[Open on a black screen, and "No Rest For The Wicked" by Godsmack kicks
in.  The words "LAST WEEK" appear on the screen.]

# Walked a fine line slipped the edge, under me.
# Rise above a suicide, taking it outta me.
# Got a feeling, it's going far away, yeah.
# Licking the wounds from yesterday.

# Gonna fly, takin' my time, strip down to nothing.
# Gonna try, but there's no rest for the wicked.

[As the song continues, cut to footage from last week's RAMPAGE.  Vinny
Carmazzi makes his way down to the ring through the shower of sparks and
flame produced by the pyro that always opens the show.  Carmazzi stands
in the ring, holding his microphone.]

VC: You heard me, Driscoll.  We're gonna settle this TONIGHT!  Get out
here now, you son of a bitch.

[Though he now has an open microphone, Carmazzi continues circling the
ring. His eyes affixed to the curtain at the top of the entryway... and
out marches Paul Driscoll, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. He begins to
make his way down the aisle, and...]

VOICE: HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!

[The music quickly fades from the PA and Driscoll is stopped in his
tracks in the aisle.  Carmazzi remains taut as a drum in the ring, his
eyes still on Driscoll.  The Texan turns to face the besuited and
bespectacled RCW President, who is standing at the top of the aisle.]

DS: You two hold it right there! I know every one of the fans here in
the Rose Garden tonight want to see you two settle things once and for
all.  But... that's not going to happen here tonight.

[Big heel pop!  In the ring, Carmazzi's face cracks into a scowl, and he
visibly curses.  Driscoll remains impassive in the aisle.  Spreadbury
waits for the crowd to settle down.]

DS: Instead, I am sanctioning a match between Vinny Carmazzi and
"Pistol" Paul Driscoll... two weeks from tonight, on our next RAMPAGE
broadcast!  But I can't have the two of you running around causing havok
here tonight -- not after the events of two weeks ago.  So I'm giving
both of you the night off!

[Heel pop!  Both Carmazzi and Driscoll are furious at this decision.]

DS: Gentlemen, would you mind escorting Mr. Carmazzi and Mr. Driscoll
out of the building?

[Spreadbury is talking to a sextet of blue-shirted security officials,
who now make their way down the aisle, three of them surrounding
Driscoll in the aisle, and the other three making their way down to the
ring to escort Carmazzi out of the ring.  The fans jeer the RCW
President as he watches Driscoll escorted up the aisle.  Freeze on a
shot of Spreadbury setting his jaw as he listens to the fans' jeers, as
the song continues.]

# Are you ready to know just who I am?
# Do you think you can make me a better man?
# Crack me open, expose me to your ways?
# But ignorance and arrogance are my ways.
# Oh yeah!  No rest for the wicked baby!

[Flash forwards.  Owen and Eddie Curtis are making their way down to
ringside, microphones in hand, to oust Don Ditka and Billy Shakespeare
from the announce position -- but RCW President Daniel Spreadbury stops
them in their tracks.]

DS: You think you can just do what you want here, Owen.  Well, you
can't.  You need to walk back through that portal behind me, exit the
arena, and wait until there's not a match on, if you want to have your
show!

[Owen is pretty much steaming out the ears. He inhales, exhales, and
says...]

OTC: No.  No.  The fact is, Danny, I'm going to turn around.  I'm going
to turn around and go to that ringside table where Pukespeare and Double
D-Cup are pretending to call this match, and I'm going to relieve them
of their duties!

[Owen waits for Spreadbury's reply.]

DS: Go ahead, then.

[Owen's glare dissolves into a smile. He laughs.]

OTC: OK, then, we will.  Come on, Eddie.

[They turn around -- coming face to face with a large retinue of
security guards.]

DS: Owen and Eddie, it's just not to be this time.  I mean, you did an
OK job calling the match last time, but this idea of having your own
rules and your own promotion -- it's just not the Truth!  Gentlemen,
escort these two Curtis brothers out of here!

[The guards advance on Owen and Eddie.]

OTC: That... won't be necessary.  Come on, Ed.  Let's blow this popsicle
stand.  After all, if these folks don't want to hear the Truth... then
they don't deserve the Truth!

[Owen drops his cordless mic and, with Eddie in tow, marches out there
with a furious look on his face.  He stops on the way to glare at
Spreadbury, as does Eddie.  Eddie smirks, then horks up a loogie on
Spreadbury's shoes!  Freeze on Spreadbury's face, as his eyes close
momentarily in a mixture of disgust and despair.  Again, the song
continues.]

# Gonna fly, take my time, strip down to nothing.
# Gonna try, but there's no rest for the wicked.
# Gonna fly, take my time, strip down to nothing.
# Gonna try, but there's no rest for the wicked.

[Flash forwards again.  Derek Rage stands in the ring, awaiting the
arrival of Lord Byron, but Byron is nowhere to be seen.  The furious
Rage grabs a microphone and calls Byron out.]

DR: Bloody typical, isn't it, Byron?  You know you can't beat me, so you
hide and you skulk.  Typical Englishman, a lot of fancy talk and no
goddamned action, innit?  Byron, crawl your blue-blooded, yellow-bellied
tail out here right now so I can show you exactly why you don't mess
with an Intelligent Thug, you bloody wanker.  You wanted a Barney, well
you bloody well found one, ain't you, me ol' China.

[The crowd jeers as not Lord Byron, but the RCW President makes an
appearance at the head of the aisle, and brings his microphone to his
lips.]

DS: Ladies and gentlemen, I apologise for this interruption in tonight's
proceedings.  And, Mr. Rage, I apologise to you, too -- because Lord
Byron is not here tonight.

[Big heel pop.  In the ring, Rage's scowl deepens.]

DS: In fact, Lord Byron is not only not here tonight -- but he will not
be here for at least the next twenty-eight days...

[Confused pop from the crowd.]

DS: ...because, effective immediately, Lord Byron is *suspended* from
active competition!

[Heel pop!  Again, the shot freezes on Spreadbury, as he once more hears
the jeers of the disappointed crowd.  The chorus of the song is heard
one more time...]

# Gonna fly, take my time, strip down to nothing.
# Gonna try, but there's no rest for the wicked.

[...and then the opening graphics blow through the screen:]

      ___  ______      __   _, _, _   ___ _,_ __,   _  _ _ __, __,
     / _ \/ ___/ | /| / /  / \ |\ |    |  |_| |_    |  | | |_) |_ 
    / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ /   \ / | \|    |  | | |     |/\| | | \ |  
   /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/     ~  ~  ~    ~  ~ ~ ~~~   ~  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~
                                         Thursday 7 September 2006


[Fade through to the big blue RCW logo mounted on the set in the RCW's
studios in downtown Portland.  The camera pans down from the logo to
show the figure of Don Ditka, as always dressed in his open-necked shirt
with the RCW logo on the left breast pocket.  Ditka has been watching
the pre-titles montage on the large plasma screen behind the trademark
glass-topped desk, and turns to face the camera with a smile as the
music finally fades.]

DD: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to another edition of RCW On
The Wire -- the world of wrestling in sixty minutes!  I'm your host, Don
Ditka, and in this hour, we'll cast our minds back to last week's
controversial edition of RAMPAGE, and look ahead to all the action
coming up live next Thursday night in the Rose Garden.

[Ditka turns to another camera.]

DD: But first, you've seen at the top of the show tonight that there
really was no rest for the RCW President, Daniel Spreadbury, last week
in the Rose Garden.  The President was forced to intercede on three
separate occasions.  First, he had to keep bitter rivals Vinny Carmazzi
and Paul Driscoll apart -- and he's signed a match between these two men
for next Thursday night, about which more later.  Then he stepped in to
prevent Owen and Eddie Curtis from throwing my broadcast colleague Billy
Shakespeare and I off the announce table for another edition of their
awful Ring of Truth show -- for which Billy and I were very grateful.

[The screen behind Ditka shows the sneering visage of the British
blueblood Lord Byron.]

DD: But the President's most controversial appearance came when he
informed all of the fans in the Rose Garden that Lord Byron had been
suspended for unprofessional conduct.  Byron failed to appear for last
week's RAMPAGE, and as a result, the RCW Board of Directors were reached
by telephone after the start of the broadcast, and they agreed
unamimously to act decisively and suspend Byron with immediate effect
for a minimum of 28 days.  Folks, we've been unable to reach Byron or
his representation since last Thursday's show.  If he is, as the RCW
President suggests, going the extra mile in order to get inside Derek
Rage's head, then it could prove to be an expensive mistake on Byron's
part.  We'll bring you all the latest news on Lord Byron's whereabouts
as and when we get it.

[Ditka turns back to the first camera again.]

DD: As for the RCW President, I know that he won't have enjoyed hearing
the jeers of the capacity crowd in the Garden last Thursday night.  But
he's a man used to making the tough decisions and taking the flak. 
Having said that, I'm sure he's hoping he'll be a lot less busy next
Thursday night.  Right now, let's look back at the rest of last week's
action, in our RAMPAGE Rewind.

   ___  ______      __
  / _ \/ ___/ | /| / /
 / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ /    << << << << << << REWIND << << << << << <<
/_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/


[Ditka is now seated behind the glass-topped desk.]

DD: The biggest in-ring news came in the main event, when Tennessee
rookie Mark Coleman went up against dangerous veteran Dave Bryant in a
high stakes match.  If Coleman won, he would earn the right to be named
as number one contender to the World Heavyweight Championship currently
carried by the Big Bad himself, Johnny Pleasence.  But where you find
Dave Bryant and Glory, you know that Ryan Faith and Pleasence himself
won't be far behind -- so with the deck stacked against him, Coleman
bought himself a little insurance, in the form of one Orin "The Lynx"
LeBlanc -- who had caught the eye of Nathan Herod's manager, Mick
Silvestri.  Let's see how this match went down.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 31 August 2006".  Coleman drags
Bryant to his feet and sends him to the ropes.  On the return, Coleman
lifts him up -- and then steps out from under him, leaving him to crash
to the mat face-first!  Coleman immediately grabs hold of both of
Bryant's legs, crossing them over at the ankles, as if he's about to
apply a surfboard hold... but he doesn't.  Instead, he leans on the
crossed ankles with one knee, while lying down on Bryant and locking on
a crossface submission!  Big, big pop!  We hear the original
commentary:]

DD: TENNESSEE VALLEY LOCK!  TVL!

BS: This is the first time we've seen this submission hold!

[The fans have been waiting for Coleman to debut his signature
submission hold, and have a chant ready and waiting...]

"T-V-L!  T-V-L!  T-V-L!  T-V-L!  T-V-L!"

DD: Will Dave Bryant submit to the Tennessee Valley Lock?!  Hold it --
hold it, Pleasence and Faith are coming at LeBlanc!

[Indeed, in the aisle, Pleasence and Faith now charge at LeBlanc, in an
effort to come to the aid of Bryant and rescue the match.  LeBlanc is
ready, however, and fells Faith with a big right hand, then starts
slugging it out with Pleasence in the aisle.  Faith is quickly back on
his feet, and the numbers look to be overwhelming LeBlanc -- but LeBlanc
takes Pleasence down, and then turns back to Faith, lifting him up and
dropping him throat-first on the steel crowd barriers!  Big pop!]

DD: Oh my!  LeBlanc may have just seriously injured Ryan Faith right
there!

BS: Johnny Pleasence is getting back to his feet -- and... hang on, who
the heck is that?!

DD: Somebody's just come out of the crowd!

BS: It's Nathan Herod!

[Indeed it is.  As LeBlanc tries to keep Pleasence from making it any
further towards the ring, suddenly a man climbs vaults the barriers
behind LeBlanc, carrying a chair -- and *blasts* him in the back of the
head with the unforgiving steel!]

* CLANG! *

[Huge heel pop as LeBlanc goes down hard under the force of the
chairshot, and Herod stands above him, still brandishing the chair. 
Pleasence too stands above LeBlanc, a smirk on his face.  He takes just
a moment to spit on the Lynx before turning his attention back to the
ring.  Meanwhile, Coleman still has the TVL locked in on Bryant, whose
back is to the aisle.]

DD: Pleasence is coming -- and neither Coleman nor Bryant can see him
coming!

[Morales's eagle eyes are watching Dave Bryant, watching to see if he
will tap out, his hand hovering above the mat, while Pleasence comes
down the aisle to the aid of his partner...

...Pleasence hits ringside... Bryant's hand wavers... Pleasence slides
into the ring... HUGE POP!]

* DING! DING! DING! *

DD: DAVE BRYANT TAPPED!  DAVE BRYANT TAPPED!  And now... damn him!  Damn
that Johnny Pleasence!

[Pleasence has flown into the ring, just moments too late to prevent
Bryant from tapping out, but he wastes no time in crowning Coleman with
a hard shot from his RCW Championship belt, right to the back of the
head of the youngster.  Big, big heel pop!]

DD: Give me a break!  Coleman just forced Dave Bryant to submit to the
Tennessee Valley Lock, and that *damned* Johnny Pleasence has just
bashed Coleman's skull in with that belt!

[The dazed Coleman rolls off Bryant.  Pleasence doesn't even take a
moment to check on his fallen comrade, instead kneeling over Coleman,
and shoving the gold belt in his face, yelling at him that this is the
closest he'll ever get to it.  Then Pleasence viciously rams the belt
into Coleman's forehead, whipping Coleman's head back to the canvas,
before laying the belt over Coleman's face.  The RCW Champion stands,
basking in the hatred of the capacity crowd, inhaling their jeers,
seeming to grow in stature under the torrents of abuse raining down on
him from the stands on every side!]

DD: Come on!  Come on, Pleasence!

[Pleasence swaggers to the ropes, bounces off them as sloppily as he
can, and then swaggers back over to Coleman, before dropping an
incredibly lazy elbow -- right onto the belt lying on Coleman's face! 
Huge heel pop!]

DD: PLEASANTRIES FROM ENGLAND -- ONTO THE DAMN BELT!

[Pleasence lifts the belt off the head of Mark Coleman, and the camera
shows that he has been busted open by the sharp edges of the gold plate.
Pleasence, smelling blood, drops to the canvas and lays right hand
after right hand after right hand after right hand into the forehead of
the Tennesseean, opening up the cut as much as possible, getting as much
crimson as he can to flow down the face of the rookie.]

DD: This is disgusting!  Do something, Morales!

[Head official Juan Morales steps in to try and force Pleasence to
unhand Coleman, but the official gets a blow to the head for his
trouble!]

DD: Oh, big man, Johnny Pleasence!  What a big man!  That's a $50,000
fine right there!

BS: Coleman is helpless in there, Don!  Orin LeBlanc has been laid out
in the aisle by Nathan Herod, and Pleasence is having his way with
Coleman!

DD: That damned jealous Nathan Herod had no business coming out here to
attack LeBlanc!  The Lynx already made it abundantly clear that he had
no interest in working with Silvestri, so what's Herod's damn problem?!

BS: I don't know, Don, but it looks to me like the back of LeBlanc's
head was busted open from that wicked chairshot.

DD: It's like a damn accident scene out here!  Bryant is down, Faith is
down, LeBlanc is down, and Mark Coleman... Mark Coleman, who has
defeated Dave Bryant here tonight to earn a shot at the RCW World
Heavyweight Champion... Mark Coleman has been busted open yet again at
the hands of that damned Johnny Pleasence.  It's disgusting. 
Disgusting!

[Pleasence leans over the semi-conscious form of Mark Coleman once
again, and wipes his hand across the rookie's bloody forehead. 
Pleasence then wipes the blood he has collected across the face of his
big, gold championship belt, a gory trophy sullying the surface of the
most coveted belt in the world of professional wrestling.  Pleasence
straps the bloody belt around his waist, and then climbs the
turnbuckles, posing for the crowd, who continue to hurl abuse at him. 
Freeze on the shot of Pleasence on the buckles, and cut back to the
studio, where this image is seen on the screen behind Ditka.]

DD: Well, folks, Mark Coleman *is* the number one contender to the RCW
World Heavyweight Championship, but boy, does he continue to pay a heavy
price for the privilege.  Once again Pleasence has stained the beautiful
gold belt he covets so much with the blood of a pretender to his throne,
but only time will tell if Coleman's blood debt will be repaid.  But
let's not forget about the impressive Orin LeBlanc, either.  He was in
singles action earlier in the evening, when he battled the former King
of the Death Match, Akitoshi Ogawa.

[Cut to more footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 31 August 2006."  Ogawa
overpowers LeBlanc and sends him for the ride.  On the return, LeBlanc
ducks under a clothesline attempt from Ogawa, slides up behind him, and
quickly applies a half nelson.  In a flash, LeBlanc grabs Ogawa's other
arm and pulls it across his face, then locks his hands around Ogawa's
neck.  Ogawa's eyes are wide as LeBlanc lifts him up and falls
backwards, dropping the Japanese man on his head and neck.  Huge, huge
pop!  We hear the original commentary:]

DD: BEAST'S BURDEN!  BEAST'S BURDEN!

[LeBlanc makes the cover on Ogawa as Belshee drops to make the count. 
On the outside, Brackett can't believe it!  The crowd chants along as
Belshee's hand comes down once, twice, three times!]

* DING! DING! DING! *

DD: He did it!  He did it!

[Huge pop from the fans as "Do The Evolution" kicks in over the PA, and
LeBlanc gets to his feet, allowing Belshee to raise his arm in victory! 
But LeBlanc's celebration is short-lived, as Brackett slides into the
ring behind Orin.  Almost as if he has eyes in the back of his head,
LeBlanc wheels around, and sees Brackett, grabbing the manager by his
fauxhawk and running him towards the ropes, sending him sailing out of
the ring over the top rope, to the delight of the crowd!]

DD: And Brackett gets his, too!  He interfered in this match once too
often!

[Ogawa rolls out of the ring as LeBlanc climbs up onto the second
turnbuckle and raises his fists in the air.  Cut back to the studio,
where LeBlanc continues his celebrations in slow motion on the screen
behind Ditka.]

DD: Another tremendous victory for the Lynx, and the burly Canadian is
really starting to hit his stride here in RCW.  It's no surprise that he
came to the attention of Mick Silvestri, manager of Nathan Herod, who
after this match put his proposal to LeBlanc: sign up with him, and form
a stable centered around him and Nathan Herod.  LeBlanc rebuffed
Silvestri, but that wasn't enough for the jealous Herod, who, as we saw
earlier tonight, jumped LeBlanc while he was fighting off Pleasence and
Faith in his role as enforcer for the main event.  Don't think for one
second that Orin LeBlanc is going to take that lying down.

[Cut to footage captioned, "AFTER RAMPAGE ENDED."  Fade up into the
locker room, where we find one of RCW seasoned medics trying to apply
stitches to the forehead of a bloody Orin LeBlanc.

Key words being "trying to".]

Medic:  Mr. LeBlanc, this would be easier if you didn't fidget around so
much.

OL: Don't need any damn stitches...

Medic: [muttering to himself] ...everyone's gotta play the damn tough
guy around here...

MC: Hey...got a cold compress?

[As the medic mumbles again to himself, the camera shifts slightly to
show Mark Coleman, fresh from his victory and subsequent beating, in the
doorway of the RCW locker room, holding the top of his head with one 
hand.]

MC: Son of a bitch dropped an elbow... oh, hey, Orin.

OL: Coleman... you look like how I feel.

[Orin tries to chuckle, but there's no humor behind it.  Coleman nods at
the sentiment though.]

Medic: Here.

[He tosses the compress at Coleman, then gestures over to the big
Canadian.]

Medic: Maybe you can talk some sense into this man.

OL: Keep tellin' ya...stitches are just a waste o' time!

[He tries to stand, unsteadily, but the medic forces Orin back down to a
sitting position.]

OL: Guess Silvestri don't follow "No meanin' No" very well...

MC: Reckon you could say that.  The hell you do to that guy to make him
so damn interested in you?

OL: Got me. [He shrugs]  Guy was blabbin' on about startin' a stable an'
wanted me in it.  I turned him down.  Guessin' he sicced Herod on me for
darin' to say otherwise.

[The Lynx growls.]

OL: Big mistake.  I--OW!

Medic: Sorry.  Needle slipped.  Hold still please.

[Orin rolls his eyes as the medic brusquely resumes his work.]

OL: Anyhow, sorry about that.  Didn't count on a sore loser-type
waylayin' me when dealin' with Faith an' Petulance.

MC: Naw... it's cool.

[Coleman has broken the compress by this point, and holds it to his
head.]

MC: Can't right blame you for what Nathan Herod did.  One'd think honor,
Southern style, be worth a damn to him.  Guess not.  But no need to
apologize, Orin.  You did the job I asked you to do, and I got the
victory before Pleasance got his hands on me.  So, far as I'm concerned,
the agreement you and I made?  Still legal and valid should terms and
conditions happen to come to pass.

OL: I'm countin' on it, Mark.  

[LeBlanc rises to his feet, steadier now, as he locks his gaze onto
Coleman.  A smile slowly starts to spread across his face.]

OL: In the meantime, do us all a favor an' fix that pissant Brit what
for.  Him spillin' his own blood don't make him any sort o' man but a
poser an' a fool. Show that coward how to fight without hidin' behind a
lackey all the time... 

[Coleman meets LeBlanc's smile with one of his own, that easy going grin
that's almost a Coleman trademark.]

MC: Oh, I'm plannin' to, Orin.  Got a month or so to get ready for it,
and believe me, every single trick I can think of and every single trick
I can think of that he's thought of, I'm coverin' best I can.  

[Coleman taps a closed cut on his forehead.]

MC: Pleasance thinks cutting a guy open and putting that blood on his
title belt makes him some sort of a man.  Some sort of a wrestling god. 
Hell, where I come from, means you got some sort of issues requirin' the
services of a shrink.

OL: His case, I wouldn't doubt it.  I'm just wonderin' what flavor o'
crazy-assed Kool-Aid Faith an' Bryant swallowed to think he's worth
followin'.

Medic: [sighing] Would you please sit down so I can finish this up, Mr.
LeBlanc?

OL: Depends.  You gonna quit missin' with that needle?

MC: Consider yourself lucky... went to the ER last time, thanks to
Akitoshi Ogawa, had a doctor who damn neared lectured me to death 'bout
how we wrestlers do stupid things and get injured all the time, provin'
ourselves fools.

[Pause]

MC: Don't need a doctor to tell me that.  That's why God gave us family.

OL: [chuckling]  I got a sister an' two cousins in this business
already.  Thankfully, lecturin' is the last thing on their minds.

[Reluctantly, Orin sits down, eyeing the medic cautiously.  The medic
just shrugs and gets back to finishing up his business.]

Medic: I'd stock up on burn ointment then if I were you, Mr. Coleman. 
Using an opponent as an ashtray is a nasty habit of Pleasance's, from
what I've seen.

OL: Hell, I wouldn't put it past him to try to use your eye as an
inkwell when you have that contact signin'!  Bring your own Bic just in
case.

[Coleman chuckles a bit at that comment]

MC: Hey, far as I'm concerned, if Pleasance gets jumpy at a simple
contract signin'... well, means, just one thing.  Boy's 'fraid of me
like the scaredy cat he is.

OL: If you want me watchin' yer back again...

MC: Nah.  You got what you wanted... no need to make you go through it
again.  Besides, figure you got some own scores to settle and your own
back to watch.

OL: Fair enough.  [He nods.]  Silvestri an' his man Herod are gonna find
out the hard way that my refusal ain't up for questionin'.

Medic: [rolls his eyes]  Great.  More work.

MC: Well, my friend, that is what the State of Oregon pays you for...

Medic: ...and I swear it's not enough sometimes.  I better stock up. 
I'm sure I'll be seeing both of you again soon enough...

OL: You make that sound like it's a bad thing.

Medic: ...with extra sharp needles next time.

[The Lynx snorts at that as Coleman hides a chuckle.  Cut back to the
studio, where the screen behind Ditka shows the furious visage of Derek
Rage.]

DD: Derek Rage got somewhat *less* than he bargained for last Thursday
night.  Instead of his expected opponent -- British blueblood Lord Byron
-- Rage was faced with a Portland wrestling, uh, legend of a somewhat
lesser calibre... none other than "Nifty" Ned Norton.  Let's take a
look.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 31 August 2006."  Norton arrives at
ringside and climbs up the ringsteps, stepping between the ropes and
into the ring.  Nickrick signals for the bell.]

* DING! DING! DING! *

[Norton extends his hand to Derek Rage, looking for a handshake.  We
hear the original commentary:]

DD: Ever the Southern gentlemen, Ned Norton wants to shake Derek Rage's
hand here to start things off in a sportsmanlike fashion.

[Derek Rage looks at Norton, then at his hand, then back at Norton
again.  He shows Norton that his right hand is taped up -- but extends
his left hand instead.  Before Norton can react... Rage's left hand is
wrapped around his skull in a claw hold!  Huge pop!]

DD: Rage has got the claw!  Rage has got the claw!

BS: His right hand may be bandaged, but apparently Rage is ambidextrous!

[Rage hefts Norton up in the air by the head... and then *drives* him
down to the mat with a huge chokeslam!  Big, big pop!]

DD: LEFT-HANDED HAMMER OF GOD!  HAMMER OF GOD!

[Rage drops on top of Norton and lies nonchalantly across the prone form
of the Atlanta native.  Nickrick drops to make the count, as the crowd
chant along!]

"ONE! TWO! THREE!"

* DING! DING! DING! *

[Big pop as "Black Steel in the Hour of Chaos" kicks in over the PA once
more.  Cut back to the studio.]

DD: It's not often that we get to show you a match in its entirety here
On The Wire, folks -- but that is undoubtedly the shortest match in RCW
history, beating even the Sixty Second Challenge between Liam Cassidy
and Lord Byron himself several months back.  What now for Derek Rage,
since Byron has been suspended, and he will apparently -- for the time
being, at least -- be denied the opportunity for revenge against the
aristocratic one?  Folks, we have to take a commercial break.  When we
come back, we'll conclude our look at last week's RAMPAGE.  But before
these important messages from our sponsors, let's hear from a big man
from South Dakota who is set to make his debut here in RCW very soon:
his name is Big Bad Wolff.

[Standing before the RCW backdrop is RCW's latest signee, the rugged
South Dakota native dubbed BIG BAD WOLFF.  The burly behemoth holds a
plump stogie in his mitts, regarding it like a john does a lady of the
evening.  He contemplatively strokes his thick goatee as he regards the
cigar with admiration.]
 
BBW: Boss told me not to smoke on TV.  Says it sends a bad message to
the kids.
 
[Wolff withdraws a pack of matches from the rear pocket of his faded
dungarees.  He pulls out a match and strikes it against the side of his
face.  It flares up; he then touches the flame to the tip of the cigar,
of which he takes a long drag.]
 
BBW: Well, t' hell wit' the kids, and t' hell with the boss.
 
[Wolff takes another slow drag and then exhales.]
 
BBW: So what's the lesson here, kids?  What's the moral of the story? 
Well, I'll tell ya: Big Bad Wolff is his own man.  That's right.  Big
Bad Wolff writes his own damn rules, and I only got two of 'em.  And
Rule #1 is I don't follow no damn rules.  Rule #2 says see Rule #1.
 
[Another drag and exhale.]
 
BBW: Ya see, that's what sets me apart from the pack.  We're all wolves,
ya see, all predatory animals out for that big game.  All are vicious. 
All are cunning.  And in every pack, there's that alpha male, the
leader, the big cheese.
 
[He smirks.]
 
BBW: Well, that ain't me.  No.  I ain't the alpha male.  Me?  I'm a
whole different animal altogether.  Me?
 
[The smirk widens.]
 
BBW: Well, I'm the goddamn lone wolf is who I am.  And the lone wolf
don't give a damn 'bout the pack.  He damn sure don't give a damn 'bout
no alpha male either.  He roams alone.  He does his own thing.  That's
me, my friend.
 
[Another drag.]
 
BBW: But let's be clear 'bout somethin': I don't want to be the alpha
male of this joint... yet.  But when I do, just know that I will be. 
And I will be more than happy to cut through the lot o' ya to get to
him, if that's what it takes.
 
[The smirk returns.]
 
BBW: 'Cause I'm the Big Bad Wolff, pal.  And I'll huff...
 
[A long drag.]
 
BBW: ...and I'll puff...
 
[He blows a billowy cloud of smoke from his nostrils.]
 
BBW: ...and I'll punch yer friggin' teeth in.
 
[With the cigar fuming, Wolff exits the scene: stage right.  Fade to
commercials.]




[Fade back from commercials.  Ditka is still seated at his glass-topped
desk in front of the plasma screen in the studio.]

DD: Welcome back to On The Wire, everybody.  Last week's RAMPAGE opened
with a bang, when self-proclaimed RCW Supreme Champion Danny Daniels
took on the deranged Christian Right in singles action.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 31 August 2006".  Danny Daniels
wrestles Christian Right.  He launches himself with the TOODLES~! diving
headbutt from the second turnbuckle, Right rolls out of the way, and
Daniels hits the canvas head-first!  Right gets up to his knees as
Daniels rolls onto his back, hands clutching at his sore head.  Both men
pull themselves back to their feet, and move to the centre of the ring. 
Right takes a swing at Daniels, but Daniels blocks the punch, and fires
back with a right-hand of his own!  Big pop as Daniels rocks Right back
on his heels with one punch... then another... then another!  Daniels
grabs Right and tries to whip him into the corner, but Right reverses,
and sends Daniels for the ride, "Your Hero" crashing hard into the
turnbuckles.  Right charges in after Daniels, splashing him from behind,
then turns him around, and drives his shoulder into Daniels's gut! 
Right goes to take another swing at Danny -- but Daniels blocks it, and
grabs Right by the hair, then switches places with him, and drives his
own shoulder into Right's guts not once, not twice, not three times, not
four times, but five times!  Big pop!  We hear the original commentary:]

DD: And Christian Right is left reeling by Danny Daniels!

[The stunned Christian Right then finds himself lifted up by Daniels,
and seated on the top turnbuckle.  The crowd begins to buzz.]

DD: What's Danny Daniels doing here?

[Daniels himself then climbs to the second turnbuckle, and pulls Right's
head and shoulders into a hold, then grabs one of Right's legs.  Cameras
flash all over the arena as Daniels hefts Right up off the top
turnbuckle, twisting his body and throwing Right off behind him!  Big,
big pop!]

DD: HEROPLEX!  HEROPLEX!

[Both men are down in the ring, but Daniels is only momentarily stunned,
rolling onto the prone Christian Right and hooking the leg.  Bobby
Belshee drops to make the cover!]

"ONE! TWO! THREE!"

[Big pop as Belshee signals to the timekeeper to ring the bell!]

* DING! DING! DING! *

[Daniels pulls himself to his feet as Christian Right rolls from the
ring, and allows Bobby Belshee to raise his arm in victory!]

SS: Ladies and gentlemen... your winner, by pinfall... "YOUUUUR HEEEERO"
DAAAAAAAAANNY DAAAAAAAANIELS!

[Big pop as "Nobody Does It Better" kicks in over the PA once more, but
the beatific expression disappears from Daniels's face, and he wrenches
his arm away from Belshee, moving to the corner and beckoning to Sy
Simmons.]

DD: Uh-oh.  What's got Danny Daniels's goat now?

[As Daniels explains something to Simmons, his eyes visibly roll as he
nods, and raises his microphone again.  Daniels, meanwhile, yells at the
timekeeper to bring him his belt.]

SS: Ladies and gentlemen, I have been asked to make a correction to my
previous announcement.  Your winner of this match, by pinfall... and
*STILL* the RCW Supreme Champion... "YOUUUUUUUUR HEEEEEEERO"...
DAAAAANNY DAAAAAAAANIELS!

[A big smile spreads over Daniels's face as he straps the RCW Supreme
Championship belt around his waist, again striking the same pose as the
figure etched in gold on the belt's big, shiny plate.  Cameras flash all
over the arena as Daniels poses for the fans.  Freeze on this shot, and
cut back to the studio, where Daniels is also frozen on the screen
behind Ditka.]

DD: A great win for Danny Daniels, no doubt about it, and what turned
out to be Christian Right's last appearance in RCW -- he was released
from his contract following the show.  But what of this so-called RCW
Supreme Championship?  RCW officials are still refusing to sanction the
title, so Danny Daniels is still champion only in his own mind.  But
will other RCW superstars nevertheless want to take Daniels's shiny
plaything away from him?

[The screen behind Ditka shows the faces of Nolan Dorado and Liam
Cassidy.]

DD: Before we leave last week's RAMPAGE, let's talk about the first hobo
of wrestling, Liam Cassidy, and the hottest high-flyer in the sport
right now, "Golden Boy" Liam Cassidy.  After Cassidy was denied victory
against Nolan Dorado by the conniving Jodee Burwick, who planted brass
knuckles in Cassidy's hand after Cassidy had legitimately laid Dorado
out with the Pikey Layover, the "Jersey Drifter" called Dorado out to
the ring on RAMPAGE, and challenged him to a rematch.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 31 August 2006."  Dorado and
Burwick stand in the ring, across from Cassidy.  Dorado has the mic.]

ND: But the last time I checked, beside my name there was a checkmark in
the "W" column while beside yours was one in the "Loss" column!  Whine
about it all you like but the fact is, you lost!  Make all the excuses
you want because it doesn't matter to me.  But as for your...
"request"... for a rematch?  Here's my answer so listen up...

[Dorado leans in Cassidy's direction, pausing for dramatic effect.]

ND: ...NO!

[And with that, Dorado drops the microphone as he backs away, sliding
out beneath the bottom rope to the arena floor as Burwick turns toward
the corner steps.  The crowd boos and jeers the two of them at a fever
pitch but is studiously ignored as Burwick suddenly pauses and bends
down (providing the Hobo Section with a spectacular view) and picks up
the microphone herself.  Cassidy is glaring angrily at Dorado on the
outside of the ring but changes his focus to the surgically enhanced
blonde when she steps in front of him.] 

JB: One last thing, you smelly pile of rags!  Don't you _EVER_ put
another one of your stinky hands on my Nolan ever again!!

[On the outside of the ring, Dorado winces at his girlfriend's attempt
to defend him as the male members of the crowd jeer at his public
emasculation.  Cassidy snorts in disbelief and snatches the microphone
out of Burwick's delicately manicured hand as she gasps in shock.]

LC: Hah!  You don't want hands put on him, girlie, but you sure look
like you've had more than a few put on you!

[The fans roar their approval as Burwick's face screws up in rage as she
grabs the microphone, pulling it towards her while Cassidy retains his
grip on it.]

JB: How dare you?!  You should go wash your mouth out with something
you've never seen before... SOAP!

"OOOOOOOOOHH!"

[Cassidy temporarily wins the microphone tug of war by pulling it
towards himself for his response.]

LC: I know what soap is, ya overstuffed tart.  Lemme tell you this,
though.  There ain't enough soap in the world that would clean out your
mouth after what I hear you like to do with yours!

"OOOOOOOOOOOOHHHHH!"

[The audience is clearly beginning to enjoy this exchange.  Burwick, on
the other hand, clearly is not -- but before she can respond, she is
pulled away by a concerned-looking Nolan Dorado, who has rolled back
into the ring.  As Dorado tries to draw the protesting Burwick away from
Cassidy, the "Jersey Drifter" turns toward the Hobo Section and grins
widely as he gives them a double thumbs-up.]

DD: Liam Cassidy and Jodee Burwick exchanging words with Cassidy clearly
coming out ahead but... LOOK OUT!

[Spotting Cassidy's distraction as the brawler is turned away, Dorado
releases Burwick and takes the opportunity to strike as he steps forward
and leaps up into the air, spinning around in a complete circle so that
his leg lashes out, his foot smashing into the side of Cassidy's head
with a devastating impact.] 

DD: Oh no!  A jumping spinning roundhouse kick... right to the head!

[The crowd's laughter dies quickly and is replaced by more deafening
jeers as Cassidy collapses to his hands and knees.  Dorado and Burwick
beat a hasty retreat from the ring as the "Jersey Drifter" takes a
moment to shakily rise to his feet once more, dazedly forced to use the
ring ropes to help pull himself upright.]

DD: What a disgusting display, Billy Shakespeare!  Nolan Dorado may have
just awoken the sleeping giant with that back-stabbing assault!

BS: I'll predict this much... if Liam Cassidy wanted a rematch before,
he'll be even hungrier for it now considering what Dorado's just done.

DD: And for what? To defend the honor of that harpy, Jodee Burwick?

[Cassidy stumbles over to the side of the ring facing the entrance as he
points an angry finger towards Dorado and curses.  Up the aisle, Dorado
ignores him and the booing crowd as he drags Burwick away although the
shapely blonde is still angrily yelling threats and insults back at the
"Jersey Drifter".  Liam stumbles around with his hand, trying to grab
the mic without taking his eyes off of his new-found enemies.]

LC: I'll tell you this, lad. This ain't over...

[Cut back to the studio, where the shot of Cassidy pushing himself up on
the mat and snarling into the microphone is frozen.]

DD: It certainly is not over.  Dorado may be ducking Cassidy for now,
but I don't expect he'll be lucky enough to duck the "Jersey Drifter"
forever.  And the first hobo of wrestling is certainly planning to
change Dorado's luck -- by force if necessary.

[Cut to the main foyer of the Rip City Wrestling offices. Sitting in a
chair, reading a People magazine is RCW's famed hobo boxer turned
"wrassler", "The Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy. That scruffy beard and
mangy black fedora is unmistakable. He is busy reading an article and
shakes his head. He decides to set down the magazine and mutters under
his breath.] 

LC: Ugly bugger.

[To the observant eye, the article features a full page photo of one
Hollywood actor, Brad Pitt. Anyway, Liam looks anxious. He is sitting up
in his chair, his back inches away from the chair's backside. His eyes
nervously shift around the room. He even nods at the camera, tipping his
battered black fedora towards us. As he goes back to glancing around the
room, a door opens and into the room comes young RCW intern, Jamie Bond.
Liam leaps up to his feet and rushes his friend.] 

LC: So how'd it go, lad? You get to see 'em? He in a good mood? Huh?
Tell me you worked your magic. 

[Jamie stares at his unlikely friend.]

JB: Well...

LC: Ah God, ya failed. Well what is it? Why not? 

JB: Would you just settle down for a moment?

LC: Settle down? Jamie, you know what the git did to me. And on top of
that, what he said. I ain't about to let up on the issue. Dorado's gonna
get his clock cleaned one way or the other.

[Jamie sighs. He glances down at the sheet of paper in his hands...
Looking like he is about to say something, Bond stops the thought and
folds up the paper to stuff into his pocket.]

JB: Let's just take a walk, okay?

[Liam shrugs and follows Jamie through the front doors to the sunshiny
day outside. Of course, not without winking with the front office
receptionist. Our cameraman follows them through the door. The two walk
outside and to the street. At the street, there is a vendor selling hot
dogs.]

LC: Hey, you want lunch? My treat. Two please.

[The vendor nods and prepares two hot dogs.]

LC: What's the matter, kid? You look like you just had your childhood
dog run over.

Vendor: Three bucks.

[Cassidy fumbles around in his pocket for money. He ends up pulling out
a ten dollar bill.]

LC: Here, you keep the change. Thanks!

[Liam takes the hot dogs and hands one to Jamie. The vendor can't
believe he just got a $7 tip.]

Vendor: No, thank you, sir!

[Grabbing some condiments from a basket, the two begin their way down
the street.]

JB: Err... Why don't we sit down for a moment, Liam?

[The two find an empty bench next to the sidewalk and sit down. As he
opens a ketchup packet, Liam breaks the awkward silence between the
two.]

LC: So I guess I don't get my match?

JB: Well. No. Not yet anyway. 

[The two each take a bit of their hot dog.]

LC: Hrm, that ain't good.

JB: You know Liam, I don't even know why you sent me in there to Dan's
office to negotiate you a rematch with Nolan Dorado. What were you
expecting me to do for you? I'm not a manager.

LC: Well, better you than me. I think you know by now, I ain't exactly
the negotiating type. And I want this match with Dorado more than
anything else right now. You have a knack for this kind of thing, lad,
and I was just hoping you'd be able to come up with something. I dunno. 

JB: Well, the idea of a rematch is possible.

LC: Oh yeah?

JB: Sort of. See, I got a list of demands from Dorado and Burwick that
they personally gave to Dan Spreadbury. They say if you meet their
requirements, they would consider your request for another match.

LC: You're kidding me... Right?

JB: Afraid not, Liam. Sorry.

LC: Geez. Are they reasonable?

[Jamie unfolds the sheet of paper and glances over them. The dejected
young intern frowns and shakes his head no.]

LC: Didn't think so. So what do I gotta do?

JB: You're not going to like these, Liam. 

LC: Just read 'em to me.

JB: Well. Let's see... One of the big things is that they think you are
too dirty. Apparently, wrestling you represents a significant health
risk to both Nolan and Jodee.			

LC: Too dirty?

JB: That's what it says. 

[Perhaps a bit self conscious, Liam quickly sneaks a quick sniff of his
armpit, checking for B-O. He shrugs that one off.]

JB: In order to be granted a rematch, you will be required... Oh dear.
You will be required to be subjected to random drug testing in the
previous weeks prior to the match. 

LC: Drugs? I ain't no druggie. What are they looking for?

JB: Beats me. In addition to drug testing, you must subject yourself to 
blood sampling and a urinary analysis. And they've specifically
highlighted the words hep-c, mono, SARS and scurvy.

LC: What else?

JB: Due to fear of lice, you must shave of your beard and cut and wash
your hair on the night of the rematch. The clothing you arrive in must
be incinerated to prevent further infestation to the locker room. 

LC: Say what? Even the hat?

JB: Especially the hat. You will be required to wear a standard
regulation wrestling singlet and boots instead of your street clothes
when competing in the ring.

LC: A what?

JB: A singlet. Tights. Like the amateur wrestlers wear.

LC: Dorado wants me in tights? I told you he was a bit fruity. That
figures...

[Cassidy smirks. Jamie continues reading.]

JB: You must no longer associate with myself or Billy Shakespeare.

[Jamie frowns up at Liam, not wanting to lose his friend.]

LC: What, now they want to dictate who I can and can't be friends with?

JB: It states that our relationship provides you an unfair and biased
media representation. 

LC: Son of a...

JB: The members of the Hobo Section provide a security threat at
ringside, making it unsafe working conditions for Dorado and Burwick.
Therefore the Hobo Section is not allowed to be present the night of the
rematch.

LC: What?! Those arseholes want to ban my fans from being there, too?!

JB: Apparently.

[Liam removes his hat and scratches at his mangy hair as he attempts to
take this all in.]

LC: Okay. Well. That's... pretty bad. All of it. I can't believe they
want to...

JB: Hold on, Liam. There's more.

LC: Oy vey!

JB: Due to previous biased officiating, Dorado demands that he be
allowed to assign a referee of his own choosing for the match. That
can't be good. Apparently due to your blatant disregard for the rules of
wrestling, the match will be contested under "Scientific Rules."

LC: What does that mean?

JB: It means all of the traditional rules of wrestling must be adhered
to and enforced. Which means you're not allowed to throw a punch, Liam,
or else you'll face instant disqualification. 

LC: Oh, for [BLEEP]'s sake.

JB: Hrm. You won't like this one...

LC: What? 

JB: Well, aside from the drug testing, you must also pass a sobriety
test before the match can begin. This includes the horizontal gaze
nystagmus, touching your nose with a finger, the walk and turn, the one
leg stand while reciting the alphabet backwards and a breathalyzer test.


[That was the last straw. Liam looks pale and his eyes are staring
vacantly in front of him as he weighs the options out in his head. Bond
sighs and quickly folds the list back up and stuffs it in his pocket.]

JB: So what are you going to do? Is Dorado worth it?

LC: I... I dunno Jamie...

[Liam rises from the bench and adjusts his black fedora.]

LC: Looks like I've got me some thinking to do.

JB: Where are you going?

LC: To the Arm Bar, lad. How do you expect me to do my thinking without
beer in front of me?

JB: Any clue what your answer might be?

LC; Like I said, I dunno. I guess we'll see on Thursday.

[Liam tips his hat to his friend, and walks away down the sidewalk.
Jamie watches Liam as he goes.]

JB: Poor guy. 

[Cut back to the studio.]

DD: Folks, we have to take another short break.  When we come back,
we'll look ahead to all the action coming your way next Thursday night. 
But first, let's hear from "Global Superstar" Ron Paris, who is set to
finally make his debut in RCW real soon now.

[A grainy countdown, by now starting to become familiar to RCW viewers,
starts up at 8. It makes it all the way down to 3 before a loud beep can
be heard, and then three more seconds pass before a black and white
title card pops up, indicating the start of yet another "documentary"
extolling the virtues of Ron Paris. The title reads:]

"Global Superstar Productions Presents:
RON PARIS in...
The Return of a Legend, Part Three"

[This is when the sound kicks in, and the picture seems to stabilize
slightly -- it had been moving slightly from side to side, and it
doesn't now. However, there is still the occasional horizontal line
across the screen, and the occasional unexplained pop and crackle. No
snaps, fortunately, as we can all do without Rice Krispies.

The title card is replaced by a slightly smaller subtitle, with white
letters and a white border on a black background.]

"Ron Paris on...
TECHNICAL WRESTLING."

[The subtitle, like the title before it, stays on screen just long
enough to be read, before it gives way to the expected shot of Ron
Paris, sitting at a table and facing an interviewer who is presumably
just off screen. As with the previous two "documentaries", the action is
filmed in black and white. Paris smiles slightly, as if reacting to
something that was just said to him, and then begins to speak.]

RP: Some people know the holds. Some guys know the counters to the
holds. What really sets me apart is that I know the counters to the
counters. It's like playing chess. It's not enough to know your next
moveÉ you have to know his next move, and then your move in response to
that, and then what he might do, and so on. You have to think ahead.

[Paris drums a single finger on his left hand off the table
absent-mindedly as, in line with his answer, he seems to think ahead
about the rest of his response.]

RP: Being a Global Superstar puts a lot of demands on you as a technical
wrestler. Every time I go out there, I need to prove my superiority all
over again. Some guys are just happy to get a win, some, to get a half
decent crowd reaction and lukewarm applause from the boys in the back.
That doesn't cut it for Ron Paris. If I go out there and give the people
anything less than four stars, I see red for a week. Sure, I could blame
it on the talentless load I had to carry... but that's pretty much a
given, and I'm sure by looking at the roster that will happen from time
to time here in RCW as well.

[Paris smirks, having surely just made a lot of friends in his new
locker room, before he continues the answer.]

RP: It's not enough to just say how great I am, or to rely on my
reputation and my previous work. I need to set the bar higher every time
I go out there. Take, for example, a simple hold like an armbar. Most
guys will tell you that's one move... nope, it's a whole class of moves.
I know of over five hundred ways to apply it. It's true! There's a list
on my website if you don't believe me!

[Along the bottom of the screen, www.pariswrestling.com/moveset/armbars
flashes briefly. while Paris just waits for the plug to end.]

RP: That's only the beginning. I know over a thousand counters to the
Boston Crab. I can apply over a dozen submission holds to any part of a
man's body. I know of suplexes that haven't ever been seen in North
America, and haven't been used in Japan since the Twelfth Century. I
once won a match focusing every move only on causing pain to my
opponent's gall bladder. In fact, I think that if I wrestled Jesus, I
could outdo him on the mat.

[Paris briefly gets a concerned look on his face, and quickly speaks up
to offer a correction.]

RP: Don't get me wrong! I'm not trying to say I'm bigger than Jesus, or
anything! That would be hubris.

It's just that, if I did wrestle our Lord and Saviour, in a
catch-as-catch can match, I think I could take him. Strictly on mat
wrestling skills, that's all.

[Paris takes a more relaxed posture, satisfied he's made his point
sufficiently clear. We switch to another title screen, in the same style
as the opening one:]

"Tune in again for more of RON PARIS!"

[This stays on the screen for a few seconds, like the other titles,
allowing us all time to read it. As the title lingers, Paris' voice can
be heard one last time...

RP: I'm just saying, I don't think Jesus knows over 500 different
armbars...

[Fade to commercials.]




[Fade back from commercials.]

   ___  ______      __
  / _ \/ ___/ | /| / /
 / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ /  >< >< >< >< >< RAMPAGE RUNDOWN >< >< >< >< ><
/_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/


[The RAMPAGE logo appears on the screen behind Ditka.]

DD: It's set to be another incredible night of action live from the Rose
Garden next Thursday night, with four huge matches and a
hotly-anticipated contract signing in store.  Let's run down the card.

[The screen behind Ditka shows the faces of Vinny Carmazzi and "Pistol"
Paul Driscoll, behind the bars of a steel cage.]

DD: What a main event it's going to be.  It's a match that has been
brewing for months.  Finally, second-generation Texan grappler ÒPistolÓ
Paul Driscoll and submission specialist Vinny Carmazzi will meet,
one-on-one... inside a steel cage!  There'll be no getting away and
nothing to stop these two men settling the score once and for all.

[The camera fades in to an empty arena late at night. However, it might
be the dim lighting but it does not appear to be the Rose Garden. By
what could be made out, the size, shape, and seating arrangement are all
different. Something about the man skulking along the mezzanine seems
familiar though. His head bowed down, staring at his feet as they walk.
Straggly hair covers the entirety of his face, but the man is
recognizable nonetheless. But for someone who has been everywhere in his
12 years in this profession, Vinny Carmazzi seems particularly
deliberate in this one setting. More unsettled than usual.]
 
VC: Rip City Wrestling, welcome to Jacksonville.
 
[The camera strays from Vinny to show the confines of Jacksonville
Veterans Memorial Arena. He pays no mind and continues speaking.]
 
VC: Where it all began between me and Driscoll.
 
[Carmazzi returns to the scene.]
 
VC: Haven't been back here since '99. Not that I was avoiding it or
anything. Career just took me elsewhere.
 
[He continues walking, looking down all the while.]
 
VC: The last night I was here, seven years ago, some supposed
"up-and-comer" took his daddy's marching orders. Gave me a hell of a
beating back when I was still learning this sport and lost more matches
than I could ever count.
 
[Vinny tries to pull a handful of hair out of his face. But because his
head still hangs, it returns to its old place.]
 
VC: That night lingers with me for two reasons.
 
[He turns his face towards the camera. He can see it, but not the other
way around.]
 
VC: One, nobody took as much pleasure in whipping someone who wouldn't
fight back as Paul Driscoll. You see, even when the supposed monsters of
the sport saw that I was no competition, they actually held themselves
back a little. Some knew what was up, but most of them just couldn't get
themselves going in a one-sided fight. But not Driscoll. He enjoyed
every second of it. He knew it wouldn't come any easier for him ever
again. He knew this was going to be his one and only career highlight.
He knew this was the match that was going to make him a star in this
business. Finally make his matchmaker daddy happy and proud of him.
 
[Vinny finally comes to rest and faces the camera. He puts his hands on
the mezzanine railing and glares straight ahead.]
 
VC: And he was right. He got noticed. His daddy told him he loved him
for the first time. It never was as easy for him again. And it was his
one and only highlight before his career fizzled out again. What brought
him desperately to Portland earlier this year. Brings me to the second
reason that a match from seven years ago still stays in my mind.
 
[Carmazzi brushes the hair away to reveal two burning red eyes. The
blood accelerates and deepens the color in his expression.]
 
VC: Because since Day 1 in RCW, Driscoll has taken every opportunity to
remind me of it.
 
[Vinny wheels around and hauls off on the wall behind him. The loud
smack of fist on concrete echoes throughout the building. His bloody
hand drops to his side as he faces the camera once more.]
 
VC: Sometimes intentional. Sometimes not. Fate put us in the final match
of the very first RAMPAGE. And in the months that followed, not a moment
has gone by when you didn't bring all those memories rushing back. Just
even the sight of you. For both of us, Rip City Wrestling was supposed
to be a fresh start. But it wasn't for me. Not as long as you were here,
doing all you could to bring me back to a darker time and place in my
life. 
 
[He looks off to the side.]
 
VC: And bringing it up worked that first night. It threw me off my game
long enough for you to steal a win. But then you kept doing it. Maybe it
convinced you that you're future was bright once more. For me, it took
the focus off of becoming the best in this sport. Prone to mistakes,
just like my match against Pleasence for the title three weeks ago.
You've made it that just the sight of you triggers a blood-boiling rage.
One that I didn't know I had in me. Something that even frightens
myself. I have never wanted to use the Kimura or any submission move to
end someone's career. Not until now. Not until you.
 
[The expression on his face reveals regret in even saying those words
out loud.]
 
VC: That last match convinced me that as long as you're here in RCW,
I'll never be able to bury the past once and for all. Not gonna be able
to move on no matter how hard I try. Every night in RCW is Jacksonville
all over again. No thought spent on my future. Or the present. Just the
past. Even when I'm fighting for a World title, maiming you is all
that's on my mind. I was holding myself back before. But now this issue
is doing it for me. I have no future as long as you are here.
 
[Vinny closes his eyes and takes a very deep breath. A long, thoughtful
pause.]
 
VC: Which is why I want our steel cage match next RAMPAGE to be Loser
Leaves Town.
 
[Regret appears to follow each word out of Vinny's mouth. He may not
know what he has just done.]
 
VC: I know RCW has been the only place to give me a fair chance in this
sport. I know my best opportunity for success is in Portland. But I
can't fully take advantage of it with Driscoll, and Jacksonville, and
every other bit of my past constantly being thrown in my face and
getting in my way. I don't have a future in this sport as long as
Driscoll is around. And that is why I'm willing to risk it for the sake
of closing that chapter of my life once and for all.
 
[He finally opens his eyes again. It's done.]
 
VC: Thank you for everything, Dan. I appreciate everything you've done
for me and hope this is not the end of our time working together in RCW.
But this is something I have to do and I'm asking you to please draw up
the contracts. Loser leaves town in a steel cage next week on RAMPAGE. I
know you want to milk this until December, but I can't go through this
any longer.
 
[Vinny hesitates, but continues anyway.]
 
VC: This issue with Driscoll is affecting everything, and I want to
either end it once and for all next week... or walk away because I
couldn't. Please sign the match. And Driscoll, for your sake too, please
agree to this. Portland turned out not to be big enough for the both of
us. At this rate, neither of us can truly move on and find success in
this sport. Only one of us has a real future here. If fate has it
planned for it not to be me, I'm ready to walk away for good. I believe
the same may be true for you as well. 
 
[Carmazzi turns his back and begins to walk away from the camera and out
of the arena.]
 
VC: I'm ready to put everything on the line next week to end this issue
between us. Are you, Paul?
 
[He takes off the microphone as he walks. One more thought until he
places it down on a nearby seat.]
 
VC: May the best man win. May the loser say goodbye and never look back.
 
[As Carmazzi continues into the tunnel, the scene fades to black.  Cut
back to the studio.]

DD: What a bombshell, folks.  Carmazzi and Driscoll are already set to
face off inside a steel cage to settle a score nearly a decade old --
and Carmazzi wants to make it a Loser Leaves Town match.  Will the RCW
President agree to these stipulations?  Tune in next Thursday night to
find out.

[The screen behind Ditka shows the faces of Owen Curtis and "Golden Boy"
Nolan Dorado.]

DD: Owen "Truth" Curtis has been making the RCW President's life a
misery of late, attempting to hijack RCW broadcasts and run his own
promotion, Ring of Truth.  The Eugene, Oregon native is going to have to
get back in the ring himself, however, because he's going to be facing
the high-flying "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado one-on-one in the Rose Garden!

[The scene switches to an interior view of a generic convenience store
somewhere within the urban landscape that is Portland, Oregon.  Behind
the counter, an Asian man looks nervously towards the camera but most of
his attention is focused on the couple standing in front of the
newsstand shelves where row upon row of newspapers and magazines are
neatly arranged.  The man is recognizable to Rip City fans as "Golden
Boy" Nolan Dorado, dressed in a black leather jacket embroidered with
gold studs.  Beside him, fleshing out an extremely form-fitting cashmere
sweater and painted-on jeans is Jodee Burwick, looking decidedly bored
as she examines her overly-manicured nails.  Dorado's eyes scan the
stacks of newspapers for a moment before he turns to face the camera,
addressing it with a smirk that reveals a flash of his gold-capped
incisors.]

ND: Nice to see that the Booking Committee is *FINALLY* starting to wake
up a little bit in scheduling me to face some worthy competition. 
Having to soil my hands on unsanitary hoboes is *NOT* what I signed up
for!

[Jodee Burwick's bee-stung lips purse in a grimace of distaste at the
mention of the "Jersey Drifter".]

ND: What I *DID* sign up for was to face guys like Owen Curtis... the
man who single-handedly ran that dinosaur Brody Thunder out of the RCW! 
For that, Mister Curtis, I applaud you.

[Dorado raises his hands in front of him and performs an exaggerated
"golf clap" that exudes insincerity.]

ND: The problem is, Curtis, that while packing Thunder off to the old
folks home is a laudable feat, it's not... well, it's yesterday's news
if you know what I mean?

[With a jerk of his thumb, Dorado indicates a blue plastic box filled
with discarded newspapers.]

ND: I'll give you some credit, Curtis, you're better than some
talentless hack that Spreadbury found in a back alley somewhere.  But as
for the "Truth"?

[Dorado holds up his fingers to perform air quotation marks.]

ND: The "truth" is, I'm gonna have to slap you down as just another
obstacle on my path to inevitable greatness and glory.  And when we look
at the statistics, it shouldn't be all that hard to do...

[Reaching over to the shelves, Dorado picks up a newspaper and opens it
so that the title page can be seen clearly.  The broadsheet is instantly
recognizable to Portland residents as "The Oregonian", the city's
primary daily newsletter.  Dorado pretends to browse quickly through
"The Oregonian" before tossing it aside.]

ND: Hmmm... seems like the "truth" about Owen Curtis isn't that easy to
find.

[And with that, Dorado picks up another newspaper, "The Willamette Week"
and browses through it briefly before tossing it aside.  He repeats this
performance with "The Portland Tribune", "The Portland Mercury", "The
Oregon Herald" and even a copy of "The Asian Reporter" which he
disdainfully holds upside down before throwing it away.  Behind him, the
store clerk can be seen looking on with disapproval but he says nothing
while Jodee Burwick picks up a copy of "People" magazine and begins
flipping through the pages.]

ND: Gee, Owen, for a guy who prides himself on his journalistic prowess,
you're not getting a lot of coverage these days, huh?

[Dorado chuckles as he reaches over and picks up a copy of "The Portland
Alliance".  The headline on the front cover of this issue reads:
"Election 2006 - Who Owns Oregon's Elections?" but Dorado barely even
glances at it before his face screws up in an expression of distaste and
he throws the paper away without even reading it.]

ND: Yeesh!  I guess the only bylines you're getting these days are in
your own imagination, huh?

[Shaking his head from side to side, Dorado places his hands on his hips
as Jodee Burwick turns sideways, inadvertently offering a curvaceous
profile to the camera as she seems to be absorbed in an article about
Kevin Federline.  Oblivious to this, Dorado addresses the camera
directly.]

ND: Never mind what the tabloids say, Curtis, the "truth" is... as much
as I might respect what you've done in the past, you're Old News.  I
mean, compare the two of us... I'm ten years younger than you, man!

[Upon overhearing a reference to age, Burwick looks up warily but
visibly heaves a sigh of relief (causing interesting things to happen to
her upper body) when she realizes she's not the target of the comments.]

ND: Not only am I younger, faster, stronger... but I'm also a hell of a
lot more relevant than you could ever be.  I mean, check out our
entrance songs... "What's Golden" was released by Jurassic 5 in 2002,
only four years ago.  "Stranger Than Fiction" by Bad Religion?  Man,
that track was recorded in 1994!  I was only ten years old when that
album came out!!

["The Golden Boy" chuckles in disbelief, the golden caps on his front
teeth casting shining reflections from the camera's lights.]

ND: And what's that other song you've been using... "Would I Lie To You"
by The Eurythmics?  HELLO!

[Dorado holds his finger and thumb up to the side of his head mimicking
a telephone.]

ND: Mr. Curtis?  The Eighties called... they want their dusty old relics
and hairspray back!!

[Laughing at his own joke, Dorado crosses his arms over his chest as
Jodee Burwick pouts and carelessly drops the magazine she'd been reading
on the floor.]

JB: I'm bored, Nolie!  Are we done yet?

ND: Just a second, babe.  I'm finishing up.

[Turning back to the camera, Dorado's expression grows serious.]

ND: I don't have any particular beef against you, Curtis, so don't take
what I'm about to do to you personally.  But if there's any "truth" to
all of this, it's simply that you can't handle the "real truth".  The
"real truth" is contained within the text of the Golden Rule which
states that...

[Dorado grins, his smile radiating cockiness and arrogance.]

ND: ...the "Golden Boy"... rules!

[Turning his back to the camera, Dorado grabs Burwick by the elbow and
practically drags her out of the convenience store while the clerk looks
on with resentment, a pile of discarded newspapers and magazines left in
their wake.  After a moment, the scene fades to...

...nothing but blue canvas.]

VOICE: Come on, baby!

[The shuffle of bouncing feet is heard, followed by two solid but
muffled impacts.]

VOICE: That's it!

[The camera pans back to show that we are in a ring. But the ropes are
not THREE... but four. That's right. It's not a wrestling ring. It's a
boxing ring.]

VOICE: Harder! Faster!

[More shuffling, followed by three quick impacts, a pause, and a huge
THWACK!]

VOICE: Ouch! Stop it! That hurts!

[The camera pans back further, widening the view to show Eddie "Flash"
Curtis in sneakers, sweats, a muscle T that says "You've been
F-STOPPED," and boxing headgear. He's holding up some sort of sparring
pad. Facing him, still bobbing and weaving and shuffling, is his brother
-- Owen "Truth" Curtis -- attired in green and gold boxing shorts, a
white tank top, boxing gloves, and boxing headgear.]

EDDIE "FLASH" CURTIS: [laughing] "Ouch! Stop it! That hurts!" Sheeze ...
I sound like Nolan Dorado after he's been hit.

[Owen stops shuffling his feet, spits out his mouthpiece, and says.]

OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: No, you don't. This does.

[Owen promptly falls over like dead weight onto the canvas, making a
huge SPLAT as he lands. Eddie hovers over him with a quizzical look,
until Owen pops his head up and says...]

OTC: THAT is what Nolan Dorado does like after he's been hit. Only with
him, it's an involuntary reaction.

[Eddie nods, reaches out and helps his brother back up.]

EFC: You got that right. Man, you went down faster than a Bangkok whore
with a crisp fiver in her hand.

[Eddie tosses Owen a towel, which Owen catches and proceeds to use to
blot the sweat off his shoulders.]

OTC: Nicely said. For as we all know, the man doesn't just have a glass
jaw, but a jaw that resembles tulips dipped in dry ice. As we've seen,
he can't punch his way out of a thick fog. Me, I've beaten Liam Cassidy
in seconds, and I've overcome Brody Thunder, who, believe me, can hit
like a freight train. I beat Cassidy... and Cassidy floored this turkey
in one punch. It's pure logic. A is better than B and B is better than
C, so A is better than C. Ergo, this match is going to be absolutely no
problem. I don't know why we're even sparring to get ready for it. The
Truth is, I need some decent competition, and this ain't it.

[Owen whips the towel over his left shoulder and begins to leave the
ring. But a word from Eddie catches him.]

EFC: Except.

OTC: Except?

EFC: Except.

[Owen comes back to face his brother and ask what he means. He studies
Eddie's face, then says...]

OTC: Except what?

EFC: Except the fact that Nolan Dorado BEAT Liam Cassidy the last time
they hooked up, and boxing ability had none to do with it. Dorado and
his valet tricked the ref into giving Liam a DQ. You saw it. I saw it.
Pretty clever, if you ask me.

[Owen just stares at Eddie incredulously.]

OTC: This matters... why? Because the record book is one thing, but we
know who whipped whose ass. And besides, you think _I'm_ gonna fall for
the same lame tricks that Cassidy did? If that ditz puts brass knuckles
in MY hand, I'll knock HER out with them, knock HIM out with them, knock
out their pet bulldog at home just for kicks, hide them down her
cleavage, wake the ref, Mugshot him to oblivion and get the three-count
all in the blink of an eye. I'm that bad and that nationwide. I don't
sweat Nolan Dorado, nor should I.

EFC: You just gave him your whole game plan.

OTC: So?

EFC: He might counterprogram it.

OTC: I'll change it.

EFC: He might adjust.

OTC: I doubt it.

EFC: You might have bad luck.

OTC: Luck has nothing to do with it.

EFC: He might be smarter than he looks.

[Owen shoots Eddie a quizzical look.]

EFC: Well, it wouldn't be difficult.

[Owen pauses, then nods.]

OTC: You have a point. But he'd have to be a LOT smarter than he looks
to even BEGIN to get me to worry about his intelligence. Look, Nolan
Dorado is someone who has trouble with the Truth. He thinks he can
punch, he can't. He thinks he's awesome, he's not. He thinks Jodee
Burwick's exclusive to him... get real. And if this is all the
competition Spreadbury can give me... I'll knock it right out of my way.
I'm one of the top talents in this promotion... THE top talent if I
hadn't had an off night against Johnny Pleasance. Nolan Dorado, on the
other hand, is enhancement talent with a lot of luck. He THINKS he
should be getting title shots from Dan Spreadbury... _I_ should be
getting them. Not him. And speaking of Spreadbury...

EFC: I was hoping you'd get to this...

OTC: Here's a few words, man to man, for all to hear. Look, Danny. I'm
not saying you're a lousy promoter. You've made mistakes, but you
obviously signed me, so you know something. Even a clock with a dead
battery is correct twice a day, so you have that going for you. But RCW
is lacking a few things and I'm just exercising the clauses in the
contract YOU gave me, in order to deliver a better experience for our
fans. Better announcing, better matches, better rules, better
everything. Just giving the fans a better experience.

EFC: Kind of like what I do for the female fans in the bar after the
show. Right, Owen?

OTC: Kind of, only this doesn't involve Rohypnol. Look, you want my
advice, Spreadbury? Don't think you can make me give up, just because
you sent security guards out on the last RAMPAGE and actually summoned
up the guts to put me in a match on _this_ RAMPAGE. If you think that,
you're dumber than Dorado. You don't scare me by making me work harder
to do what I love. The Truth does not give up. The Truth endures...
despite what others may say. The Truth is constant, The Truth is
absolute... and The Truth has been through far, FAR too much to just
give up because of what you say or what Pleasence says or really what
ANYONE says. I'm going to find a way to set things right for once... and
God help you, Nolan Dorado, or anyone else that gets in my way. If you
think you can stop me...

[Owen motions to Eddie with a twirled finger that says, "finish that
sentence."]

EFC: You're in for the Cold, Hard Truth?

OTC: Exactly.

[Owen tosses off both boxing gloves. He and Eddie walk away, and the
camera focuses on the green gloves left lying on the canvas. Fade out. 
Back in the studio, the screen now shows the faces of Orin "The Lynx"
LeBlanc and Ryan Faith.]

DD: Having spurned the advances of manager Mick Silvestri, Orin "The
Lynx" LeBlanc is a marked man -- as evidenced by the manner in which he
was jumped last RAMPAGE by Silvestri's jealous charge Nathan Herod.
LeBlanc certainly has no shortage of enemies: he's been called out by
Ryan Faith, who was dropped throat-first on the steel crowd barriers by
the burly Canadian while the Lynx was on sentry duty during Mark
Coleman's match against Faith's stablemate Dave Bryant last week. Now
Faith is out to settle the score with the Lynx.  Who will prevail?

[The faces of "Your Hero" Danny Daniels and Nathan Herod appear on the
screen behind Ditka.]

DD: He may be raw, but he's certainly dangerous.  Alabama native Nathan
Herod goes one-on-one with the self-proclaimed RCW Supreme Champion
"Your Hero" Danny Daniels, who has been on a real roll as of late.  Will
Herod be the one to put a stop to Daniels's delusional ramblings?

[The camera fades in to see the similing visage of Danny "Your Hero"
Daniels.  He's sitting on a folding chair, behind a cardboard table.  As
the camera zooms back, we see that he's in the middle of a mall, on top
of a stage.  A makeshift sign hangs at the front of the table,
reading...

                               TODAY ONLY!
                          RCW SUPREME CHAMPION
                              DANNY DANIELS
                           SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS
                                 2-4 PM

A couple of people approach the table, but for the most part Danny is
seated by himself, which gives him plenty of time to speak to the
camera.]

D'YH'D: GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS!  As RCW's Supreme Champion -- and the
fightingest champion in RCW history -- I have obligations to the fans of
RCW.  To go out and meet the folks who worship "Your Hero".  It's an
obligation I take seriously.  I mean, sure I could be parachuting out of
an airplane, cooking a five course meal, or teaching Chilean immigrants
how to function in American Society.  But then I wouldn't have time for
MY fans...

[Danny spreads his arms out, beckoning people towards him.]

D'YH'D: And that's why it's best for RCW for me to continue my
championship reign.  Not only am I the Supreme wrestler in RCW, but I'm
also the most accessible to my fans.  Take my opponent, Nicky Herod.  A
good wrestler -- indeed, a great wrestler.  But not on my level, and not
the kind of wrestler the fans support. 

[Danny starts counting on his fingers.]

D'YH'D: First, he's a shy man.  That's why he's got Micky Dolenz to
speak for him.  Nothing wrong with that, but it would hurt RCW to have
silent Nick as champion.

[A second finger.]

D'YH'D: Second, he's an admitted ADHD person.  Every time he does speak,
he talks about the ADHD.  I think it's noble that a man with his
condition continues to wrestle.  But while he's noble, he's not... ME! 
"Your Hero", Danny Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice!
 
[A third finger.]

D'YH'D: Finally, Nate's only been in the fed a few months.  I have VASTS
amounts of experience that I can use at the tips of my fingers.  Nate...
you're good.  Very, VERY good.  But you're not... ME!  "Your Hero",
Danny Daniels.  And while you won't be winning the RCW Supreme Title
this week, I can give you a memento of our match...

[Danny reaches out and pulls out an 8x10 black and white picture of
himself.  He takes a black pen and begins signing it...]

D'YH'D: To... Nathan... Hellar... look forward to the match against you.
 It'll be fun!  "Your Hero", Danny Daniels.

[Danny puts the pen away and picks up the picture, admiring it.  Then he
faces the camera a last time.]

D'YH'D: TOODLES~!

[We spin-cut to Mick Silvestri's office. The small room is cluttered
with dozens of files, loose papers and piles of documents. Mick, dwarfed
behind the mess on his desk, is angrily scribbling away on his notepad,
his face a scowl. A knock on the door makes his head snap up.]

MS: Come in!

[And in strides Nathan Herod. The young man from Alabama is wearing
plain blue jeans and green tank top. His face, as so often, betrays no
emotion.]

NH: Y'wanted t'see me?

MS: Damn straight!

[Silvestri nods vigorously.]

MS: Damn straight I wanted to see you, mate. What were you thinking? Are
you out to sabotage my plans? Is this some Alabama style of power play I
am not familiar with? Because where I come from... London, England if
you need the reminder... we do not ambush our prospective
brothers-in-arms and try to bash their heads in.

[A trace of suspicion sneaks onto Herod's features.]

NH: Whoa, fella, hol' onto your hat. Ah'm not even sure what you are
talking about.

[His manager throws his hands up in frustration.]

MS: Orin LeBlanc! Orin LeBlanc, Nate! I am courting him to become a part
of my stable for the benefit of you, me and the free world and you
decided to go hooligan on him!

[Nathan reaction is a slight nod. Silvestri pauses, as he expects more,
then...]

MS: Why? Why did you even do this? He has done us no harm up to this
point! Your actions were totally unprovoked!

NH: Ah heard what you tol' him backstage. How you were all
weak-in-the-knees fer his talents an' skills an' whatnot and calling him
some kind of master.

MS: "Masters of the Universe", Nate. That is what our stable will be
called. YOU are going to be a Master as well, no worries.

NH: Mah Pa always said "Do not judge a man by his reputation. What
others think of him is o' no importance. If you really want to know
someone try t'crack him open yerself. Only then will you find out if he
deserves the rep."

MS: What are you trying to convey here? That you whacked him in the head
as some kind of test? Because your father told you not to be impressed
by what you hear?

NH: Yep. An' Frenchie did not look too good after that shot, huh?

[Herod allows himself a toothy grin as Silvestri lets out an audible
sigh. The managers rubs his face.]

MS: I want you to trust my word, Nate, that we need LeBlanc in my new
venture. Him and you... that is a license to print money. I don't see
any group here in RCW that could stand against you.

NH: He said no.

[Mick makes a throwaway gesture.]

MS: He is just haggling. I learned from _my_ father who has managed all
the European greats and he taught me that it takes more than just
scribbling down a price to buy a man. LeBlanc will sign. Just keep his
distance from him for the time being.

[Herod shrugs.]

NH: Ah'll be busy anyways. After all, next Thursday Ah'll win my first
championship.

MS: What?

NH: That Daniels fella. He's carrying around that strap. Ah can take
him. "Supreme Champion" Herod sounds good, huh?

MS: No no no no... that's not a real title!

NH: Huh?

MS: Daniels... he is a moron. Complete and utter. He bought that strap
himself and parades it around as some kind of self-promotion that no one
takes seriously.

[Nathan scratches his chin.]

NH: So, this isn't no real title match?

MS: Right.

[He squints his eyes, obviously not amused.]

NH: What the hell is wrong with the fella? Ah oughta take that strap an'
shove it up hi--

MS: Do that! That's right! I want you to maul Danny Daniels. Despite him
being a nutcase he _has_ a lot of attention from the fans. Dismantling
him can only be to our advantage.

[Nathan doesn't seem to listen to his manager anymore, as he stares at
the far wall, muttering to himself.]

NH: No real title... runnin' aroun' with that piece o' tin makin' me
think Ah gotta shot at gold... goddamn screwhead with the sideways
talk... gonna rip him a new ...

[Cut back to the studio.  The words "CONTRACT SIGNING" appear on the
screen, with Mark Coleman's face on one side and Johnny Pleasence's on
the other.]

DD: And as if that card isn't action-packed enough, folks, newly-crowned
number one contender Mark Coleman will step into the ring with RCW World
Heavyweight Champion Johnny Pleasence for the official contract signing
for their forthcoming title clash.  Sparks are sure to fly!

[The screen behind Ditka now shows the RAMPAGE logo, together with the
phone number of the Rose Garden box office and the Ticketmaster logo.]

DD: A few tickets are still available for next week's RAMPAGE, folks. 
But don't delay -- our past several events have been advance sell-outs,
and if you're planning to walk up to the Garden next Thursday night,
chances are you'll be disappointed.  So get down to the Rose Garden box
office in person, or click onto www.ticketmaster.com right now to be
sure you don't miss out on seeing RCW live and in person!

[Ditka turns to another camera.]

DD: That's our show, folks.  I'll be back next Thursday night, along
with my broadcast colleague "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, for RAMPAGE,
live at 10pm on KPDX-49.  Until then, this is Don Ditka, wishing you a
good night, and leaving you with comments from a young man who is set to
debut here in RCW very soon, Giuseppe Valentine.  So long, everybody!

[In a corner of a seedy basement bar in Northeast Portland, the most
celebrated intern in Rip City Wrestling withdraws behind mounted elbows,
attempting to shrink himself into the smallest possible form.  A
waitress slides up to the booth in which he cowers, blows the dust from
a bottle of mineral water, opens it and pours it into an empty glass on
the table; a five-dollar bill is already flattened on the surface and
the RCW man acknowledges her pocketing it with a nervous smile, a glance
away.

Camera pans across to the other side of the booth.  Over the brim of a
half-empty goblet two keen, gasfire-blue eyes monitor every tic that
manifests itself in the face of Jamie Bond.  The brow, nose and chin of
Giuseppe Valentine are pointy, jagged like the splinters in a broken
windowpane; with the contents of his winecup sluiced all past his lips,
he lowers it back to the table and refills it from an uncorked bottle. 
Then, he sloshes more red into the glass of the consort on his left
until it overflows; she's too preoccupied with the cigarette that burns
down to her knuckles to notice.]

GIUSEPPE VALENTINE: [pouring]  So.  I take it it's female company you're
not used to.

[He indicates the unnamed lady with a sardonic grin.]

GV: If you're familiar enough after ten minutes of silent study, shall
we..?

JB: [appearing from behind his elbows]  Oh, get started?

GV: ... If that's how you want to phrase it.

[Smiling, he grasps firmly the cup in front of him, but doesn't raise
it.]

JB: I thought we were waiting.  For your brother.

GV: My brother?

JB: McLeod?  We... spoke on the phone.  I thought he was your
representati--

[Valentine tugs at the black cravat that's knotted at his neck,
releasing a chuckle.  A matching silk shirt is unbuttoned almost as far
as the surface of the table, pallid skin vivid as snow in contrast.  The
awkward Bond doesn't resist being interrupted.]

GV: My brother... lives in Sacramento.

[His escort crushes her cigarette in the tray, without having taken a
drag.  For the second that she puts it out, the plunging shadow beyond
her neckline holds Jamie still in his seat.  Valentine runs his finger
down her cheek, and lifts a tousled strand of hair away to reveal a
bitemark on her neck.  Her pale flesh doesn't pimple at all.]

GV: In the Rose City, Madonna Jacqueline will look after me.  For now.

[Smirk.]

GV: At least, she has the three nights I've spent here hitherto.

JB: ...Oh.

[Jamie croaks, and takes ten seconds to consider whether he should ask
her:]

JB: Do you... have much experience?

J: [long pause]  ... The stories I could tell you, junior.

[Her voice, barely more than breath pushed past her scarlet lips.  Jamie
blushes.]

GV: I'm sure the lady is versed enough to deal with the likes of
yourself.  So shall we press on with the business that we've met here to
fulfill?

[He swills from the goblet, at last, and wipes his lips on his sleeve.]

GV: ...Before we waste away any more of all our evenings?

[Bond cracks his knee against the underside of the table, rummaging
beneath.]

JB: Ow!  [winces]  ... You mean the contract?

GV: Indeed.

[The intern produces a briefcase, popping the locks and opening it at
Giuseppe and his representative-for-the-evening.  Giuseppe motions that
she should be the first to take the RCW contract; she lights another
cigarette, and coaxes it into her hand.]

JB: You'll see it already bears the President's signature.

[Madonna Jacqueline skims over the first, second, third, fourth, fifth
pages.]

JB: It only needs yours now, Giuseppe.  Once you've looked it over, of
course.

[With blue smoke curling from her fingertips, the lady flicks rapidly
through the rest of the thirty-page document.  Smiling, Valentine
observes Jamie's forehead furrow.]

GV: That won't be necessary.

[She pushes it across the table for him, laying a pen on top; Giuseppe
sets his cup on the page -- staining a violet seal in the corner -- and
signs hard, without looking.]

GV: You can tell our Lord that the formalities of putting a name to a
sheet of paper are all well and good, but Giuseppe Valentine works to
the honor system.

Treat me right, let me work unhindered, and he'll see his investment
well-returned.

[His thin moustache bristles.]

GV: Treat me like a piece of meat... and things'll spoil rather quickly.

[Tossing the contract back into Jamie's briefcase, Giuseppe drains his
goblet and gets to his feet, slamming the lid back down as he does. 
Jacqueline stubs out her cigarette and rises up out of the booth with
him, guided by a hand on her backside.  Bond scrambles to get his things
together, cracks his knee again trying to get out.]

GV: Oh, please!  Don't feel you have to leave on our account.

[Another blackened smile.]

GV: Stay.  Enjoy the ambience.  We just have... things to do.

[He winks.  Jamie, bewildered, sits rubbing his leg.]

JB: ...

GV: I'll see you again soon.

[And clasping Jacqueline around the waist, he walks away.  Bond is left
alone.]

JB: [mutters to himself]  We could have just sent a fax.

[The young intern pushes away his untouched mineral water, and leaves. 
Fade to black.]

   ____________________________________________________________________
  / Copyright (C) 2006 Rip City Wrestling, Inc. All rights reserved.  /
 /                       www.ripcitywrestling.com                    /
/___________________________________________________________________/