[Fade up on the RCW President, bespectacled and besuited as ever, standing backstage. The chyron "LIVE" appears in the top right-hand corner of the screen, and we hear the distant pop of the fans -- a mixture of cheers and jeers -- in the arena as they see the same image on the giant screen.] DS: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to RAMPAGE. This... [He holds up a contract.] DS: ...is the contract for tonight's main event, pitting Vinny Carmazzi against "Pistol" Paul Driscoll. This match will be contested inside a steel cage -- and there will be no disqualifications, no count-outs, and no escape. The only way to win the match will be by pinfall or submission. [He lowers the hand holding the contract.] DS: And, by mutual consent of both Mr. Carmazzi and Mr. Driscoll, the match will have an additional stipulation: it will be Loser... Leaves... Town. [Big pop from the fans in the arena!] DS: May the best man win. Enjoy the show. [Cut to the main credits. The high-tempo heavy guitar riff of Black Sabbath's "The Mob Rules" thrashes away as we see footage from previous RCW matches...] # Close the city and tell the people that # something's coming to call # Death and darkness are rushing forward to # take a bite from the wall, oh [...Dave Bryant spears Orin LeBlanc into the ringsteps!... Paul Driscoll and Johnny Pleasence slug it out in the middle of the ring, the fans in the arena coming to their feet...] # You've nothing to say # They're breaking away # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules # The mob rules [...Lord Byron hits Liam Cassidy with the Coup De Grace inverted DDT neckbreaker... Paul Driscoll hits the Death Valley Driver on Owen Curtis...] # Kill the spirit and you'll be blinded, # the end is always the same # Play with fire, you burn your fingers and # lose your hold of the flame, oh [...Nolan Dorado launches himself off the ring barrier with his Golden Guillotine forward somersault, landing hard with his leg across Carmazzi's throat!...] # It's over, it's done # The end is begun # If you listen to fools... # The mob rules [...Liam Cassidy slips behind Lord Byron, and as Byron spins around, he is caught by a vicious right hook from Cassidy...] # You've nothing to say # Oh, they're breaking away # If you listen to fools... [...Nolan Dorado scales the wall of the steel cage, and without even looking backwards over his shoulder, he pushes himself off the cage, launching himself with a moonsault, landing hard on both Vinny Carmazzi and Orin LeBlanc...] # Break the circle and stop the movement, # the wheel is thrown to the ground # Just remember it might start rolling and # take you right back around [...Johnny Pleasence tosses the ring steps into the crowd, trying to take out some fans... Pleasence stands with the blood-stained RCW Championship belt held aloft...] # You're all fools! # The mob rules! [...the logo crashes onto the screen in an explosion of sparks and flame:] ___ ______ __ ___ ___ __ ______ ___ _________ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / _ \/ _ | / |/ / _ \/ _ |/ ___/ __/ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / / , _/ __ |/ /|_/ / ___/ __ / (_ / _/ /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ /_/|_/_/ |_/_/ /_/_/ /_/ |_\___/___/ LIVE! Rose Garden, Portland, OR Thursday 14 September 2006 [The logo explodes off the screen, revealing behind it a wide shot of the jam-packed Rose Garden, as fireworks erupt from the rigging high above the ring, volleys of pyro exploding in showers of sparks down over the ring, and rockets scream from the lighting rig over the aisle to the giant screen at one side of the arena, triggering a series of explosions around the circumference of the jumbotron. Over these scenes we hear the voice of RCW, Don Ditka:] DD: Welcome everybody to Portland, Oregon! Welcome everybody to the sold-out Rose Garden arena! Welcome everybody... to RCW RAMPAGE! [The camera tracks down the aisle, past fans holding up signs -- "I'M NOT AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WOLFF!", "BE MINE VALENTINE", "WELCOME TO HELL DORADO", "PLEASENCE FEARS COLEMAN", "WHERE ARE YOU BYRON?" -- and others bedecked in their RCW merchandise -- Derek Rage foam claw hands, Ryan Faith "GOT FAITH?" t-shirts, Liam Cassidy 16oz. beverage holders, Mark Coleman "TENNESSEE VALLEY WARRIOR" t-shirts -- to the announce table at ringside, where Ditka, dressed as ever in his RCW sports jacket, is standing with "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare. Both men are wearing their headsets.] DD: Good evening, everyone! I'm Don Ditka, and beside me as always is my broadcast colleague, the legendary "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, and we are coming at you *live* from the beautiful Rose Garden here in download Portland. And what an incredible hour this is shaping up to be, Billy Shakespeare. BS: As the Bard said, "To love that well which thou must leave ere long." Tonight, either Vinny Carmazzi or Paul Driscoll will leave RCW... for good! DD: That's right -- you heard at the top of the hour that Driscoll has accepted Carmazzi's challenge to make tonight's steel cage match a Loser Leaves Town contest. The rivalry between these two men goes back the best part of a decade, and it will be settled here tonight. But will it be second-generation Texan Paul Driscoll heading back to Odessa, or submission specialist Carmazzi tucking his tail between his legs and returning to Hackensack? We'll find out tonight! BS: And, Don, we're going to see the number one contender to the RCW World Heavyweight Championship, Mark Coleman, in the ring with Johnny Pleasence -- to sign the contract for their forthcoming title match. DD: Right again, Billy Shakespeare. That huge match is set to go down on Thursday, 12th October -- just four weeks from tonight -- and the contract will be signed in the ring in front of us later in the hour. And on top of that we've got three other huge matches, including the return to the ring of Owen "Truth" Curtis for the first time since he retired the legendary Brody Thunder at Wild Summer Night. BS: And his opponent tonight will be "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado. What a match that promises to be! ["Hobo Blues" cues out of nowhere, and the Portland city crowd roars as they see Liam Cassidy saunter out into the aisle.] DD: Hang on a moment -- it looks like we've got an unscheduled appearance from the first hobo of wrestling! [The Jersey Drifter is wearing a black ribbed undershirt and a pair of black track pants with sharp looking red/white stripes running up the sides. Around his neck is his gold chain and cross, and sitting atop his mangy head is the black fedora. He stumbles around to the fans, clapping as many hands as he can as he heads towards the ring.] DD: We saw last week On The Wire that Liam Cassidy was left with a lot to think about after Nolan Dorado responded to his request for a rematch with a list of conditions longer than your arm, Billy Shakespeare -- but he seems to be in good humour here tonight. BS: Who does Dorado think he is? Telling Cassidy he has to bath, be subjected to random urine testing, and on top of all that, have all his ring attire burned because it represents a biohazard?! Give me a break! DD: Somehow I doubt that Liam Cassidy will be agreeable to those terms, Billy Shakespeare -- but perhaps he's going to give us his decision right now! [Liam rolls into the ring and takes a second to get his balance as he uses the ropes to rise. He grins and is handed a microphone while his music trails off. The Drunken Superstar thanks Sy for the mic and raises it to his lips.] LC: So what the hell's going on around here anyway? [Liam grins.] LC: I ain't got me a match yet again this week. And the one guy who I wanna fight is afraid to even say my name, let alone show up to fight. Now I ain't exactly someone that should be pointing fingers, but things are getting pretty [BLEEP]'d up around here lately. [He pauses.] LC: We've got a poof like Nolan Dorado running around with an old tart like Jodee Burwick thinking they call the shots 'round here. [Liam raises his flask.] LC: Here's to that Jodee Burwick for proving that there's still life out there for our beloved senior citizens and givin' new meaning to the term "Aged for flavor". Give her a hand, folks. [The fans laugh and obligingly provide a round of applause.] LC: You've got Lord Byron who can't seem to get out of bed these days because of the mental trauma I caused him by knocking his ass out. [Cassidy holds up his flask and toasts to Byron.] LC: Hey Byron, it's not like I didn't warn you it would happen, but it ain't like you to be all crazy. I've seen that same look in your eyes on some of the craziest bastards I've ever seen. So if I see you at Hobo-Stock next year, the drinks are on me, lad, okay? [He pauses to think some more.] LC: Let's see if I get this right... There's a cartoon superhero revival, a missing Wallaby, something called a Supreme Champion, whatever the hell that means... Then there's Eddie and Owen Curtis running around like Beavis and Butthead trying to... Attempting to... [He stops and scratches his head.] LC: Well, I can't really figure those two guys out, but here's a drink to them for the Hell of it. [He raises the flask, saluting the Truth, and takes a sip. And then another... And another... Saluting his mini list of current events.] LC: Hell, we even got a big bad wolf running around town threatening to blow the whole thing down. How [BLEEP]'d is that, eh lads? [Cassidy draws a huge response from his Hobo Section.] LC: I knew the world o' professional wrasslin' was gonna be colorful, but even this is a lil' much. [Sensing he might be losing the crowd a bit, somehow, and quite miraculously, Liam steers back on course.] LC: So Nolan Dorado thinks that I'll bugger off and leave 'im alone by making such a silly list o' demands that no one would ever take him up on it. Well, there's two problems with that Noly-boy. I'm a stubborn Irish bastard, and I happen to be very, very drunk... [Big crowd pop. Who doesn't appreciate being drunk in public?] LC: So I'll tell you all what I am gonna do. I'm gonna go park my ass with my hoboes, I'm gonna drink a lot of beer... [Ooooh yeah, the fans like that. They like that a lot because of Liam's reputation for sharing.] LC: I'm gonna lean back in my chair and kick my feet up while I watch the best damn wrasslin' show there is. Because this is Rip City Wrasslin', and that is what we do... [Big pro-RCW pop. In fact, a quick "RCW! RCW! RCW!" chant starts up.] LC: And by the end o' the night, Nolan Dorado and Jodee Burwick are gonna know exactly what I think of their list o' demands for that rematch. [Liam raises that dented silver flask once more to the fans, thanking them for their support. He stumbles through the ropes and plops himself at ringside. Hoping the barrier, Liam quickly surrounds himself with his fans in the Hobo Section. Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Well, Billy Shakespeare, no immediate answer to Dorado's proposed rematch terms from Liam Cassidy -- but it sounds as if we won't need to wait much longer to find out exactly what the Jersey Drifter's response will be! [Cut backstage, where we find our trusty intern-cum-reporter Jamie Bond by the side of Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. The after-effects of what went down last RAMPAGE can still clearly be seen in the form of fresh stitches across LeBlanc's forehead. The expression on the Canadian grappler's face can be described as one of grim determination.] JB: Folks, I'm here with Orin LeBlanc. Now Orin, last RAMPAGE we saw you refusing an offer of management from Mick Silvestri. Apparently taking offense -- even though you refused -- we saw what looked to be a jealous Nathan Herod go after you while you tried to prevent Ryan Faith and Johnny Pleasence from interfering in Mark Coleman's match. Even after that altercation, we heard on On The Wire that Silvestri still seems determined to try and sign you to his "Masters of the Universe" anyways! Your thoughts? OL: Thoughts... that's an understatement. [He snorts.] OL: It's like Burwick all over again, only uglier, and with realer tits. I got no desire hitchin' myself to that sad excuse o' a gravy train. But I had business I was overseein' last card an' Nate decided to step between me an' mine. He can go on all he wants about claimin' it's "testin' a man's worth"... [The Lynx's eyes harden.] OL: ...well, Nate's gonna wish he never asked. [Bond cough nervously.] JB: Um, yes. Last card, Mark Coleman asked you to watch his back while he took on Dave Bryant. You experienced firsthand the numbers game of Pleasence and his cronies, but it sounds like you and Coleman reached some sort of deal as well? What did he offer, if I may ask? [LeBlanc smirks slightly, shaking his head.] OL: Ain't at liberty to discuss that yet. Suffice to say, though, if I had my way, it's a debt that'll be paid off sooner rather than later if the circumstances play out right. JB: And tonight you're taking on Ryan Faith... [That elicits another snort of disgust from LeBlanc.] OL: I hear him go on an' on about "Testin' Faith". Same sort o' [bleep] spewin' from him week after week. [A beat. Then a cold grin pops up on the Lynx's face.] OL: Tough luck for him I'm an atheist. Faith... is weak. Faith is a crutch. Faith is nothin' more than a masquerade for luck. An' Faith can't ever cut it on his own, hence why he'll always be playin' scullery maid for Jay-Pee. [He straightens up, muscles tensing all the while.] OL: Whereas I'm a man in equal partnership with instinct an' logic. No two things are purer than those... no results more concrete an' true. An' I've never been steered wrong by them yet. Can't say the same for Faith bein' yip dog to Johnny Petulance. [A dark expression crosses LeBlanc's face.] OL: You want to know what I'm worth, Herod? Watch close for what's in store for you. Watch _real_ close... [A low gutteral growl escapes the Lynx. Jamie Bond reflexively takes a step back.] OL: ...'cause I'll be doin' the same. [LeBlanc stalks out of shot, and we cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: A determined Orin LeBlanc, ahead of his match later tonight with Ryan Faith. Folks, it's time to get up to the ring for our first match tonight. Over to you, Sy! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / "Your Hero" Danny Daniels vs. Nathan Herod /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Sy Simmons climbs the steps and ducks through the ropes into the ring. He raises the microphone and speaks...] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, this first -- [But a blast of music interrupts him -- music that is immediately recognized.] DD: No. Oh God, dear God, no. BS: I've nothing to add to that. [The music? "Would I Lie to You?" by the Eurythmics -- and as the curtain flies open, we see why.] DD: That's Owen Curtis, dressed to the nines, with his brother Eddie in tow. Is he actually going to _wrestle_ dressed like that? [For those interested, Eddie doesn't look nearly so formal as his brother. While Owen's wearing a suit, Eddie's got on sweat shorts, sneaks and a black T-shirt with white lettering that says, "THE PERFECT EXPOSURE" on the front, and "YOU'VE BEEN F-STOPPED" on the back. He's dragging along a gym bag.] BS: Owen? Wrestle like that? Wishful thinking, Don. We all know Owen would never sully a pinstripe suit with sweat. But he would ... run a promotion. Dear God, I can't believe I'd even entertain the notion. Spreadbury threw him out two weeks ago. I thought this whole ridiculous thing was done with. DD: Let's hope. [The brothers Curtis arrive, enter, and basically tell Simmons to hit the bricks. Each ascends a corner to a chorus of boos, as their music fades.] DD: I mean, give me a break. You see Spreadbury out there wrestling? Of course not. Then why is Owen pretending to be a promoter? I for one can't WAIT to hear his explanation. If nothing else, it ought to be good for a -- [Then Ditka's mic goes dead. Eddie has Sy's mic and is holding it in front of Owen's face.] OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: Good for a what, Double D-Cup? Good for a laugh? Because somehow I think that when I'm done talking, you won't be laughing at all. [The camera shows Ditka and Shakespeare at ringside with their lips moving -- but they cannot be heard. Ditka starts getting out of his chair.] OTC: Not that we'd be able to hear you, of course. After all, the two of you are not guests on the Ring of Truth! And in case you were wondering, the answer is YES -- the Ring of Truth is alive and well! And the explanation is very simple. Go ahead, step in the ring! I want to tell you this -- face to face! [Ditka steps through the ropes, with Shakespeare right behind him. They are almost immediately in Owen's face. Ditka leans into Eddie's grill and says ...] DD: Give. Me. That microphone. Now. [Eddie shrugs and hands it over to Ditka, who speaks.] DD: Ladies and gentlemen, I must apologize for this interruption. Security, as you can see, is on its way down to escort Edward and Owen here out of the ring, so that we can get on with our opening match. I -- [The mic goes dead. Ditka's lips move -- but no sound is heard. Owen and Eddie, meanwhile, are putting on cordless headsets that Eddie has procured from his gym bag.] OTC: Look, Dit-wit, let me spell it out. Dan Spreadbury claimed two weeks ago that I cannot promote, that I'm only entitled to a segment on RAMPAGE. But he was wrong. The contract says I get a SHOW, not just a segment. A show. And it may say Dan is the promoter, but it does NOT say that he is the ONLY promoter. Therefore, during my show, I can have matches, and I can even set the rules for them. Which I am doing, absolutely NO thanks to Dan Spreadbury. In fact, to get him to see things my way, I had my attorney, Charlton J. Chesapeake, Esquire, draw up the appropriate request for a court order, together with a restraining order aganst Spreadbury -- and just this afternoon, both were granted. So that security you see? It's not there for us. It's there for you. Now get out of this ring before force is used. [Ditka is screaming to no avail -- until Owen signals to someone near the sound board. Then Ditka's mic comes on.] DD: -- a bunch of bull[bleep]t! I'm not going to stand for this! And neither will Dan Spreadbury! I'll see you two fired from this promotion! You no good, two-bit, ungrateful, hack journalis -- [And with Owen's wave to the back, Ditka's mic is dead again.] OTC: Journalists. And get it right. Newspapers these days are four bits, not two bits, thank you very much. Sometimes six. And contrary to the wishful fiction of one Nolan Dorado, we Curtis brothers DO get published -- not to mention broadcast. One thing I DON'T do, however, is get fired from guaranteed iron-clad contracts! Sorry, Ditka, but you and Simpspeare there are not part of my show. You're welcome to sit at your table as my personal guests and watch the match, but that's it. We don't need no stinking table anyway to call a match. You wouldn't know this, Ditka, but the proper way to do reporting is to get up out of your chair, and that's exactly what Ed and I are going to be doing. And with that... [Owen backs away from the center of the ring, then does the double point at his brother Eddie, who takes a deep breath... and proceeds.] EDDIE "FLASH" CURTIS: Hey there, all you daddies, runts, and filthy little... women! Welcome to the Ring of Truth! Introducing first, your promoter -- Owen! The Truth! Curtis! [Owen, in his pinstripe suit, takes a bow, smiling demurely.] EFC: And next, of course, your competitors! This match is one fall, contested under Ring of Truth rules, to a TV time limit! Introducing first! He hails from San Francisco, California! Hails what? A cab to the Castro District? No matter, because he's the current RCW Supreme Champion, and if he says so, then it's good enough for us! Here is -- DANNY! -- "YOUR HERO"! -- DANIELS!! ["Nobody Does it Better" by Carly Simon plays over the PA System as RCW's self-proclaimed Supreme Champion walks out into the arena. Danny Daniels proudly wears the belt around his waist, posing at the top of the aisle in the exact same pose as the picture on his belt. After soaking in the atmosphere a moment, he takes the cordless microphone.] D'YH'D: GREETINGS AND SALUTATIONS! Being the RCW Supreme Champion, I know that each and every night brings a new contender to my throne. And tonight, that contender is a man who wants to be the RCW Supreme Champion. But even more than that, he wants to be... ME! "Your Hero", Danny Daniels. I mean, his name is Herod. ThatÕs "Hero" with a "D." But I'm a "Hero" with two "D"s, which means that you come up a little short, Nate. But that's OK... I don't blame you. If I weren't... ME! "Your Hero," Danny Daniels... I'd do what I can to be me as well! [Danny nods, acting like that made sense.] D'YH'D: So tonight, you get your shot at the RCW Supreme Title. You may be the best wrestler in Alabama, Nate. And Muscle Shoals has got the Swampers. And they've been known to pick a song or two. But those songs won't be enough to beat... ME! "Your Hero," Danny Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice. [A pause.] D'YH'D: TOODLES~! [Danny walks down the aisle, unstrapping the belt and laying it very carefully on the timekeeper's table. He steps into the ring and hands something to Eddie Curtis.] EFC: [reading the paper] Wow. This has got to be the most enervating thing I've ever seen! [Daniels nods, apparently pleased with the characterization.] EFC: I'll go ahead and read it anyway. All this is according to Danny Daniels, of course, so take it for what you will. Did you know Danny Daniels was an amateur boxing champion in six different weight classes at the same time? You do now. And did you know that in Birmingham, they love Nate Herod almost as much as they love the governor? Well, they do. In addition, for six months, Danny Daniels was a backup small forward for the Golden State Warriors. Now that I'd believe -- if I was stupid. But wait, there's more. Nate Herod made the round of 40 in season 4 of American Idol, thanks to a gorgeous version of "People who donÕt need People." Eat your heart out, Barbara Streisand. Not to mention that Danny DanielsÕ autobiography spent eighteen weeks on the New York TimeÕs Bestseller list, and Nate Herod is allergic to cats, which might explain his hatred of Orin LeBlanc. [Owen interrupts over his cordless headset.] OTC: Orin LeBlanc? You mean, the white pussy? EFC: The very same. [The Daniels music fades out and is replaced with -- "Immortally Insane," by Pantera.] EFC: Introducing next! He hails from Portland, Oregon! Weighing in tonight at 270 pounds, give or take a Big Mac or two, he's the "one true great from Herod Estate" -- NATHAN! -- HEROD!!!!! [Herod is well along on his trek to the ring. He completes the journey, slides in, and Owen steps out through the ropes as Eddie points to the timekeeper. Only one problem. There's no referee!] OTC: [over his headset] Eddie! Aren't you forgetting something? EFC: Oh, right. I forgot two things. First of all, this contest is FOR... the RCW Supreme Title! And second of all, lassies and gentlegrunts, your referee tonight is -- ME! [And with a flourish, Eddie rips off his merchandise shirt to reveal referee stripes!] OTC: Hah! Eat THAT, Spreadeagle! Let's see Weakspeare call a match and ref it at the same time like my brother Ed! You're jealous you didn't think of THAT nifty little way to save money, did you?! That's one more reason I'm a better promoter! [Herod and Daniels, looking thoroughly confused, both sort of shrug and start to circle.] OTC: And we're off! [Herod immmediately lunges at the bewildered Daniels and starts swinging away!] OTC: Nathan Herod, wasting no time! He's hungry, he's ticked off, and he's on the Ring of Truth! He's landed four rights and here's a fifth! Daniels is staggered! These are closed fists we're talking about -- all 100 percent legal here on the Ring of Truth! EFC: [watching the two combatants] Punching is legal? I didn't know that! OTC: It is here in the Ring of Truth! Daniels with a block -- and he answers back! And another! A third! EFC: Was that a block by Daniels, or an eye gouge? Whatever. It's all cool. Say, I wonder what Liam Cassidy, the "Jersey Drifter" makes of this pugilistic exhibition? He's sitting in the Hobo Section, obviously transfixed since this is the Ring of Truth. OTC: Obviously. [After a forearm smash, Daniels pushes Herod to the ropes and whips him across. He hits the opposite ropes and propels himself into the rebounding Herod!] OTC: Collision in the middle! Both men had a full head of steam going and neither one slowed down even a bit! That might have been skull-to-skull contact! Impact be damned! PAIN be damned! That's the way you wrestle in the Ring of Truth! EFC: That, and the fact neither of these guys is a strategic genius. OTC: There is that. It's looking like Daniels is the first one to his feet... yep. He's standing, and he begins to slap a hammerlock onto Herod. EFC: It just goes to show that Daniels has a brain that can't be damaged. OTC: That's a nice way to put it. I see a future for you in public relations. EFC: I see a present for myself in PRIVATE relations. Whoop, whoop! OTC: Jeez, I walked into that. Daniels, tightening that hammerlock, wrenching on the arm, and... what are you doing, Eddie? [Eddie is forcing Daniels to break the headlock.] OTC: What's the deal here? Are hammerlocks illegal or something? EFC: Nah. They're just boring. OTC: Fair enough. [Herod takes advantage, going over Eddie's shoulder to paste Daniels right in the teeth! He follows with a headbutt! Daniels staggers back a step or two.] OTC: Herod backs into the rope, charges, and... what a counter! [Daniels steps aside, grabs Herod in a wristlock, and starts wrenching away!] OTC: Now that's pretty clever. Daniels seems to be targeting the arm of Nathan Herod, and all the while, Mick Silvestri is yelling instructions at his charge! EFC: Herod's being too aggressive, and you're easy prey for countermoves when that happens. And that's what Silvestri is there for -- to tell Herod what he can't seem to figure out for himself. [Herod is down to one knee. Daniels is wrenching on the arm, and finally decides to drop a leg on it, dropping Herod face first to the mat. Daniels stands, then drops a flying fist to the prone Herod!] OTC: Daniels with the momentum at this point... [Daniels runs to the ropes, rebounds, and hits a baseball slide to Herod's face! The momentum carries Daniels right out of the ring!] OTC: Daniels to the outside, and he grabs the right arm of Herod! He drags Herod to the corner, and wraps the arm around the ringpost! [Meanwhile, referee/color commentator Eddie Curtis stands far above them on the second rope, watching semi-intently. He doesn't count or anything, though, as Daniels repeats the move twice more.] EFC: You know why that's not Greco-Roman? Because the Greeks and Romans didn't have steel posts! That's it! Otherwise, they'd have done exactly what Daniels is doing! So in a way, this is textbook amateur wrestling -- the Greeks and Romans just didn't know it! [Mick Silvestri starts barking at Eddie for the lax rule enforcement.] EFC: Hey, Mick! Can it! This is all perfectly legal! After all, this isn't that boring Nap City Wrestling! This is the Ring of Truth! [Daniels stops with the ringpost-arm attack, and instead delivers a headbutt! He drags Herod to a second corner to wrap the arm around and weaken the shoulder.] OTC: You know, Eddie, I think Daniels may actually have a strategy here! He seems to be trying to prevent Herod's most deadly weapon! If Herod can't lift him up, he can't go for the HDD! EFC: No kidding! Sony puts out that HDD thing for the PS2, and then there's only one game that even supports it -- and Final Fantasy is for nerds! I agree, the HDD should be prevented at all costs! [Daniels next drags Herod to a third corner and slams his arm around it!] OTC: I was talking about the Herod Dynasty Devastator. But speaking of videogames, are you going to be playing with your Wii this Christmas? EFC: I sure hope so. You better keep your hands off it, Owen. OTC: Don't worry, man. You can have your Wii all to yourself. [A few necks crane to the aisle, as a figure enters and makes his way slowly towards the ring. He stops about halfway there to observe as Daniels wraps the arm of Herod around a fourth corner, then applies a hammerlock!] OTC: Meow! Meow! Pffffffft! It's the White Kitty from Canada! And he's here to... take notes or something! [As Owen has alluded, yes. Orin LeBlanc is watching from a distance, and his eyes are watching Nathan Herod. Meanwhile, Silvestri has given up barking at Eddie Curtis, and instead is staring blankly at Danny Daniels.] OTC: Silvestri, trying to distract Daniels here... [Herod reverses the hammerlock.] OTC: ...and what do you know? It worked. [Herod quickly winds up and Irish whips Daniels back into the ringpost. On a split screen, LeBlanc is shown barely attempting to cover a huge yawn with his hand. Meanwhile, Silvestri yells praise at Herod, his charge.] OTC: Daniels, eating some major ringpost. Hmmm. Daniels... eating post. You did say he was from Frisco, right, Ed? EFC [laughing] : I did at that. [Herod is immediately on Daniels, and lifts him with a gorilla press! He drops him right to the mat!] EFC: And now he's eating mat. OTC: Matt who? EFC: Stop it, Owen. You kill me. [Herod collects the crumpled Daniels and lifts him into a gorilla press again! But this time, he tosses him through the ropes and back into the ring. He jumps up to the apron, then climbs a corner, as a groggy Daniels tries to collect himself. He starts standing, and ... ] OTC: Nathan Herod comes off the top with a double flying axe handle, and Daniels is knocked right back down! [Herod hooks Daniels up in a suplex position...] OTC: Herod, going for the HDD! And he just can't get Daniels up for it! That arm of his has been too weakened! Daniels with a suplex reversal! [But Herod shifts his weight in mid plex and lands with a lateral cover on Daniels!] OTC: Reversal! [Eddie counts...] EFC: One! Two! And sorry, Charlie! You didn't hold him down quite enough! That was two and three-sevenths, no more and no less! OTC: Good precision there, Eddie. [Both men get up at about the same time. Herod, standing tall, points... to his head.] OTC: What's this? What's Herod trying to say? [Daniels nods, seeming to understand. He shakes his head back and forth.] OTC: Hey Eddie, can you tell me what's up with these two numbskulls? EFC: Exactly. OTC: What do you mean, exactly? EFC: You said "numbskulls," I said "exactly." They're going to have themselves a little contest. I just have to flip a coin to see who goes first. [Owen, still on the apron calling the action, is seen fishing in his suit pocket. He tosses Eddie a quarter. Eddie catches it, flips it...] EFC: Daniels calls it... heads. [It lands.] EFC: Tails. [And with that, Herod lays into Daniels with a massive headbutt!] OTC: Ouch. Now that's not a game I'd ever care to play. [Daniels staggers... but doesn't go down. LeBlanc, meanwhile, shakes his head, seemingly out of pity.] EFC: See, Owen? Daniels is still standing, and now it's HIS turn. [Daniels rears back and headbutts the slightly taller Herod right between the eyes! Herod is knocked back, but not of his feet!] OTC: Who's the winner? The last one with any remaining brain cells? EFC: Well, maybe. The last one still standing, at any rate. [Herod charges back in before Daniels expects it, with yet another headbutt! Both men are staggered!] OTC: That's one contest where even the winner is a loser too. Kind of like tonight's Loser Leave Town match between Driscoll and Carmazzi. To me, both those guys are losers before THAT match even begins. EFC: Wish I was reffing that. OTC: You can, Eddie. All I have to do is declare it part of my show! You up for it? EFC: Why should I work that hard? Let's play it by ear. [Daniels and Herod are both trying to shake off the cobwebs. Herod charges in, even though it's not his turn, but Daniels ducks! He turns around and takes Herod down with a charging tackle!] OTC: You got it, Ed. Well, the headbutt contest seems to be over with no winner, but Herod is knocked down! Daniels back up, and he goes for another tackle! [Herod ducks that, then comes back with a HUGE clothesline!] OTC: Daniels has been turned inside out! That clothesline by Herod damn near flipped him over! [LeBlanc, shown in an inset window, merely nods, then checks the quality of his manicure, blowing on his right hand.] EFC: Pretty impressive. You can never discount the power of Nathan Herod. He's no technician like you or me, but when he lands a big move, you have to respect that. [Herod brings Daniels to his feet, then tosses him by the armpits into a corner. He follows in with a big boot to the gut!] OTC: Herod, hooking up the suplex again! Could this be an attempt at the HDD again? EFC: If he hits that, it's all over and Nathan Herod is your new Ring of Truth Supreme Champion. OTC: Ring of Truth Supreme Champion? I never thought of that. EFC: Hey, if he wins it, and we make him a permanent part of our roster ... then we're booking that belt. It's like having our own Ring of Truth champion! [Daniels makes like dead weight, and Herod can't lift him. Then he can, but not all the way. Daniels ends up with both feet on the second rope. He shoves Herod away and steadies himself on the second turnbuckle ...] OTC: Herod is down! And it could be time for TOODLES~! [D"YH"D stretches out to his full height, arms at his side. Standing on his tippy toes, he falls forward off the turnbuckle, making head-first contact with the brain of Nathan Herod!] OTC: TOODLES~! it is! This could be all over but the three-count! [Herod immediately starts clutching his forehead -- but Daniels does the same!] EFC: I can't count if no one makes a cover! And right now, Daniels isn't making one! [Both men stay down!] EFC: One! [Daniels rolls around, evidently in pain!] EFC: Two! [Herod is showing color!] EFC: Three! [Daniels kicks his legs.] EFC: Four! [Silvestri yells at Herod to get up!] EFC: Five! [LeBlanc, shown in an inset box, looks bemused.] EFC: Six! [Herod gets up to one knee!] EFC: Seven! [Daniels crawls over to a corner.] EFC: Eight! [Daniels starts to pull himself up with the ropes, as Herod, now standing, watches!] EFC: Nine! [Daniels is up!] EFC: Continue the match! [Herod's right on top of Daniels right away with a forehead rake! He raises a boot to the Adam's apple of the cornered Daniels, putting pressure on his throat!] EFC: One! Two! Three! Four! [Herod breaks the maneuver!] EFC: Hey, Herod! What'd you break for! I was just counting to see how long you'd keep your foot on his throat! [Herod looks at Eddie like he's crazy.] OTC: Ring of Truth rules! You gotta get used to 'em! And one of them is, if it's entertaining, then it's legal! Now that's a rule that Dan Spreadbury would never allow! [Daniels takes advantage of Herod's confusion with a reverse knife edge chop that resonates! But Herod answers back, knocking Daniels over and out!] OTC: Herod, leaving the ring to go after Daniels, and ... Orin LeBlanc is inviting him to come out to the aisle! I don't think that's a good idea! LeBlanc isn't in this match, Daniels is! You always pay attention to your opponent! He's the one you're trying to beat! [Daniels crawls away from Herod, then sneaks up behind him. He grabs a waistlock from behind...] OTC: Daniels with a waistlock suplex... he has Herod in the air... and down! HUGE maneuver! He needs to get him back in the ring now! [Daniels covers, as Eddie Curtis is late in getting out there.] OTC: Wait a minute -- outside covers are legal in Ring of Truth? I guess so! Don't blame me, Eddie's the one reffing this match! He's the rule department! [The count...] EFC: One... Two... [Herod kicks out.] EFC: NO! OTC: No pin for Danny Daniels! Your Ring of Truth Supreme Champion almost retained there! Not quite! And so it continues onward! [Silvestri barks at Daniels, giving Herod the chance to crawl towards the timekeeper's table, where Daniels' belt sits there all nice and shiny.] OTC: HEROD HAS THE SUPREME BELT! And you can tell, he has bad intentions for what to do with it! EFC: Thanks for telling me, Owen. I'll keep an eye on it. But tell me, how come RCW doesn't let the announcers warn the refs, huh? I mean, you always hear announcers talking about people about to cheat, but the refs never seem to notice. Here, we do! It's another Curtis brothers innovation! [to Herod] Hey! Set that down! [Herod tosses the belt to Silvestri and directs his attention to Daniels, who gouges him in the eyes! He tosses Herod back under the bottom rope, and follows him in! LeBlanc applauds!] OTC: Herod, to his feet! He catches Daniels on the way in and hooks up a suplex, trying to set up the HDD! Daniels reverses ... small package! EFC: One! Two! And no! [Daniels is back up quickly, as is Herod -- and this time it's Daniels that hooks up a suplex! He lifts Herod into a vertical position ... but Herod shifts momentum and crashes down on top of Daniels! He hooks the leg!] EFC: ONE! TWO! THREE! OTC: Not so fast, Eddie! Not so fast! Silvestri had Daniels by the leg there! [Eddie walks over to Owen at ringside, and they consult. The viewers at home see a slow motion replay where Silvestri is hiding low, next to the apron, but he's clearly using the Supreme belt to trip the leg of Daniels, which is what caused Herod to get the reversal. Eddie points to the timekeeper.] EFC: Ring of Truth fans... the winner of this match... as the result of consultation with someone who actually saw what happened... due to the interference by Mick Silvestri on behalf of Nathan Herod... DANNY~! "YOUR HERO!" DANIELS! [Silvestri argues vociferously with Eddie Curtis.] MS: [overheard through Eddie's mic] This is nonsense! You saw NOTHING! EFC: You don't like it? Ask me for a rematch! The fact is, the promoter saw you cheating, and you can't have a higher authority than that! Daniels wins! [Daniels is outside, and he snatches the Supreme belt out of Silvestri's hand! Just as quickly, he's back into the ring!] OTC: Danny Daniels is celebrating!! And why not? He's just retained the Ring of Truth Supreme Championship! [Daniels runs around the ring waving the belt around! He climbs a corner! He celebrates! He hops down! He runs around some more!] OTC: DANIELS! WHAT A GREAT MOMENT! WHAT A -- [Owen stops. On the screen, we all see why.] EFC: What a kick to the gut by Nathan Herod. [A disgusted Nathan Herod hooks the hunched-over Daniels up in a suplex position. He hooks the leg. He lifts him, as if for a fishermen's suplex -- and you know the rest.] OTC: HDD! HDD on Danny Daniels! Herod dropped him right on his head! Reverse the decision, Eddie! Herod is the real winner, as far as I'm concerned! Reverse the decision! EFC: I would, Owen, but I can't. You see, Silvestri there was kind of being a jackass to me, and I don't feel I should have to put up with that. OTC: Fair enough. Daniels wins by disqualification. [Herod kicks away at the fallen, motionless Daniels -- until a certain sight stops him. A shiny sight. A shiny, Supreme sight.] OTC: Oh my. I think Herod wants to pick up that belt. He wants to pick it up, and he wants to do something with it. Something bad. [Herod indeed picks it up. He turns, flings it around in a circle, and lets go... where it lands squarely in the Hobo Section!] OTC: Wow! Free belts! Let's see Rip City do THAT for its fans! Of course, we'll have to see that Spreadbury is billed for a replacement belt. We can't have the Ring of Truth Supreme Champion walking around without a strap! [The belt is passed around overhead, beach-ball-like... until it lands in a certain set of hands.] OTC: Oh dear God no. [The hands of Liam Cassidy.] OTC: Criminy. Liam Cassidy has that belt. Liam Cassidy couldn't obtain a belt if you sent him to a clothing store with a wallet full of money. EFC: Well, he's got that one, and he looks amused. I haven't seen him THAT pleased since the Union Gospel Mission decided to waive the house rules and give their leftovers to drunks that one time. Daniels is going to be none too pleased when he finds out Cassidy has taken his belt. OTC: Cassidy isn't waiting around to find out. I don't know where he's headed -- the concession stand, the men's room, or the cardboard box he lives in under the Burnside Bridge -- but the Jersey Drifter is exiting the arena, and he has two things with him -- a crooked smile, and that Supreme Championship around his shoulder. EFC: If Daniels wants it... I guess he needs to go get it. So it is in the Ring of Truth! [Daniels, groggy, finally looks up. The first place he looks? The timekeeper's table. Which is empty.] EFC: Look at Daniels, Owen. He knows. He knows that belt is as good as gone. [It would certainly appear so. Several fans point to Cassidy climbing some stairs to exit the seating area, and Daniels spots that belt hanging off the Jersey Drifter's shoulder.] OTC: Look out! Daniels is beside himself! And he's taking your advice, Eddie! He's going into the crowd, hoping to take that belt back from Liam Cassidy! [But as Daniels raises one leg over the ringside barrier to leave, security stops him.] D"YH"D: [audible without a mic] Nooooo! This isn't fair! Don't you know who I am! I'm the RCW Supreme Champion! I don't deserve this! Let me get my beautiful belt back! EFC: Correction. Ring of Truth Supreme Championship belt. And sorry, Danny boy, but security ain't going to let you go get it. You might endanger the fans or something. I'm sure there's some valid reason. OTC: I'm sorry, but reason is a concept completely absent to Danny "Your Hero" Daniels. Look... I think he may be crying. Either that, or his eyeballs are sweating. I'm pretty sure it's crying. Whatever. [Eddie and Owen have met up near the end of the aisle.] OTC: Let's roll, brah. I've got that match later on, and I'm due for my pre-match massage. Let's allow Ditka and Wankspeare to have their fun now. [Eddie horks up a HUGE loogie.] EFC: [trying to talk with a mouthful of spit] Damn. Theh's no one to thpit on. OTC: Him. [He points to a fan crowding the ringside barrier and giving Owen and Eddie the what-for -- wherepon Eddie does his thing.] EFC: [hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhorrrrrccccch - PATOOIE!] [The loogie lands directly on that fan's Chuck Taylors. The two brothers high-five, then continue their banter as they walk up the ramp.] OTC: Ladies and gentlemen, your television is about to get a lot more boring! Until then, this has been the Ring of Truth! Who knows!? We may be back later, or we may not! Just ask yourself this question. Do YOU... deserve the Truth!? Well, do you!?? EFC: I don't think they do, Owen. OTC: Well, they're getting it later tonight, anyway, and so is Nolan Dorado! Process THAT for a while. Adios, pendejos! [They reach the gorilla curtain. They wave bye-bye to the crowd. Cut backstage. In the room that serves as his office inside the Rose Garden, the President of Rip City Wrestling watching a monitor showing the events in the Rose Garden. His jaw is set in a grimace. His eyes flit over the glass to observe the door open behind him and the newest acquisition to his roster, Giuseppe Valentine, march inside. He affords himself a knowing smile.] DS: Giuseppe. A pleasure to meet you. [He turns and offers his hand. Giuseppe -- torso hourglassed into a waistcoat of brushed silk -- transfers a flute of frothing champagne to his left hand and takes it, with a bow. His sparse black moustache lifts above a smirk, glaze over his eyes.] GIUSEPPE: My elusive Lord! [With black irony.] GIUSEPPE: Such an honor to have been summoned... DS: Standard procedure, Giuseppe. Personally welcoming you to the fold. [Valentine lifts his glass theatrically, in a toast.] GIUSEPPE: ...And in a style that I appreciate. Here's to you, Signore. [He sips, delicately. Already, he looks a little unsteady on his feet.] DS: Again, Giuseppe, it's standard procedure. Happy to have you with us. [Spreadbury observes the flush in the young man's cheeks, eyebrow arched.] DS: I take it you're having a... pleasant... evening so far? GIUSEPPE: Luxurious. DS: Good-- GIUSEPPE: [interrupting] But then... I only just arrived here. [Valentine grins to record a minor triumph in having caught the President off-guard.] DS: [recovering] Well, may that continue well here for the rest of the night. GIUSEPPE: I... doubt it. But then again... my taste for fine wine you already anticipated; and I hear you're laying on a banquet of bloodletting for later, that I could swap a wager on. If you've picked a girl of the right form and constitution to be my concierge... then perhaps... [A wicked smile drifts across his visage.] GIUSEPPE: ...Keep this up, my Lord, and you won't be sorry you signed me. DS: Indeed. And what was it? [Spreadbury touches his forefinger to his temple.] DS: ..."Treat you like a piece of meat, and things will spoil rather quickly." [Valentine's recognises the message for the President he gave to Jamie Bond.] GIUSEPPE: So he remembered. I didn't give him enough credit. DS: He remembered, yes. He passed your warning on, but I knew already what you expect, Giuseppe; I knew you've come to RCW to make yourself a superstar. Which is precisely why I'm giving you an opportunity to show that you can be one. [Valentine drinks his champagne and, with his eyes, encourages him to go on.] DS: I'm giving you a debut match, on RAMPAGE, in four weeks' time. I'm giving you a chance to prove you can stand up to the biggest and best that RCW has to offer. I'm giving you the seven-foot-two Intelligent Thug; I'm giving you Derek Rage. [Gulp. And the Mo‘t is a little more like Drano in the swallowing, after that. Spreadbury records his own -- decisive -- triumph over the new signing, with a very wry smile.] DS: How does that suit your predilections, Giuseppe? GIUSEPPE: [croaks] It suits them well, my Lord. [He chokes back a gullet of bitter reluctance.] GIUSEPPE: I owe you an evening's amusement as it is. [The President clasps the young man's shoulder.] DS: Excellent. I'm looking forward to it already. Now if you'll excuse me... [...He puts his hand on the door handle, sidestepping Giuseppe.] DS: ...I'll wish you a good night. Enjoy the rest of the show. [And he exits, leaving Valentine to smoulder and drain his glass in the office.] GIUSEPPE: Same to you, Signore. [Cut back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: What a match that's going to be, Billy Shakespeare -- and what an opponent for your RCW debut. Newcomer Giuseppe Valentine will go up against the monstrous Derek Rage when RAMPAGE next hits the airwaves on October 12th! BS: That's certainly going to be a stern challenge for young Mr. Valentine. I'm looking forward to it! DD: And coming up next is a match I've been looking forward to. The Lynx, Orin LeBlanc, who has been on a tremendous roll of late, and whom we've already seen tonight as a spectator in our opening match, is now in action himself, against the young lion Ryan Faith. We'll be right back! [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials to a shot of the announce position, where Don Ditka and Billy Shakespeare sit, now facing the camera. Both look towards it as Ditka addresses you, the viewer at home, directly.] DD: Welcome back to RAMPAGE, folks. At this time, we have a special segment coming up. I'm not sure how much my colleague, Billy Shakespeare, looks forward to this... [Shakespeare grimaces slightly.] BS: The show must go on, Don, regardless of my feelings. DD: Indeed. Well, we have an interview coming up with a man who was once a bitter enemy of yours, Billy. As many of you are aware, we've recently signed former IIWF superstar Ron Paris to a contract, and he has filmed several short "documentaries" to announce his arrival. [On saying the word documentaries, Ditka adds in quotes with his fingers, and he says the word in a rather dubious tone.] DD: Today, we have the privilege of speaking directly to Mr. Paris, who appears via satellite hook-up from his home in western Texas. Mr. Paris, are you there? [At this, a split screen appears on the left side of your monitors, and a confident looking Ron Paris sits in a leather chair. Judging by the background and the soft lighting, filled with bookshelves, CDs, and small bric-a-brac, he is likely in a study, den, or some similar room in his home. Paris wears a simple tan shirt, with a noticeable microphone clipped to the collar, and he smiles as he responds after a slight delay.] RP: Yes Don, I'm here, and I'm very pleased to be live on RAMPAGE. DD: And well you should be, Mr. Paris, this is the hottest hour of wrestling you can find anywhere on television. [There's a slight respectful pause after the shameless self-promotional plug.] DD: Ron, if I may call you that... RP: Please do. DD: Ron, we've seen several promotional pieces showing your thoughts on a variety of topics. What I'm wondering is, when can RCW fans expect to see you in the ring? RP: A very good question, Don. I'm sure the folks at home are on the edge of their seats, waiting to hear when they can see the greatest technical wrestler in the world today. [Unable to restrain himself, Billy Shakespeare coughs loudly.] RP: Is that you, Shakes? Sorry, I don't mean to brag. There are certainly a lot of great wrestlers in RCW. Heck, even Shakes himself was once a great wrestler. He has his own distinct style, you know... lots of go-behinds and so on. It's not my cup of tea, but it seems to work for him and others who are just as light on their feet. [Before Shakespeare can respond, Ditka diplomatically chimes in.] DD: I'm sure we wouldn't know anything about that... but the question remains, Ron. When can we expect to see the "Global Superstar" start to earn his paycheck inside that ring? RP: I'm pleased to announce that, on the very next episode of Rampage, I will be in that ring for a special exhibition of my wrestling skill. [Ditka responds quizzically. One eyebrow raises slightly, and when he asks his next question the curiosity in his voice is obvious.] DD: A "special exhibition"? Pray tell, what exactly does that mean? [Paris chuckles briefly before answering, and we can see this annoys an already peeved Billy Shakespeare even more.] RP: Don't want to give away the farm, Don. It's enough to say that I'll be competing on the next RAMPAGE to give you guys a big ratings boost. If you want to see who I'll be competing against, you'll just have to tune in. I'll just say this... I can't turn down a challenge. And I've seen a lot of talk on the internet about how great a wrestler I am, so I wanted to take on one specific challenge I saw talked about quite a bit. Let's just say that this exhibition could qualify as what you might call an "internet dream match", and leave it at that. [At this, Ditka's curiosity is only heightened, as we can tell from the expression on his face. In spite of himself, even Shakespeare shows a bit of genuine interest. It is from him that the next question comes.] BS: Moving on, what do you expect out of your RCW career after that first match is over? I know first hand how fierce a competitor you are, and as much as I hate to admit it you can get the job done inside the ring. Do you have any designs on going after the gold currently around the waist of Johnny Pleasance? [Paris smile switches to a slightly annoyed smirk, as if the very sound of his former rival's voice is enough to throw him off. He soon recovers, however, and goes back to being a model of confidence as he answers.] RP: A lot of people will come into a new territory and try to get a bit of cheap heat by calling out the champ. I'm not going to do that. Johnny Pleasance is the World champion because he's a great wrestler, and a winner. I've got no problem with him, and I have my own name. I don't need to make one on his back. But I will say this one thing, to Pleasance, and to that idiot Danny Daniels with his fake belt too. I don't need any championships. I've got so many racked up in my career, I've filled up a whole room here at the Casa Paris. And I'm not going to go out of my way to take yours away. But if I do get a shot at a title, whoever's holding it is going to find out exactly why I am the "Global Superstar". [Ditka glances down at his format sheet, and then looks back up at his monitor.] DD: Ron, we need to move on shortly, so I will simply ask, do you have any brief closing comments for our fans? RP: Indeed I do. I want all my Parisites to be sure... BS: [interrupting] Parisites? RP: Yes, that's what I call my millions of fans, worldwide. I think the name's appropriate, because they leach off of my good name and my success to create some small amount of joy in their own lives. Anyway, I want all my Parisites to be sure to tune in to our next episode of Rampage. I assure you, I will be on that show, so there will be something worth watching... for a change. Once the ratings come in, you can have Spreadbury send his thanks directly here, and then we'll start talking about a much deserved raise. [Shakespeare just rolls his eyes, while Ditka remains professional in the face of this blustering ego and wraps up the interview.] DD: Thank you very much, Mr. Paris, this was a plea-- this was very informative. We anxiously await your special exhibition on the next RAMPAGE. [Paris nods curtly, and starts to take his microphone off as his half of the split screen then goes away, and we are left with our announce team sitting at their table.] DD: Ron Paris, ladies and gentlemen. We will see him in action soon, and there is no one in the wrestling world quite like him. BS: Thank the Lord for small mercies. DD: Yes, well, we must now be moving along. [Cut to Dinah and Ryan Faith. We hear a distant heel pop from the fans watching this on the big screen in the arena. Ryan sits in front of his locker, taping up his wrists, wearing a black T-shirt with "Got Faith?" written in bold white print and a pair of shredded up jean shorts. Dinah paces back and forth before her man, wearing a black low cut top and leather pants. She just continually shakes her head as she mumbles under her breath. Ryan looks up every so often before she decides to speak.] D: I swear to god, I'm going to ring that brute's neck for what he did to you. RF: Stop... D: No I swear, I shoulda been there. I shoulda done something. RF: Stop... D: I swear.... I'm going to gut him if I get a.... RF: *ENOUGH!* [Dinah just stops, her mouth agape as she reacts to Ryan's outburst. She just stands there shaking her head.] RF: Do me a favor and just sit down, baby. It's not your fault. D: I just... I just didn't like seeing... RF: I SAID SIT DOWN!! [Ryan slams his hand against the bench next to him, prompting Dinah to sit down next to him. Ryan cocks his head back and lets out a deep sigh. Dinah places a hand on his shoulder and he just rolls his head to the side to acknowledge her.] RF: Something has got to give sooner or later, babe. It just feels like the last couple of weeks things have been caving in on us. This feeling, you know, it's not something I like to feel. It's like everywhere we turn or everything we do... nothing is falling into place for us. The smooth road that we were walking down, suddenly became rocky and crowded. [Ryan rolls his head forward now and just looks off into something.] RF: It's like everywhere we turn, there's another hack or no-name no-talent bums walking in and taking my spotlight, stealing my airtime, stealing my big matches. Mark Coleman? Who the hell is Mark Coleman? A garbage wrestler who has managed to get lucky time and time again? Who the hell is Paul Driscoll? It's like a constant barrage of crap that we are forced to watch and wrestle against. But you know something D.... these asses are getting us at our worse time. You see, people run into funks. Things sometimes start to go the other way when they really shouldn't. But I'm not surprised really. D: Y-you're not? RF: No. You see life comes at you in cycles. Every dog has his day and, well, I guess every jackass in this fed is getting his time to shine now. In just a matter of minutes, I'm going to walk out there... and I'm going to give every damn ounce of blood, sweat and tears in this body of mine. And it's not going to be enough. I sense bad things, baby. I sense things aren't going to go our way. D: Ryan... I've never heard... RF: Do me a favor... I don't know a damned thing about this brute I'm facing right now... I know he's some supposed submissions specialist.. but I ask you for one favor, baby... D: Yeah? RF: Go out there now... 'cos I want a few seconds to think about this... D: I-I... okay, Ryan. [Dinah leaves the scene. She doesn't seem the same strong presence she always is. Ryan just keep staring at the wall.] RF: I swear to the highest of the holy... that I am going to rip this scum's effin' throat out. I can't believe that I'm somehow now some rag doll for these no talent hacks. Hell, I'll walk out there tonight and probably get my ass handed to me. [Ryan just shakes his head and stands up.] RF: Screw it. [Cut back to a shot of the ring.] * DING! DING! DING! * ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Orin LeBlanc vs. Ryan Faith /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [The camera pans over to the ring where RCWÕs in-house ring announcer Sy Simmons holds his microphone up to his lips.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, our next contest is scheduled for one fall! Introducing first... ["Do The Evolution" by Pearl Jam erupts over the loudspeakers and the fans respond with a deafening cheer.] SS: ...hailing from St. Catherine's, Ontario, Canada, and weighing in at 275 pounds, here is... "THE LYNX"... OOOOOOOOOORIN LEBLAAAAAAAANC! [The crowdÕs cheering grows even louder as LeBlanc steps through the entrance curtains, brushing his shaggy blond hair out of his face as a smile on his lips as he sees and hears the approving welcome he receives from the fans. LeBlanc pauses to soak in the applause with a slightly bemused look on his face before his expression hardens as he turns his attention towards the ring and begins marching quickly down the aisle.] DD: Orin LeBlanc is on a bit of a tear here in Rip City Wrestling as heÕs recently scored impressive victories over Lord Byron and Akitoshi Ogawa. BS: That he has, Don. But heÕs made a potentially dangerous enemy for himself in the form of Ryan Faith. Faith is no slouch in the squared circle and his alliance with Johnny Pleasence makes him even more of a threat! [LeBlanc quickly ascends the ringsteps and ducks down to step between the ropes as he enters the ring. The fansÕ cheering goes unnoticed now as the brawny Canadian stretches against the ropes, an intent look on his face as he turns to face the arena entrance.] DD: Moments ago, we saw Ryan Faith expressing some misgivings to Dinah backstage and youÕve got to wonder if heÕs a little concerned about taking on "The Lynx" tonight, Billy Shakespeare? BS: HeÕd be a fool not to have some concerns, as LeBlanc is a dangerous, dangerous opponent who can hurt you badly -- as Faith has already experienced. Coming off that tough loss to Mark Coleman several weeks ago, it wouldnÕt be surprising if Faith was suffering some lack of confidence which can be a tremendous disadvantage once the bell rings. The mental game is equally important as your physical conditioning when it comes to preparing for a match. SS: And introducing his opponent... ["God Hates A Coward" by Tomahawk begins playing over the PA and the crowd responds with unanimous booing and jeering.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Dinah, hailing from Southborough, Massachusetts, and weighing in at 220 pounds... RYYYYYYYYYAAAAAN FAAAAAAITH! [The booing grows even louder as Dinah steps through the entrance curtains, wearing a tight black top with a plunging neckline that has "GOT FAITH?" emblazoned on it in bold white lettering. A very short skirt reveals shapely legs as Dinah stands at the top of the aisle, pointing an accusatory finger at LeBlanc in the ring as she begins shouting threats. The fans jeering doubles as Dinah remains alone in front of the entrance, no sign of Ryan Faith to be seen.] DD: DinahÕs here... but whereÕs Ryan Faith? BS: Perhaps we're not going to see Faith at all tonight following that crisis of confidence we saw earlier? [In the ring, LeBlanc glares angrily back at Dinah at the opposite end of the aisle and yells for her charge to show himself. A roar from the crowd fails to warn the big Canadian, however, as Faith suddenly emerges from out of the crowd on the opposite side of the ring, vaulting over the railing and sliding in beneath the bottom rope without being noticed.] DD: THERE HE IS! [Faith takes complete advantage of LeBlancÕs distraction as he surges to his feet and delivers a devastating roundhouse kick to the back of LeBlancÕs head. The sound of FaithÕs foot impacting the big CanadianÕs skull penetrates the thunderous crowd noise as LeBlanc staggers forward into the ropes, rebounding backward to be caught around the waist by the smaller man who hurls "The Lynx" up and over onto the back of his head and neck.] DD: Belly-to-back suplex! Ryan Faith has Pearl Harbored Orin LeBlanc and he is just dismantling the big "Lynx"! * DING! DING! DING! * [LeBlanc is powerless to resist as the impact of his skull on the canvas leaves him temporarily dazed while Faith grabs a handful of hair and jerks the bigger man upright. Kicking LeBlanc in the stomach, Faith doubles "The Lynx" over so that he can trap the bigger manÕs head under his arm. Grabbing the CanadianÕs waistband with his free hand, Faith attempts to hoist LeBlanc upside down into the air but "The LynxÕs" 275 pound weight causes him problems.] DD: Attempted vertical suplex by Faith but heÕs struggling to lift the much heavier LeBlanc up into the air. BS: The size advantage definitely goes to LeBlanc, Don, as Faith is giving up five inches in height and over fifty pounds in weight to the much bigger "Lynx". [Showing the he can adapt quickly, Faith abandons the suplex lift in mid-move as he shifts and simply drops LeBlanc directly onto his forehead with tremendous impact.] *WHUMP!* DD: WHOAH! Faith modified that vertical suplex attempt into a high elevation DDT... and Orin LeBlanc is out of it! [The fans boo mercilessly as Faith rises to his feet, standing over the dazed LeBlanc who rolls over onto his back, clearly stunned. Faith glares down at his victim, shouting something incomprehensible before unloading a vicious kick to the side of LeBlancÕs head.] DD: Ryan Faith with the definite advantage right now as he caught Orin LeBlanc by surprise and has been ruthlessly working him over! BS: LeBlanc might be forgiven for a bit of distraction, Don, in that not only did he have to worry about Ryan Faith tonight but he has to keep an eye out for Nathan Herod who following our opening contest, is definitely not in a very good mood. [LeBlanc rolls onto his stomach, covering his battered head as Faith kneels down on top of him, both of the smaller manÕs knees pressing down on the big CanadianÕs spine. Reaching over with one arm, Faith grabs LeBlancÕs thick neck while he uses his other arm to grab the "LynxÕs" legs. Leaning backwards while maintaining his grip, Faith rolls onto his back lifting LeBlanc up into the air, bent over backward across the smaller manÕs knees. Faith grits his teeth as he pulls down on LeBlancÕs neck and legs to increase the pressure on the bigger manÕs spinal column.] DD: Bow-and-arrow backbreaker! LeBlanc is trapped! BS: And Faith has that hold locked in tightly. Nicely done! ["The Lynx" grunts in pain and shakes his head from side to side as the referee checks for a submission. But the crowdÕs attention is drawn to the top of the aisle where a commotion appears to be taking place.] DD: WhoÕs this? BS: Methinks Orin LeBlancÕs troubles have just increased... exponentially. [The fans boo and jeer as Mick Silvestri can be seen striding down the aisle, ignoring the crowdÕs disapproval as he quickly makes his way to ringside. "Smiling" Mick is all-business as he immediately begins berating the referee, protesting over something that causes Dinah on the opposite side of the ring to yell back an angry response. In the ring, LeBlanc continues to suffer as he is stretched backwards across FaithÕs knees.] DD: What is going on here, Billy Shakespeare? Mick Silvestri appears to be arguing... ON BEHALF OF ORIN LEBLANC! BS: Very strange, Don. From the way heÕs arguing with the official, heÕs acting as if he *IS* LeBlanc's manager despite being turned down earlier! [Silvestri and DinahÕs arguments continue as LeBlanc finally manages to muster enough strength to heave himself sideways forcing Faith to release his grip and breaking the painful hold. LeBlanc struggles to rise but is knocked forward onto his hands and knees as Faith strikes quickly with a flurry of forearm smashes to the back of the head. Standing upright, Faith spins around so that his back is to LeBlanc as he then leaps upward and performs an impressive backflip. But instead of crashing down across the bigger manÕs back, Faith ends up falling face-first into the canvas as LeBlanc manages to roll out of the way.] DD: Attempted standing moonsault by Faith but it misses as LeBlanc manages to dodge it at the last second! [LeBlanc snarls and rises to his feet as Faith gasps, the air driven from his lungs. When the smaller man gets up, LeBlanc charges forward with an attempted running lariat but Faith spots him out of the corner of his eye and manages to duck underneath it. LeBlanc runs into the ropes on the opposite side of the ring but when Faith readies himself to meet the bigger man on the way back, Mick Silvestri hops up onto the apron and begins yelling at the top of his lungs. The distraction is enough for Faith to turn his head towards the Englishman, a fatal error that costs him dearly as LeBlanc rebounds off the ropes and flies into Faith with a powerful diving shoulderblock that knocks the smaller man flat onto his back.] DD: Faith distracted by Silvestri... and LeBlanc bowls him over! BS: From the angry look on LeBlancÕs face, I donÕt believe heÕs happy to see Nathan HerodÕs manager here at ringside, Don. [Upon spotting Silvestri on the apron, LeBlanc bellows an ugly threat that causes the Englishman to quickly drop off the apron and down to the floor. But the damage is done as Faith shakily tries to regain his feet only for LeBlanc to drop an elbow onto the smaller manÕs stomach. Faith curls into a ball as he clutches his bruised midsection while LeBlanc rolls to his feet and reaches down to grab one of the smaller manÕs arms. Yanking Faith upright, LeBlanc sends him running into the ropes with a powerful Irish whip. When Faith rebounds back towards the center of the ring, LeBlanc catches him there and pivots the smaller man over backwards before dropping him spine-first across his bent knee.] DD: Tilt-a-whirl backbreaker! And now itÕs Ryan FaithÕs vertebrae that are suffering some punishment! [The crowd cheers loudly at this reversal of fortunes as Faith rolls onto his stomach, grimacing in pain and rubbing at his injured lower back. LeBlanc adds insult to injury, however, by backing up a few paces before running forward and dropping a knee right onto FaithÕs spinal column.] DD: Kneedrop to the back! I believe we may have ourselves a designated target here! BS: Smart move on LeBlancÕs part as by working over FaithÕs back, he lessens the smaller manÕs ability to lift anyone up in the air for either one of the many suplexes heÕs capable of or that dangerous Test Of Faith underhook piledriver of his. [As faith struggles to rise to his feet, LeBlanc steps forward and kicks him in the stomach, doubling the smaller man over. Trapping Faith in a standing headscissors, LeBlanc reaches down and hoists him up high into the air before slamming him down flat onto his back.] DD: Powerbomb! And a doozie! BS: It almost looked like "The Lynx" was trying to drive Faith all the way through the mat with that move! [The big Canadian ignores the loud praise being heaped upon him by Mick Silvestri at ringside as he stalks forward and pushes Faith over onto his stomach with his toe. LeBlanc then kneels down on top of FaithÕs back in an imitation of the smaller manÕs maneuver earlier, reaching out with both arms to grab FaithÕs neck and legs. This time it is LeBlancÕs turn to roll over onto his back, lifting Faith up into the air so that the smaller man is bent over backward across the CanadianÕs knees.] DD: Bow-and-arrow backbreaker! But this time it is LeBlanc catching Faith in that painful submission hold! BS: Turn-about seems to be fair play as LeBlancÕs submission skills are well known and with his size advantage, heÕs able to exert a lot more pressure on Ryan FaithÕs spine than was put on his own earlier in this match. [With his spine stretched painfully across LeBlancÕs knees, Faith is powerless to escape from "The LynxÕs" clutches as he groans in agony, fighting to escape. The referee is occupied checking for a submission and so he doesnÕt notice a pair of highly-manicured hands reaching underneath the bottom rope into the ring to rake across LeBlancÕs eyes with long fingernails.] DD: Dinah jabbing at Orin LeBlancÕs eyes! That witch! BS: As despicable as it may be, sheÕs saved Faith from that painful bow-and-arrow as even as big and powerful a man as LeBlanc is not immune to having his eyes attacked! [The referee yells a warning at Dinah who professes her innocence despite LeBlancÕs shout of pain and releasing Faith from his grip. Mick Silvestri adds an even louder voice of condemnation as he races around the ring to confront Dinah and begins yelling at her.] DD: This is just bizarre, Billy Shakespeare. Mick Silvestri is acting as if heÕs signed Orin LeBlanc to a contract... even after being categorically rejected! BS: An interesting tactic... and even if his presence here at ringside is unwelcome, he can still neutralize Dinah making this even more of an even match. [Dinah and SilvestriÕs arguing keeps the referee occupied while behind him, Faith winces as he massages his lower spine before driving his fingertips into the unprotected throat of Orin LeBlanc. LeBlanc, still blinking furiously as his eyes continue to water, chokes and stumbles backward allowing Faith to charge forward and bury a high knee into the bigger manÕs gut. "The Lynx" doubles over giving Faith an opening to grab the big Canadian around the waist, hoist him up into the air and slam him down onto his back.] DD: Gutwrench suplex by Ryan Faith and he is back in this match courtesy of interference from his manager! BS: And "Smiling" Mick is acting as if heÕs LeBlancÕs manager as the referee is having a hard time keeping the Englishman and Dinah apart! [Shouting and insults continue to provide an interesting sideshow at ringside as Faith rises to his feet and leans heavily against the ropes, rubbing at his injured back. LeBlanc shakes out the cobwebs as he pushes himself up onto his hands and knees as Faith pushes himself off the ropes and races across the ring past the big Canadian. As "The Lynx" stands upright, Faith bounces off the ropes behind him to gain further momentum before leaping into the air and spinning forward before grabbing LeBlancÕs head and pulling him face-first into the mat with an incredible impact.] *SMACK!* "OOOOOOOOOH!" DD: Flying Somersault Bulldog! What an amazing maneuver as Ryan Faith has now fully taken control of this contest by driving Orin LeBlanc face-first into the canvas! BS: Faith is mounting an excellent comeback here as heÕs struggling to overcome the size and strength advantage by drawing on his maneuverability and speed. [Rolling LeBlanc onto his back, Faith hooks the leg and yells at the referee who quickly drops down beside them and begins slapping at the canvas... 1... 2... ...SHOULDER UP!] DD: A very near fall for Ryan Faith as Orin LeBlanc barely manages to escape in the nick of time! [Faith curses in frustration but immediately jumps up and runs into the ropes once more as LeBlanc rolls onto his side and pushes himself back up to his feet. As Faith bounces off the ropes, he builds up even greater speed before leaping up to slam his body directly across "The LynxÕs" chest. But LeBlanc barely staggers backward half a step before grabbing Faith and holding him tight.] DD: Cross body-block attempt by Faith... BUT LEBLANC CATCHES HIM! [Without pausing, LeBlanc swings the smaller manÕs body out in front of him before dropping him down spine-first across his knee.] DD: Ooh! Pendulum backbreaker and thatÕs gotta hurt! BS: And youÕll note that LeBlanc is once more targeting Ryan FaithÕs spinal column! [Roaring fiercely, LeBlanc reaches down and grabs the sides of FaithÕs head with both hands. Pulling the smaller man up to his knees, LeBlanc rears back and drives his own skull directly into FaithÕs forehead with a sickening *THUD*! Faith slumps slightly as LeBlanc repeats the maneuver again and again. Eventually, LeBlanc releases his grip and Faith falls onto his back, a thick stream of crimson oozing down the front of his face.] DD: Headbutt after headbutt! And LeBlanc has drawn blood! [Echoing the cries of Roman audiences from centuries past, the fans roar their approval at the sight of the red plasma on Ryan FaithÕs face. At ringside, Dinah shrieks in horror while Mick Silvestri yells his delight. LeBlanc ignores both managers as he grabs a handful of FaithÕs shaggy brown hair, using that grip to pull the smaller man upright so that he can drive his forehead directly into the nearest corner turnbuckle. Faith staggers but cannot escape as LeBlanc repeats the move while the crowd enthusiastically counts along...] "1... ...2... ...3... ...4... ...5... ...6... ...7... ...8... ...9... ...10!" DD: LeBlanc has caught the scent of blood and like the predator that he is, he is going after it with a vengeance! [Faith collapses onto his back, his face now smeared with blood following the multiple collisions with the turnbuckle padding. LeBlanc stands over him and spreads his arms wide as he rears his head back and howls his defiance toward the sky.] DD: Ryan Faith has mounted a number of effective offensives during the course of his match but his lack of self-assurance earlier on tonight may have been well founded as "The Lynx" is just mauling him in that ring! BS: Did I mention that Orin LeBlanc is a dangerous, dangerous man? That crimson mask that Faith is wearing is a testament to that fact! [With the fans shouting their support, LeBlanc reaches down once more and yanks Faith back up to his feet. Sending the smaller man into the ropes with another powerful Irish whip, LeBlanc catches him on the rebound and sends him spinning over backwards in mid-air. But before LeBlanc can drop Faith across his knee, Faith manages to grab the big CanadianÕs neck and twists sideways enough to pull "The Lynx" forward so that the top of his head slams into the canvas.] DD: WHAT A COUNTER! ORIN LEBLANC WAS GOING FOR ANOTHER TILT-A-WHIRL BACKBREAKER... BUT RYAN FAITH COUNTERED THAT WITH A... A... A BACKFLIP DDT? BS: ThatÕs about as accurate a description as youÕre going to get, Don. Ryan Faith may be battered and bleeding but his stamina is formidable as heÕs taken a hellacious pounding from LeBlanc and is still managing to fight back. [Both men lay motionless on the mat as Mick Silvestri at ringside screams admonitions for LeBlanc to get up. Despite the fact that droplets of his own blood splatter down onto the canvas, it is Faith who is the first to stir as he pushes himself onto his stomach and then to his hands and knees. Beside him, LeBlanc begins to stir but only slowly as the fans begin chanting his name in encouragement.] "O-RIN!" "O-RIN!" "O-RIN!" "O-RIN!" DD: The crowd is definitely solidly behind Orin LeBlanc but... isnÕt that the most bizarre sight youÕve ever seen? Mick Silvestri... leading the crowd in their chanting? BS: The man definitely has his own agenda... I just donÕt know that we fully appreciate what that is. [The chanting has no effect on Faith who wipes some of the blood from his eyes before rising to his feet and pulling LeBlanc up in front of him. LeBlanc is bent over at the waist and Faith drives him down a little lower with a vicious forearm smash to the back of the neck. Trapping the big CanadianÕs head in a standing headscissors, Faith grabs both of LeBlancÕs arms and locks his own underneath "The LynxÕs" elbows. Through the blood and gore that encrusts his lips, Faith can be seen smiling a wickedly triumphant grin.] DD: TEST OF FAITH! Ryan Faith is going for... [But before Faith can lift the big Canadian upside down for his trademark double-underhook piledriver, LeBlanc powers his way out of the smaller manÕs grip. Spinning Faith around, LeBlanc then wraps his arms around one of the smaller manÕs arms and across the front of his neck.] DD: Cobra Clutch! Is LeBlanc going to hit the BeastÕs Burden Suplex? [Things move quickly, however, for on the opposite side of the ring, Dinah climbs up onto the apron and begins shrieking in an attempt to distract LeBlanc. Her efforts are ignored, however, but are mimicked by Mick Silvestri who climbs up onto the apron on the opposite side of the ring... with a weapon in hand.] DD: Both managers are up on the apron... and Silvestri has a steel chair! [The referee shouts warnings at both Dinah and Silvestri but just as LeBlanc looks about to hurl Faith up and over onto the back of his neck with the BeastÕs Burden Suplex, the Englishman swings his steel chair at Ryan FaithÕs face. Faith, however, manages to yank downward just enough so that the chair misses him and slams directly into Orin LeBlancÕs forehead!] *KLANK* "OOOOOOOOOH!" [LeBlancÕs grip loosens and Faith breaks free as the big Canadian falls backward, stunned by the blow from the folding steel chair. The referee immediately begins pointing at the timekeeper while yelling instructions.] * DING! DING! DING! * SS: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner as a result of a disqualification... "THE LYNX"... OOOOOOOOOORIN LEBLAAAAAAAANC!! [Faith looks shocked beneath his mask of blood as Dinah rushes into the ring beside him. Both immediately begin arguing with the referee as LeBlanc tries to sit up, wincing and holding his bruised forehead. On the ring apron, Mick Silvestri looks both surprised and chagrined as he quickly drops the steel chair and jumps down to the floor before hightailing it up the aisle as fast as he can.] DD: What just happened? IÕm confused... BS: And understandably so... Mick Silvestri came down to ringside ostensibly to help Orin LeBlanc and... in a way, I guess you could say that he did just that. DD: But... helping him... by clobbering him with a steel chair? [In the ring, the bloodied Ryan Faith and Dinah continue arguing with the referee as LeBlanc rolls to his feet with a murderous expression in his eyes.] DD: I'm sure there'll be repercussions following Mick Silvestri's misadventures here tonight in the weeks to come. Folks, right now let's hear from another newcomer on his way here to RCW: former marine Samuel Muster. [We open up to the grand panorama of the Montana Rocky Mountains. It is a clear day, bright and breezy, and the beautiful skyline here is completely uninterrupted by man-made articles. The foreground consists of rolling viridian hills, which leads up to the jagged brown peaks of North America's most famous mountain range. Here on the hillside stands a man that is almost as picturesque as the mountains themselves. Standing six feet and five inches tall, this wide-shouldered young man carries with him an impression of the rugged nature of this land. His head is crowned with natural dark-blonde hair in a short, curly style, and his handsome face is highlighted by a solid jaw structure and clear blue eyes. Whoever this man is, he's got what the wrestling promoters would call "the look." According to the chryon, his name is Samuel Muster. Samuel is clothed in an unpretentious manner; a white button-up shirt and beige pants is what he's got on today. He is gazing out to the very same horizon which fills the camera's view. When he speaks, he does so in a baritone voice that is tinged with a Montana accent.] SM: The sky goes on forever. I suppose a scientist would tell ya different, being as the atmosphere is measurable. That ain't what I mean. What I mean is this: anywhere on Earth a man stands, there is a horizon. Somethin' in the distance. A place to go, an aim to shoot for. A potential goal. It's a metaphor. It's the metaphor I'm choosin' as a mission statement in Rip City Wrestling. My name is Samuel Muster. In terms of experience, a rookie. In terms of discipline, a United States Marine. In terms of intelligence, a Notre Dame graduate. In terms of athleticism, three years letterman in football at the same. In terms of upbringing, raised a Montana mountain man. In terms of training, top of the class at the Keening School Of Grappling Arts in Los Angeles. In terms of mission... ...the sky goes on forever. [It is now that Samuel turns away from the view, to focus on the camera. The look in his eyes belie confidence.] SM: There is nothing I can say that will impress anyone. If there was someone who'd be impressed with words, I'd think they weren't worth impressing. So I do not really know what more needs to be said today, except for a mission statement. I am here in Rip City Wrestling to pursue a livelihood, and to become the champion of the territory. Obviously. But there is one thing more than that; one other reason I've come. All too often over the years, I've seen a certain breed of man in this sport phased out. The very type of man who inspired me to take up professional wrestling in the first place. And I'm talkin' about the role model. The man who stood up for what was right and did not compromise on the issue. The man who held the truth at a higher value than the lies. The man that the children could look up to and believe in. Nowadays, this breed has all but died. The promoters don't want them, the other wrestlers surely don't want them, and many of the jaded older fans don't want them. Because they don't like the truth. The truth is convicting, and the truth is sometimes painful. But the truth is this; that there is justice in this world. There is right, and there is wrong, and though the line is often blurred and there really are some things that are hard to define... we as a human race use that as a excuse to try and define right and wrong for ourselves, which makes everything right and nothing wrong. These type of people do whatever they feel like to feed their egos and to stroke their libidos. "If it's good for me, it's good", they say, and everyone else be damned. I do not hold with that type of man; to me that is no man at all. But now, when there are no role models, our kids see that behavior, and they learn it. They think that's the truth. It's sickening. But that is the state of our society today. That is the hard truth, and no one man can change that. I'm not here to carry out justice on the wicked, or to pass judgement on who is wicked and who isn't. That is not my place. I am here to try and be that role model that a child can look up to, or that a grown person can respect. I am here to show the world that the truth is not dead and buried. I will do this come Hell or high water, and I know as a point of fact that Hell will come for me. I know that the devil himself will incite many against me. That, too, is the hard truth, and one to which I have this to say: Good. I'll be waiting. There will be no shortage of trials and tasks for me, as it is for everyone in Rip City. So what comes first for Samuel Muster? We'll all find out together. After all, the sky goes on forever. [Muster's gaze returns to the horizon, and we pan into the distance, and eventually fade. After a moment, fade back to the announce table at ringside.] DD: A very brooding and thoughtful young man. Keep your eye out for more from Samuel Muster in the weeks to come. Now, folks, let's switch gears and get back up to the ring for our next match: Owen "Truth" Curtis, who has already made his presence felt here tonight, finally returns to the ring against the most exciting high-flyer in RCW today, "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado. Let's get back up to the ring! ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / Owen "Truth" Curtis vs. /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado [Sy Simmons stands in the middle of the ring and raises his microphone to his lips again.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the following match is scheduled for one fall. Introducing first... GROUP CHANT: COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! COLD HARD TRUTH! [Two drumsticks hit together four times.] ! crack ! crack ! crack ! crack ! [The opening riff from "Stranger Than Fiction" by Bad Religion blares over the loudspeakers.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Eddie "Flash" Curtis... hailing from Eugene, Oregon, standing 6 feet 2 inches tall and weighing in at 241 pounds... OWEN... "TRUTH"... CUUUUUUUURTIS! [As the song hits the first verse, Curtis bursts out through the curtains, wearing a dark green singlet with gold trim and, over that, a dark green cape with gold trim. Behind him comes Eddie Curtis, wearing his "I'M FULLY DEVELOPED" t-shirt, his camera around his neck.] # A febrile shocking violent smack # The children are hoping for a heart attack # Tonight the windows are watching, the streets all conspire # And the lamppost can't stop crying [Wearing his trademark green eyeshade on his head, Owen glares determinedly forward as he heads for the ring, his dirty blond hair matched with a two-day dusting of blond facial stubble.] DD: Here comes the Curtises again, Billy Shakespeare. We can only be thankful that they don't appear to be armed with microphones this time. BS: Thank heavens for small mercies, Don. # If I could fly high above the world, # Would I see a bunch of living dots spell the word stupidity? # Or would I see hungry lover homicides, loving brother suicides, # And olly olly oxenfrees, who pick a side and hide? [Owen and Eddie reach the ring, and Owen rolls in. He twirls in a circle, arms spread, his cape flying up. The crowd responds with less appreciation than Owen gives himself.] # The world is scratching at my door, # My morning paper's got the scores, # The human interest stories, and the obituary, oh yeah [Owen tosses his cape to the corner, drops, and rolls out. He removes his green eyeshade and bestows it upon a young boy's head, roughly ruffling his hair afterwards. Eddie snaps away with his camera as the young fan's face registers confusion, then discomfort.] # Cockroach naps and rattling traps, # How many devils can you fit upon a match head? # Caringosity killed the Kerouac cat, # Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction [Owen returns to the ring as the music fades. Eddie takes up a position in one corner, clapping and cheering on his elder brother.] SS: And introducing his opponent... [The hip hop rhythm of Jurassic 5's "What's Golden?" begins thumping over the loudspeakers causing the fans to erupt in a chorus of boos as a shower of golden sparks cascades down over the entrance.] DD: This young man certainly knows how to make an entrance, Billy Shakespeare! [Through the entrance curtain and emerging from the sparks, a slender yet muscular man in a shining golden robe strides into view with his arms to either side in double bicep bodybuilder pose. Behind him, a curvaceous blonde in matching golden halter top and microskirt, also steps forward and places her delicately-manicured hands on his well-defined shoulders.] SS: ...accompanied to the ring by Jodee Burwick... hailing from Tacoma, Washington, and weighing in at 236 pounds... he is... "GOOOOOOOOLDEN BOOOOOOY" NOOOOOOOLAN DORAAAAAADO! [Shimmering golden wraparound sunglasses hide Dorado's eyes as he flashes a megawatt smile at the nearest camera before jogging quickly down to the ring. As he reaches ringside, he suddenly stops dead, and staggers slightly, as if overcome by a horrible scent. He swivels his head in the direction of the Hobo Section at ringside, and recoils in disgust, holding his nose. Heel pop!] DD: Give me a break! Nolan Dorado just can't resist poking fun at Liam Cassidy. BS: Dorado wouldn't be so bold if there weren't ten rows of fans between him and the Jersey Drifter, Don -- not after Cassidy has laid him out twice with that famous right fist. [Dorado tires of baiting Cassidy, and continues down to the ring, sliding underneath the bottom rope. Burwick follows along behind him at a much slower pace, teetering atop impossibly-high stiletto heels. She shoots a withering glare at Cassidy as she passes the Hobo Section -- and Cassidy responds by sarcastically blowing her a kiss. Clambering up onto the top turnbuckle, as Curtis looks on, Dorado again flexes his biceps before stripping off his robe (to a few feminine squeals of admiration) and tossing it to a ring attendant as Burwick takes her place in his corner.] DD: We're about ready to get down to business here, Billy Shakespeare! [Dorado jumps down from the turnbuckle as Jurassic 5 fades from the PA, and official Pat Nickrick signals for the bell as Dorado and Curtis move towards each other in the ring.] * DING! DING! DING! * [With a grin, Dorado removes his wraparound sunglasses, and pings them into Curtis's face. Pop!] DD: Dorado trying to rile up Curtis here at the outset, Billy Shakespeare! BS: I'm not so sure that's such a great move, Don -- Curtis is one heck of a dangerous competitor, and these kinds of tactics can backfire. [Curtis looks down at the glasses on the mat, and then kicks them out of the ring. He smirks at Dorado, and then encourages him to come on. Dorado moves in, and Curtis goes for a headlock, but Dorado slips out and bounces off the ropes, coming back with a dropkick attempt -- but this time Curtis ducks out of the way, and Dorado finds nothing but air, hitting the mat hard. Pop! Dorado pops back up, and immediately Curtis takes a swing at him with a closed fist. Dorado instinctively ducks out of the way, his eyes wide, and Curtis steps in, grabbing Dorado's ducked head and dropping him to the mat with a snap mare takedown. Curtis immediately wrenches on Dorado's head, pulling back on his shoulder and hyperextending the trapezius.] BS: You can see Curtis's strategy here, Don. He's going to try and ground Dorado and stop him from hitting those high-flying, high-impact moves. DD: And what better way to keep the "Golden Boy" off his game than to threaten him with a big right hook? BS: Absolutely, Don. Dorado's glass jaw was exposed by Liam Cassidy several weeks back, and Dorado knows he needs to stay right out of a fist fight! [Curtis stumps his knee between Dorado's shoulderblades and bends Dorado's right arm behind his knee, continuing to apply pressure on Nolan's neck and shoulder by wrenching on it with his upper left arm. Meanwhile, he strikes at Dorado's exposed rib cage with his right forearm. On the outside, Burwick slaps the mat in encouragement to her charge.] DD: What a painful submission-style hold here from Owen Curtis! [Curtis switches positions again, flipping Dorado onto his belly and applying a front facelock. Curtis keeps the facelock in tight as he gets back to his feet, keeping Dorado locked in, and then takes him right back down to the mat with a vertical suplex, floating over and grabbing Dorado's right leg, twisting at the ankle and applying as much pressure as he can.] BS: Curtis is going to try and work over every part of Dorado's body, Don, and keep him grounded. DD: Certainly Dorado is more comfortable with a faster pace than this, Billy Shakespeare. [Dorado finally kicks out with his free leg, hitting Curtis in the chest and forcing the veteran to release him. Both men get back to their feet, Dorado fixing Curtis with a glare as he rolls his neck and tries to shake out the kink in his right leg. The two men lock up in the middle of the ring again, Dorado again slipping underneath Curtis's grasp, and he turns behind the Truth, planting a kick in the small of Owen's back, then jumping up and bringing Curtis down with a neckbreaker! Pop!] DD: Dorado turning things on their head here -- but he's got to keep the pace quick now to unsettle his experienced opponent. [Dorado hops back up to his feet, and goes to the ropes, jumping up onto the second rope and springing backwards with a moonsault -- but Curtis rolls out of the way, and Dorado eats canvas! Heel pop! Dorado and Curtis again get back to their feet, and Curtis once more comes in with fists raised. He dummies a couple of jabs, but Dorado weaves his way around them -- and then tries to strike back with a punch of his own, but it is as weak as ever, and Curtis is able to grab hold of the punch fist and slip on a wristlock, twisting Dorado's arm painfully and taking him down to the mat. Pop!] DD: A flash of something from Dorado, Billy Shakespeare, but nothing more -- Curtis is back on top again. BS: Dorado seems determined to prove that he *can* trade punches with his opponents, despite all appearances to the contrary. And it could cost him here. [A quick cut-away shows that Liam Cassidy is enjoying himself, apparently pantomiming Dorado's limp-wristed punch with one of his pals, then falling about with laughter. At ringside, Eddie Curtis is snapping away on his camera, much to Jodee Burwick's annoyance. She taps him on the shoulder, and he turns, camera still raised to his eyes, and he gets a lensful of Burwick's ample cleavage. Curtis continues snapping away, now at Burwick's decolletage, and Burwick shrieks, unloading on Curtis with a slap, before turning heel and stalking away on her high heels. Eddie Curtis rubs at his cheek, a sly grin on his face, and can't resist taking another picture of Burwick's barely-contained buttocks as she totters off.] DD: Despite the many, uh, distractions on the outside, Curtis is keeping Dorado down on the mat here, Billy Shakespeare. [Indeed, Curtis is still in control, working over Dorado's legs on the mat. He flips Dorado over onto his belly and puts on a Boston crab, leaning back to put lots of pressure on the "Golden Boy's" lower back. Dorado claws with his fingers towards the ropes, and manages to get hold of them. Nickrick puts the count on Curtis, who finally releases the hold on the count of three. Before Dorado can get back to his feet, however, Curtis drops his elbow on Nolan's solar plexus, then gets right back up, and does it again. Heel pop!] DD: That's a Curtis trademark, Billy Shakespeare. BS: Curtis is firmly in control here, Don. Dorado needs to pick up the pace, before Curtis picks him apart. [Nickrick finally forces Curtis back away from the ropes, and Dorado pulls himself to his feet, rubbing his sore back. Curtis steps around Nickrick and once again dummies a punch. But Dorado is wise to this tactic by now, and stands his ground, then dives at Curtis, hitting him in the midsection with his shoulder. Pop!] DD: Billy Shakespeare, are these fans actually... *cheering*... for Nolan Dorado? BS: It sounds like it, Don. Perhaps he's the lesser of two evils in this match! [Dorado takes Curtis down with a tremendous bridging suplex, and Nickrick drops to make the count as Dorado has the Truth's shoulders pinned to the mat... 1... 2... ...and Curtis powers out, Dorado collapsing to the mat. Disappointed pop from the crowd!] DD: There's an example of how Dorado can turn a match on a dime! BS: He's got to stay on Curtis now, Don, and make sure he stays out of Owen's reach. [Dorado gets back to his feet, and so too does a flushed-looking Curtis, apparently cursing himself at allowing Dorado to get the jump on him. The cocky smile seems to be returning to Dorado's face as he grabs hold of Curtis -- but he is rocked back on his heels by a hard jab to the ribs from Curtis. And then another! And then a hook to Dorado's jaw, and the Tacoma native goes down! Nickrick steps in to remonstrate with Curtis for the use of the closed fist as the fans jeer the homestate man.] DD: Looks like Curtis is done with pulling his punches, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Dorado had seen through that particular tactic, but I guess he didn't expect Curtis to unload on him like that. [Dorado is pulled to the outside of the ring by a concerned Jodee Burwick while Curtis continues to argue with Pat Nickrick. Burwick holds Dorado's head up with her manicured fingers, peering into his eyes and trying to revive him. Eddie Curtis saunters up behind Burwick, and slaps her ass. Pop!] DD: Do we really have to have this reprobate out here? BS: Are you referring to Burwick or Eddie Curtis, Don? DD: Either one, frankly! [Burwick shrieks at the assault on her person, and wheels around, releasing Dorado, who slumps onto the apron, still very groggy. Eddie continues to leer at Burwick, who looks as if she's never suffered such an indignity in her life! She goes to slap him, but Eddie catches her hand, and with a wiggle of his eyebrows, pulls Burwick in close and plants a big kiss on her mouth! This seems to snap Dorado out of his catatonic state, and he launches himself at Eddie Curtis, fists flying! Big pop from the fans!] DD: That's lit a fire under Nolan Dorado! Nobody puts a hand on Jodee Burwick... BS: At least, not right in front of him. Who knows what that harpy gets up to away from the eyes of her toy boy? DD: Dorado is just wailing away on Eddie Curtis, but those fists of his just don't make that much of an impact. And -- uh-oh! [Owen Curtis reaches out through the ropes and grabs Dorado by the hair, dragging him up onto the apron. Heel pop! Curtis softens Dorado up with a couple of forearm shots to the jaw, holding him on the apron with his other arm, and then *suplexes* the "Golden Boy" back into the ring over the ropes! Heel pop!] DD: These damn Curtis brothers are playing Dorado like a fiddle here tonight, Billy Shakespeare! [Curtis slips behind the dazed Dorado and wraps him up in his trademark sleeperhold! Big heel pop!] DD: GOOD NIGHT AND GOOD LUCK! It could all be over for Dorado right here! [Dorado, acting quickly, demonstrates some amazing flexibility as he reaches up and grabs CurtisÕ head, trapping him in place as he yanks both of his feet up and doubles over upside down so that the soles of his boots are planted firmly against the older manÕs head. As DoradoÕs weight pulls both men forward, Curtis is unable to escape as Dorado slams down onto his back but the soles of his boots are driven up into CurtisÕ face with devastating effect. Huge pop!] DD: My God! What a counter-hold! BS: I have never seen anybody counter a sleeper hold like that, Don! DD: Nolan Dorado continues to innovate, Billy Shakespeare -- and he has the chance to turn this match around right now! [Dorado senses the tide is turning. He grabs an arm and sends Curtis into the ropes with an Irish whip. As Curtis rebounds back, he attempts a running clothesline -- but Dorado dodges this and begins running towards the ropes on the opposite side. As the two bounce back toward each other once again, Dorado leaps up and executes a dazzling hurricanrana that flips Curtis over onto the top of his head. Big pop! Dorado makes the cover, and Nickrick drops to make the count... 1... 2... ...but again Curtis kicks out! Disappointed pop from the fans!] DD: Stay on him, Dorado! BS: Don, are *you* cheering for Nolan Dorado? DD: I... am. I don't know what's come over me, Billy Shakespeare! BS: Heck, it's the Curtises. I'd cheer for Charlie Manson if he were in the ring with Owen Curtis. [Dorado showboats to Burwick, who now has a big smile on her face, and is applauding her man. But behind him, Curtis rises to his feet, spins Dorado around, and grabs him around the waist to send him flying with a lightning-fast belly-to-belly release suplex. Heel pop!] DD: Come on, Dorado! Stop the showing off, and stay on your opponent! BS: Dorado needs to remember that Curtis has been around this business his whole life, and he's as tough as they come. Dorado should not ever, *ever* turn his back on a Curtis. [Curtis sends Dorado into the ropes with an Irish whip, but on the rebound, he knocks down the Truth with a flying spinning leg lariat! Big pop! With Curtis down on the mat, Dorado races into the corner and literally runs up the turnbuckles to execute an impressive running moonsault elbowdrop directly to the older manÕs sternum. Huge pop!] DD: Pin him, Dorado! Pin him! [But Dorado doesn't pin him -- he goes back to the corner and climbs the turnbuckles. Suddenly, Eddie Curtis is up on the apron, wielding his camera, apparently about to fire the flash into Dorado's face, but he is promptly yanked down by Jodee Burwick, and the two of them engage in a heated shouting match on the outside. Nickrick is forced to roll from the ring to try and separate the two, while Dorado balances on the turnbuckles.] DD: He's going for the Golden Guillotine! He's... hang on! It's Liam Cassidy! [With Nickrick distracted by the goings on outside the ring, Liam Cassidy vaults the steel crowd barriers, and grabs a nearby steel chair, before rolling into the ring. Dorado jumps down from the turnbuckles as Curtis also rolls back to his knees, the opportunity to finish him off gone. Cassidy charges towards the two men in the middle of the ring... Dorado covers up, expecting the impact...] DD: Liam Cassidy has seen enough! Liam Cassidy has... * CLANG! * [Big pop!] DD: ...Liam Cassidy has just blasted *Owen Curtis* with a steel chair! [Dorado uncovers his head in confusion, just in time to catch the steel chair tossed to him by a grinning Liam Cassidy, who rolls straight back out of the ring and hops back over the crowd barrier. Dorado looks at the chair in confusion as Nickrick rolls back into the ring. Dorado, frozen like a rabbit in headlights, looks at the official, looks at Curtis laid out on the mat, and looks at the chair in his hands -- and then immediately tosses the chair aside. But this is damning evidence for Pat Nickrick, and the official signals for the bell!] * DING! DING! DING! * DD: What just happened here?! [Nickrick immediately goes to the corner and converses with Sy Simmons, who makes the announcement.] SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match... by *disqualification*... OWEEEEEEEEN "TRUUUUUUUUUUUTH" CUUUUUUUUURTIS! [Big pop as Dorado puts his hands to his head, stunned by the turn of events. On the outside, Cassidy returns to the bosom of his unkempt fans, all of them laughing it up at the Drifter's clever ruse.] DD: Nolan Dorado can't believe it! Four weeks ago, Jodee Burwick planted brass knuckles on Liam Cassidy in order to get her man the win against the Drifter by disqualification -- and tonight, turnabout is fair play! BS: A great plan, well-executed by the first hobo of wrestling! [As Dorado rolls from the ring to be comforted by Jodee Burwick, who is shrieking and bewailing the manner of her man's defeat, Eddie Curtis slides into the ring to tend to his fallen brother. And as Eddie helps Owen to his feet, a figure appears at the entranceway -- wearing a suit and spectacles, and applauding with a wry smile on his face.] DD: It's the RCW President! And I think I know what he's smiling at, Billy Shakespeare! BS: I'm sure he's just broken up inside that Curtis was on the receiving end of a shot from a steel chair, Don. DD: I'm sure he was! Folks, we have to take a break. When we come back, Tennessee rookie Mark Coleman and the Big Bad himself, RCW World Heavyweight Champion Johnny Pleasence, will be in the ring to sign the contract for their forthcoming title match. Don't go away! [The Curtises look up the aisle to see the RCW President applauding them, and scowls are etched across both of their faces. Fade to commercials.] [When we come back from commercial, the camera focuses on the ring at the center of the Rose Garden. During the break, a long table and two chairs were set up in the middle of the squared circle, and the one and only Don Ditka stands beside the table, microphone in hand. On the table sits a white sheaf of paper, with two golden pens perfectly placed on either side, waiting to be used. The crowd knows what's coming up next, and as such, is buzzing appropriately. Ditka, after a dramatic pause as only a professional like him can provide, kicks the occasion off.] DD: Ladies and gentlemen, at this time, allow me to introduce to you, the two men that, on October 12th, will be competing in this very ring for the RCW World Heavyweight title! [Cue the loud cheers of the RCW faithful] DD: Introducing first! From Memphis, Tennessee, the challenger! The young rookie who's run the gauntlet over the past month to earn his shot at the biggest prize in our sport! [The opening chords of Steve Earle's "Copperhead Road" play over the PA, and the fans respond with a HUGE roar!] DD: Here... is MARK COLEMAN! [As Earle sings about his granddaddy running whiskey in a big black Dodge, Mark Coleman strides out into the aisle. He stops at the top of the aisle way and looks out over the capacity Portland crowd. His easy going grin spreads across his face, and he walks down the aisleway, taking a few steps to the left and slapping and shaking the hands of the fans on that side, before cutting over to the right and greeting those fans as well.] "S-C-B! S-C-B! S-C-B!" [Coleman makes it to the end of the aisle, still smiling, and climbs into the ring. In contrast to his normally laid-back style of dress, Coleman enters the ring this evening wearing a pair of black dress slacks and a red button-up shirt, the short sleeves revealing his massive arms and the bottom of his Stars and Bars tattoo on one of them. Coleman greets Don Ditka with a handshake, and the microphone picks up this exchange.] MC: Hey, Don, never did one of these things before. Where do I sit? DD: Well, Mark, either side's fine. MC: Alright. I'll take the side facing the aisleway, don't mind. [Coleman steps around the table, and stands behind the chair, hands on the back, watching the aisleway as Ditka gets ready to announce his co-signed.] DD: And the man Coleman will be facing! [Now cue the boos. Loud, heavy, they rain down upon the ring even before the champion has emerged.] DD: He hails from London, England! He is the reigning Rip City Wrestling Heavyweight Champion! Accompanied to the ring by Matilda Agutter...he is the Big Bad...here is JOHNNY PLEASENCE! ["Into the Night" by Billy Idol and Tony Iommi begins to play throughout the venue, the lights dropping to nearly nothing, the crowd letting loose with a torrent of boos...] # 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 come back up as the song kicks in, and from the back walks, to a loud chrous of jeers, the Big Bad himself, one Johnny Pleasence. Pleasence just smirks, idly smoking a Camel Turkish Gold as he walks down the aisle, laughing at fans or just shaking his head in disgust. Beside him, Matilda Agutter strides, her legs keeping pace with Pleasence, and a neutral expression on her face. She neither laughs, sneers, nor notices the fans, but instead makes her way to the ring with the RCW World champion. Once at rinside, Pleasence takes a look inside the ring, where Mark Coleman calmly stands, hands on the back of his chair, just waiting. Pleasence, in a black t-shirt and black jeans, takes a long drag off his cigarette, as he leisurely makes his way around the ring.] # Are you sure you're so clean and pure? # As you lie here in front of me now... # And you're tempting the lord of darkness... # As you see what's forbidden to see... # Ow, I wanna rule this world! # I wanna walk the night... # I wanna bleed this girl # Gonna do it all night 'til the morning light... # I wanna rule this world! # I wanna wake the dead... # And to all the undead souls who walk the night # They can suck my... # Hey, yeah! # You know it's true! # Yeah, you! # Ha ha! # Play! # [And as the song turns into total Billy Idol goodness, Johnny Pleasence rolls into the ring and immediately climbs the second turnbuckle of the nearest corner and raises the RCW Championship belt into the air to a deafening amount of boos. Pleasence just smirks, taking one last drag to finish the cigarette in his mouth before flicking it down to the ringside mats. He hops off and comes to a stop beside Matilda, who flanks the chair on Pleasence's side of the table, and, after one look at Mark Coleman, who nods and says "ma'am," manages to smile and sneer at the same time. As "Into the Night" fades, Pleasence finally comes to stand behind the chair, directly across from Mark Coleman. Pleasence takes stock of the #1 contender, and soon his face takes on a sneer as well, and he mutters something under his breath. Coleman stands quietly on his side of the table, eyes locked solely on the Big Bad on the other side. It's a crick of the shoulders and a roll of the neck by Coleman, though, that causes Ditka to attempt to take control of the proceedings] DD: OK, gentlemen, if you could just please have a seat. [Of course, neither man budges. Coleman shrugs his shoulders, rolling them forward, his eyes never for a moment leaving Johnny Pleasence. Pleasence, the smirk still on his face, extends a hand towards Coleman's seat.] JP: Ladies first, mate. [Coleman's response is simply a small chuckle and a roll of the eyes. Ditka steps in at this point.] DD: Or, of course, you could remain standing. Mark Coleman... Johnny Pleasence... on the table in front of you is a legal, certified, and notarized contract, stating that in a little over a month, the RCW World Heavyweight title will be on the line as you two square off in this very ring. [That gets a huge pop from the gathered fans... and little to no reaction from the two men inside the ring, who barely flinch or acknowledge the cheers.] DD: Mark, you're the challenger. If you could please sign, right there where your name is on the top page. [After a few more still seconds, Coleman finally leans forward. His hand feels for the pen on the table, as his gaze, for nary a moment, waves off of the man standing in front of him. Finally, he takes the pen in his hand, and with no hesitation, no wavering, not the slighest bit of apprehension... ...Mark Coleman puts his name on the dotted line. The cheers are loud and thunderous as Coleman puts the cap back on the pen, and proceeds to put it in the breast pocket of the shirt he's wearing. Now, the easy going smile is evident on his face, and he finally speaks, for the first time, directly to Johnny Pleasence.] MC: Think I'll hold on to this pen. Keepsake. [Pleasence gives a smirk to this statement, and Coleman, smiling still, motions to the contract in front of him, the ink of his name not yet dry.] MC: All you, Big Bad. [Pleasence spits and leans forward as well. Matilda, one arm on her man's shoulder, leans forward as well. Both sets of eyes are on the contract in front of them, and the crowd waits for Pleasence to put his name on the dotted line, and make the showdown between these two men official. But after a few seconds, Pleasence stands back up, and motions for Ditka to approach him with the microphone.] JP: ...I'm supposed to sign this soddin' thing, right? DD: Um... that's correct, Mr. Pleasence. JP: I sign this thing... and it's pretty much a done deal, huh? Me and SBC hookin' it up for the biggest prize in Portland... [Coleman smiles at that statment, and the microphone picks up his words] MC: Damn right. JP: Damn _wrong_. Not gonna do it. [Silence for a second] DD: Excuse me, Johnny? JP: I ain't signing. You figure that after Paul Driscoll and Orin LeBlanc that I'd have something better to deal with than... Miz... [Pleasence looks down at the contract a second time] JP: ...right. Mike Coleman...no, sorry. _Mark_ Coleman. [After a moment where everyone makes sure they heard what they had just heard, the boos start back up in earnest. They rain down hard and heavy, like a downpour, on the ring, especially on the head of the Big Bad. Matilda has lain her head on Pleasence's shoulder at this point, and she smiles as Coleman's face slowly begins to take on a look of annoyance] DD: Um... Mr. Pleasence, you can't... JP: I can't _what_?! I can't _not_ sign? Watch... watch as I don't sign the contract! Take a good look! [Pleasence just stands there.] JP: See?! Not signing! [He takes a good, hard look at Coleman right now, and then dismissively shakes his head, snatching the microphone away from Ditka in the process.] JP: Here's some soddin' facts for all of you out there... from day one in this shithole, this _kid_ has had it _handed_ to him! The hype! The support! The "adoration" of the fans... it's all been sitting in your lap, mate. You did not _earn_ the right to have a shot at _my_ title... you're merely a poster boy for what this Rip City _wants_ to be. A bunch of clean cut, old fashioned 'good ol' boys'. [HUGE HEEL CROWD POP! Pleasence looks out at the jeering crowd, and points his finger out at them.] JP: Bunch of Pavlov's dogs, all of you are... hanging on my every word, waiting for the one thing that sets you off, the one thing that lets that tiny lit'le brain of yours say... "My God, he's telling the truth, but... corporate America and Dan Spreadbury _needs_ me to boo him! Oh, boo I shall!" Ingrates. [Pleasence lowers the microphone, a pure sneer on his face. Coleman's face is stone, jaw locked, eyes narrow, staring at the Big Bad for a moment. His fists are gripping the back edge of his chair. Pleasence simply stares back, one hand tapping the RCW World Heavyweight title over his shoulder for a few seconds. Finally, Coleman reaches out one hand, asking for the microphone from Pleasence.] JP: Piss off! You just bloody piss off! You want to speak?! Get a soddin' mic! This is my time, whelp! _Work for yours_! [Coleman's eyes narrow again, but he turns around and ducks down between the ropes, where the ring announcer has the house microphone ready. Coleman thanks him, and stands back up. The crowd has switched from jeers to cheers, waiting on what Coleman has to say to the Big Bad. Coleman raises the mic...] JP: Oh, hold on there, mate. [...but Pleasence beats him to it.] JP: Fix that whiny accent of yours and maybe I'll take you seriously. [Coleman chews his lip for a second, before responding.] MC: Whiny? You, of all people, want to sit here and talk to be about whiniy? No offense intended, Johnny...aw, hell, ALL offense intended, Johnny, when it comes to whinin' around here, somehow, someway, you make Nolan Dorado look like a stand-up guy! [Cheers greats that statement, and Pleasence's sneer fades slightly at the comparison.] MC: God, man, every time I turn around...you say you hear me talkin' about you. A whole lot of conversation about one man. Well, to be honest, Johnny, I'm just followin' your fine example, since ever since you got here to the RCW, all you ever talked about was you, you, you! [Coleman punctuates the words with a pointed finger. Pleasence leans forward now, over the table, and it's his turn to lash out.] JP: You're goddamned right it's all about me! Do you know who I am?! DO YOU?! I'm the bloody World Champion that _can't_ get a decent match for _his_ World Title! Paul Driscoll?! I pinned that hack, and he _still_ thinks he's worth my time! Nolan Dorado?! Are you soddin' kidding me?! Is this what a champion does here in Portland- wrestle a bunch of misfits while you, Golden Boy, just wait for the suits to say, "Now, kid, it's go time!" Bollocks! Bollocks to all of it! Day in and day out, night after night, I call all the damned road agents in this festering hellhole of an organization, I tell them, "look- I just need to defend the title. I need to make this work. Can you pass on a word for me, mate... could you?" And what happens? Owen soddin' Curtis gets all the airtime in the world due to his "new promotion". Bloody weak, Rip City! And now, what? I'm supposed to face _you_? You come out here, make your little quips, you beat a couple of ham-and-eggers... and now, this is Rip City's dream match?! [Pleasence spits on the contract.] JP: Nuts to that. [Coleman looks down at the saliva staining the paper for a moment, and then lifts his head up to stare at Pleasence.] MC: So what you're tellin' me then, Johnny, is that every single thing I've done here in the RCW doesn't mean jack to you. All the matches I've wrestled in. All the wrestlers I've defeated. Akitoshi Ogawa, tapping out in the middle of this ring. The fact that I got a good numbers of people cheering me on because of the hard work I put in, night in and night out. You talk about having things handed to me, when I worked my ass off to get them. The same way YOU worked your ass off to get them. I ain't gonna lie, Johnny, you took a hard road to win AND defend that belt around your shoulder, as much as you whined like a polecat in heat about having to do so. And now you got the gall to stand here and tell me, face to face, that I didn't EARN this title shot by defeating Ryan Faith and Dave Bryant? Your so called ham-and-eggers? Well, I say, nuts to... [Coleman took the brunt of Pleasence's abuse and responded with a stoic expression, but now, the easy-going grin appears on his face, and he speaks, the boos quickly dying down.] MC: You know, Johnny, you're right. You're absolutely right. You shouldn't have to do what Spreadbury tells you to do. To hell with the contract you signed and the defense obligations. You're the Big Bad! You don't have to wrestle me just because Spreadbury says so! Doesn't matter what I did or what the fans say or what Spreadbury thinks. You're the champ, and it's your tune everyone should be dancin' too, right? [Pleasence raises an eyebrow, but he nods and taps the title belt again.] MC: Exactly. RCW Heavyweight champion. You shouldn't have to have a title match forced upon you. If I want a title shot, I have to go through the proper channels... YOUR channels. Right? [Pleasence nods again, shouting "Scrap for it!", and Coleman's grin widens.] MC: Right. Matilda? [Matilda lifts her head from Pleasence's shoulders, head to one side] MA: A boy. He calls for Mother. You want to suckle a teat, boy? Mother has no milk for you... only _pain_. JP: Leave her out of this! MC: Matilda, I have to ask you a question, and it's important. JP: You speak to _me_, you son of a bitch! MC: Matilda, can Johnny come out to play? [That comment, it looks like, has gotten to Pleasence, and he leans forward again, ready to scream at Coleman...but now Coleman cuts the Big Bad off, talking over him.] MC: It seems your man here is a bit of a coward, and he needs Mommy's permission to defend his title. JP: Coward?! Have you-- [Pleasence spikes his mic down into the mat, and walks away from the table, cursing up a storm about how "no one listens" and the whole affair being a bunch of "dog's balls", while Coleman continues...] MC: Is it OK for him to crawl out from under your skirts, Matilda, and put the title on the line? [From the corner, Pleasence glares at Coleman.] MC: Or doesn't he have the stomach to step in the ring with me? [And suddenly, Pleasence rushes forward, striking, grabbing Coleman's shirt by the collar and pulling him forward. Coleman is yanked to the edge of the table, his face now inches from Pleasence's.] JP: Keep playing into the palm of these idiots' hands, prick! You keep doing it! Keep getting in their good graces, taking every little shortcut and side road in order to get around the fact that you don't have a chance... for even _talking_ to my pet... I am going to _kill you_! [Now, they're nose-to-nose, and the fans are eating it up. Pleasence breathes heavily, while Coleman is motionless, his eyes locked with on the Heavyweight champion's. The crowd is eating it up, cheering, hoping the two men go at it right now... as Matilda gets a mic.] MA: I don't wear skirts. Often, anyway. [Her words break the tension, and Pleasence hisses out his next words] JP: Got your number, mate. Gonna prove to the world that you're red on the inside. MA: Eyeballs to entrails, Mark... even the parts you can't see. [Pleasence lets go of Coleman's collar, and the Southern boy straightens up. He smooths his shirt down for a moment...before grabbing the edge of the table! The crowd cheers as Coleman, with only a little effort, shoves the table to one side, almost to the ring ropes, removing the only obstruction between him and Johnny Pleasence.] MC: Nothin' stoppin' you now, Johnny. Take a swing. If you have the stones, that is. [Pleasence is forced to stop, as the crowd picks up on the moment...] "S-C-B! S-C-B! S-C-B!" [Matilda chants along for a moment, before shaking her head and whispering something in her man's ear. Coleman, though, smiles widely] MC: Take note, Johnny. You'll be hearin' that in four weeks. JP: I ain't signed nothin'... so, take your four weeks and get stuffed, mate. [Coleman pauses for a moment. And then he lifts his hands, and cracks his knuckles between them.] MC: Well, 200 years ago, my ancestors convinced your ancestors different... JP: ...save the witty banter for the WB, ass. [Pleasence lets the title belt slide down his arm as he steps closer to Coleman, a look of pure annoyance on his face] JP: All of you Yanks think you're so damned witty... well, if it's words you're wanting, then-- [And it's then, Johnny Pleasence strikes! He brings the belt up, aiming it square for Mark Coleman's head! The belt swing through the air, lights sparkling off of the gold for a moment... ...but it comes to a crashing halt, and the belt goes dropping to the mat as Coleman clotheslines Pleasence mid-swing! Caught off-guard, Pleasence drops to the mat like a stone, Coleman's massive forearm colliding with his jaw. It happens so quickly and so suddenly, that the fans are stunned...but then they start to cheer loudly as Pleasence lies unblinking on the mat!] "COLE-MAN! COLE-MAN! COLE-MAN!" [Coleman ignores the fans, though, instead looking down at the fallen RCW champion. He stands over Pleasence, head bowed... ...and when he looks back up, there's a smile on his face. One hand reaches down and grabs Pleasence by the back of his neck, and hauls him up to his feet! He doubles over the champion, and the fans instantly know what's coming, and chant appropriately!] "S-C-B! S-C-B! S-C-B!" [Coleman, smiling, bends down to wrap his arms around Pleasence's waist... but before he can lift the champion up, Matilda glides in front of him... ...and a second later, Coleman has let go of Pleasence, staggering backwards and holding his face. Matilda takes a few steps backwards from the Tennessee rookie, who has gotten to the ropes and is gasping in pain, a curse escaping his mouth. The camera focuses on what she holds in her hand. A lit Camel Turkish Gold. Matilda stands over Pleasence as the champion slowly climbs back to his feet, using the table for leverage. Coleman has moved his hand from his face, and the camera on that side of the ring picks up a small burn near his left eye, red with a hint of gray ash surrounding the wound. Coleman blinks, and winces in pain, instinctively holding the area with one hand. After a few seconds, he turns back around... ...and Johnny Pleasence, no look of merriment or amusement on his face, boots him in the gut! Coleman doubles over, and quickly, Pleasence reacts, grabbing the side of Coleman's head and leaping backwards! In one smooth motion, Coleman is driven down to the mat in a sitout facebuster... ...directly onto the RCW World Heavyweight title. Coleman had bled onto the title belt only two weeks before, his blood staining the prestigious belt like so may others under the reign of the Big Bad. Now, the wound on his forehead is reopened, and blood begins to trickle down his face. The fans are booing loudly as Pleasence, on his feet now, lifts one leg and scrapes the boot across Coleman's forehead! The wound opens, and blood flows more freely. Coleman grunts as he tries to roll away, but Pleasence follows and repeats the action! Matilda, nearby, has gotten the microphone from off of the mat, and she hands both the microphone and the lit cigarette to Johnny Pleasence. Pleasence's first action is to take a deep drag from the cig. His second action is another boot scrape across the face of Coleman. His third is to speak in the microphone.] JP: ...get me a soddin' pen! [As Pleasence continues to boot scrape Coleman, the blood has covered the center of his face. Matilda, on her hands and knees at the table (and away from Don Ditka, who has wisely vacated the ring at this point), calls out to Pleasence after a few seconds.] MA: It floated away. JP: No matter. Where's that bloody 'keepsake'?! [Pleasence bends over now, and he smacks Coleman right across the face! A retaliatory right hand from Coleman gets a few cheers, but Pleasence's response is to apply his foot directly to Coleman's face in the way of several vicious stomps! When Coleman is motionless again, Pleasence reaches down and takes the pen from Coleman's shirt pocket. Matilda has taken the contract from the table, and she walks it over to where Pleasence stands. He turns her around, and puts the contract on her back to sign. He scribbles the pen across the page for a few moments, before cursing to himself...] JP: Guess I should make this official, huh ducks? MA: Smashing! Oh, we'll have a lovely tea party! [Pleasence drops to one knee now, beside the prone form of Mark Coleman. The Big Bad then proceeds to take the pen, and drive it directly into Coleman's forehead and the bleeding opening on it! His arm is a piston, driving down several times, stabbing the skull of the #1 contender! Pleasence eventually sits back up, and the camera focusing on the point of the pen, and the red blood pooling near the very tip.] JP: Here's the Johnny H... and done. [Coleman rolls to one side, the blood now staining the pristine mat below him. Pleasence uses his foot to roll Coleman onto his stomach, and uses his back as a table! He scratches a red mark across the front of the contract, his signature in blood, pushing the pen down as hard as he can. In a few seconds, the match these fans wanted was official, but there's no cheering, only jeers.] JP: You got your match. You got your shot. In four weeks' time? I'll bloody well start a _riot_ ending your career. [Pleasence stands up, dropping the pen near Coleman's body, before taking another long drag from the cigarette as "Into the Night" starts back up as Pleasence is handed the RCW title by Matilda. Together, the two of them leave the ring, and leave behind a barely moving and bloody Mark Coleman. Boos and jeers are thrown in their direction, along with the occasional water bottle, but Pleasence pays them no mind, instead holding up the bloody RCW title. In the ring, Coleman has managed to get to a sitting position, looking out of it, his face and the mat around him a pool of blood.] BS: This is completely out of control! We'll get some order restored, and we'll be right back! [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials, to a wide angle shot from the upper section of the arena. The ring crew is assembling the steel cage around the sides of the ring. Cut to the announce table at ringside.] DD: Welcome back to RAMPAGE, folks! BS: Are you all right, Don? DD: I'm fine, Billy Shakespeare -- though I will be talking to the RCW Board of Directors about getting danger money before I participate in any more contract signings. That huge match between RCW World Heavyweight Champion Johnny Pleasence and Mark Coleman is coming up four weeks from tonight, when RAMPAGE returns from pre-emption on October 12th. But as you can see, the ring crew is now assembling the steel cage inside which *tonight's* main event will be contested. While the cage is constructed, let's look back at the road that brought these two men to this most final of matches. [Cut to a black screen. The words "MARCH 9th, 2006" flash onto the screen. And then we join a Fatal Four-Way match in progress, as Nolan Dorado, Vinny Carmazzi, Paul Driscoll and long-gone Jake Andrews compete. Dorado launches himself with a front somersault from the top rope, and as he rotates around, his leg extended, hoping to land on Carmazzi with a thunderous legdrop across the throat... ...Carmazzi dodges out of the way! Big pop! And Carmazzi immediately rolls through, cinching in the Kumuri Armbar on Dorado! Huge pop! We hear the orig