring!] DD: I cannot believe it, Billy Shakespeare! Owen Curtis was hit with the Widowmaker -- but Brody Thunder just didn't have enough left in the tank to beat the count, allowing Curtis to steal the victory in this match! BS: It's a disappointing end to Thunder's incredible career, Don. SR: Whoo! Whoo! Welcome to Loserville: population, one washed-up cowboy! DD: Steve Roberts, Brody Thunder may have lost this match by the narrowest of margins, but he has saved his marriage, and when he has recovered from the physical injuries he has sustained here tonight, he will be able to look himself in the mirror each morning and know he did the right thing -- can Owen Curtis say the same? SR: Introspection is for losers, Ditka! Curtis is a *winner*, and he retired the legendary Brody Thunder! That's something to tell the grandchildren about -- and God knows, there seem to be enough Curtis kids! [Curtis goes to the side of the ring where Eddie Curtis was slammed onto the exposed concrete floor, and helps his brother to his feet, shouting at him that he won the match! Eddie, groggy and glassy-eyed himself, throws his arms around his brother, and the two of them slowly make their way away from ringside, leaning on each other for support.] DD: Owen and Eddie Curtis will look back on this night for years to come -- and no doubt they will gloat about it at every opportunity! BS: Much as it pains me to say it, I have to hand it to Curtis: he showed incredible endurance out here tonight. [As the Curtis brothers disappear behind the curtain at the top of the aisle, official Jim Bright tries to help Brody Thunder to his feet. The fans in the arena are, to a man, woman and child, on their feet, giving the legendary cowboy a standing ovation. The camera sweeps over the stands, showing the fans applauding Brody Thunder with tremendous respect. Thunder gets to his feet, and stands in the middle of the ring.] DD: Brody Thunder may have been defeated here tonight, but that's just one match in an incredible career going back nearly twenty years. Thunder is retiring tonight, and he need have no regrets. [Thunder wipes some blood from his face, his right eye now more or less swollen shut, even his moustache stained with blood from his busted nose and the many cuts on his forehead. But he is standing! Brody Thunder is standing, and the fans in the Rose Garden continue to pay tribute to him. A chant starts to grow in volume:] "PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO!" SR: Aw, the lil' Soundbiters know that it's back to the Caymans for me after we go off the air. I'll be back on Air Soundbite before Thunder's finished having his face stitched back together! DD: Steve Roberts, these fans aren't chanting for you: these fans are chanting for the "Lone Wolf"! [Thunder continues to stand in the ring, drinking in the chants of the twenty-thousand-strong crowd in the Rose Garden, turning his head to look at the fans on their feet, as far as the eye can see. And then there is a huge pop, as a figure emerges into the aisle.] DD: It's Tamara Thunder! Tamara Thunder is coming out here! [Indeed she is. Walking gingerly, still with Thunder's blood staining her clothes, Tamara is making her way back down the aisle to rejoin her husband in the ring. The fans applaud her as she climbs the ringsteps and enters the ring, going to her husband's side. It is not until she gently places a hand on the small of his back that he even seems to notice her arrival.] DD: They say that behind every great man is an even greater woman -- and Tamara Thunder has shown herself to be a truly great woman here tonight! [The camera zooms in on Tamara and Brody standing in the ring. Brody's left eye appears wet, and as he blinks, a single tear makes a track through the drying blood on his cheek. The camera is close enough to pick up Tamara's words to her husband:] TT: Let's go home, Brody. [And together, man and wife move to the ropes, Thunder leaning on his wife as she helps him down the ringsteps, and they slowly make their way up the aisle, the fans still on their feet, applauding and chanting:] "PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO! PLEASE DON'T GO!" [But Tamara and Brody have to go. They slowly make their way up the aisle, Tamara with her arm around her husband's waist, guiding his uncertain steps.] DD: Ladies and gentlemen, that is a truly moving sight, capping the incredible night of action we have seen here in the Rose Garden tonight -- but now it's time for us to leave you. Thank you so much for inviting Rip City Wrestling into your home this evening. As Brody and Tamara Thunder prepare to leave Portland, Oregon for the final time, and head back to Arizona, on behalf of "Soundbite" Steve Roberts, the incomparable "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, and everybody here at RCW... this is Don Ditka, wishing you a good night, everybody! [Brody and Tamara Thunder have reached the head of the aisle, and Tamara urges Brody to step through the curtains and out of the arena. But the Lone Wolf hesitates, and tenderly takes his wife's hand in a sign that he wants to stand on his own... then turns around to face the sea of humanity in front of him in the Rose Garden... and raises a single fist as a final salute to the fans who have followed him for the best part of twenty years. The standing ovation swells in volume again as Thunder holds his pose for a few seconds, cameras flashing all over the arena... and then Tamara takes him by the hand and gently ushers him through the curtain. Fade to black.] ____________________________________________________________________ / Copyright (C) 2006 Rip City Wrestling, Inc. All rights reserved. / / www.ripcitywrestling.com / /___________________________________________________________________/