___ ______ __ _, _, _ ___ _,_ __, _ _ _ __, __, / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / \ |\ | | |_| |_ | | | |_) |_ / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / \ / | \| | | | | |/\| | | \ | /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~~~ Thursday 5 October 2006 [As "Bodies" by Drowning Pool thrashes away, the title graphic fades through seamlessly to the big blue RCW logo mounted on the set in the RCW studios in downtown Portland. The shot pans down past the logo, past the large plasma screen showing the On The Wire logotype, and over the trademark glass-topped desk. In front of all this, as ever, stands Don Ditka, wearing an open-necked shirt with the RCW logo stitched onto the left breast pocket. He looks up from the sheaf of papers in his hands as the music fades and the studio lights rise.] DD: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to RCW On The Wire -- the world of professional wrestling in sixty minutes! I am, as always, Don Ditka, and it's my privilege to bring you all the latest news right here on KPDX-49 every other Thursday night. And it's good to be back after our short preemption for Ryder Cup golf -- better luck in two years, Tiger. [Ditka turns to face another camera, and the face of "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado appears on the large plasma screen behind him.] DD: We've got a jam-packed hour ahead of us tonight, but before we look back at the events of our last RAMPAGE broadcast, some important news that has come to us from RCW Head of Talent Relations, Brad Kinder: "Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado has been granted indefinite compassionate leave to settle some important personal matters. We understand that Dorado, together with his valet Jodee Burwick, have already returned to Tacoma, Washington, and we're not sure when to expect the exciting high-flyer back in the ring here in Portland. The Internet has been abuzz with speculation that Dorado has actually turned tail and disappeared from the Pacific north-west rather than face the "Jersey Drifter" Liam Cassidy one-on-one in a fair fight -- but in response to that speculation, all we can say is... no comment. [The screen behind Ditka shows the RAMPAGE logo.] DD: Now, folks, RAMPAGE hits your screens again *live* next Thursday night from the beautiful Rose Garden, and it's going to be a huge, huge show, headlined as you saw at the top of the hour by one of the most eagerly-anticipated matches in RCW history: RCW World Heavyweight Champion Johnny Pleasence will defend his title against hot Tennessee rookie, Mark Coleman. We'll talk much more about this match later tonight, but make sure you don't miss out on the opportunity to be there in person next Thursday night when this match goes down. Click onto www.ticketmaster.com right now to be sure of securing one of the last remaining tickets. [The screen shows a graphic with the web address for Ticketmaster and the phone number of the Rose Garden's box office.] DD: Before we look ahead in detail to next Thursday's show, let's recap our last RAMPAGE, way back on September 14th. ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / << << << << << << REWIND << << << << << << /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Ditka is now seated behind the glass-topped desk, and the RAMPAGE logo appears on the screen behind him.] DD: The main event three weeks ago will undoubtedly live long in the memory for the twenty thousand fans in attendance who witnessed it, and to the hundreds of thousands who watched it live on KPDX-49. A war to settle a score eight years in the making, submission specialist Vinny Carmazzi squared off against second-generation Texan superstar, "Pistol" Paul Driscoll, inside a steel cage, with the most final stipulation of them all: loser... leaves... town. [Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." The two men stand across from each other in the ring, competing crowd chants of "LET'S GO DRISCOLL!" and "BREAK HIS ARM!" ringing out from the fans. Carmazzi has the better of the early exchanges, but Driscoll soon slows him down with a low blow. Driscoll sends Carmazzi headfirst into the steel cage, and Driscoll wastes no time in driving his head into the cage again and again, busting him open early doors. Driscoll toys with Carmazzi, opening the wound on his head and putting him in pinning predicaments, then lifting him from the mat before the official can make the count. Over these scenes, we hear Ditka's voice-over.] DD: Shades of the very first meeting between Driscoll and Carmazzi down in Jacksonville, Florida at the turn of the century. On that night, Driscoll used Carmazzi as a human punching bag, desperate to launch his own career and impress his influential father. On that night, Carmazzi couldn't fight back -- but three weeks ago, the New Jerseyan was determined to take his licks and come back kicking and screaming. [Driscoll repeatedly slams Carmazzi into the cage... traps him in the Torture Rack and appears to have caused Carmazzi to pass out through blood loss -- but as Juan Morales lifts Carmazzi's arm for the third time, Carmazzi clenches his fist and the crowd bursts into life! Driscoll soon turns the tide back in his favour with a Death Valley Driver -- but Carmazzi kicks out!] DD: The fans in the Rose Garden were on their feet as Carmazzi not only survived Driscoll's trademark Torture Rack, but then immediately kicked out of the Texan's signature Death Valley Driver. We've perhaps never seen such tenacity from a competitor in RCW to date. [Somehow, Carmazzi pulls himself back to his feet, blood matting his hair, running down his face and sweat-soaked body, droplets of bloody saliva expelled from his mouth with every breath... and he targets Driscoll's knee! But Driscoll again cuts Carmazzi's rally short, with a brutal powerbomb -- but again Carmazzi kicks out! Driscoll pulls Carmazzi to his feet... and now hits his Discus Punch -- but yet again somehow Carmazzi kicks out!] DD: Driscoll tried every move that had brought him success over the past eight years, ever since he put himself over Carmazzi in Florida. He even pulled out his Discus Punch -- a move taught to him by his own father, the legendary "Gentleman" George Driscoll -- and still Carmazzi kicked out. [Driscoll drags Carmazzi up onto the top turnbuckle, and appears to be ready to try a superplex -- but Carmazzi busts out, slamming Driscoll's head into the cage and knocking him back to the canvas, before climbing all the way to the top of the cage, and without even looking behind him, launching himself with a picture-perfect moonsault from the very top of the cage down onto Driscoll on the mat below. Carmazzi makes the cover... and Driscoll kicks out!] DD: My broadcast colleague, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, in his heyday couldn't have hit a better moonsault than the one executed by Vinny Carmazzi in the Rose Garden three weeks ago -- but Driscoll showed the steel that has kept him near the top of his profession over the last decade, and kicked out of the ensuing pin attempt. With so much on the line, neither man could bear to lose -- but somebody would have to. [Official Juan Morales counts both exhausted men down, but before the count reaches 10, both get back to their feet -- and Driscoll goes for a second Discus Punch. This time, however, Carmazzi has it scouted, and he manages to grab Driscoll's right arm, and immediately lock in his signature Kimura Armbar, to the delight of the capacity crowd! Driscoll can withstand the pain only for a metter of seconds -- and he taps the mat to signal his submission.] DD: Vinny Carmazzi pulled out the Kimura Armbar, the hold that to date no man in RCW has been able to break, and which has resulted in a certain victory for Carmazzi every time he has managed to apply it. Paul Driscoll was unable to buck the trend -- and after agonising seconds locked into the immensely painful armbar, he was forced to submit. [Carmazzi climbs back to the top of the cage, raising his arms to the fans. Freeze on this image, and cut back to the studio, where the same shot is shown on the large plasma screen behind Ditka.] DD: Folks, what an absolutely incredible match -- and Vinny Carmazzi showed the form that will undoubtedly make him RCW World Heavyweight Champion someday. As for Paul Driscoll, it's back to Odessa, Texas for this second-generation superstar -- to rue what might have been, and to ask himself what would have happened had he been a bigger man eight long years ago. Let's move on. [Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006", showing Owen Curtis and Nolan Dorado wrestling one-on-one, Dorado actually receiving some cheers from the capacity crowd because he is facing the hated Curtis.] DD: Owen Curtis finally returned to the ring for the first time since Wild Summer Night in the Rose Garden three weeks ago, going up against the hottest high-flyer in RCW today. Unfortunately, as we've already heard, Dorado has now been granted compassionate leave -- and is it possible that the way this match went down was a factor in his sudden disappearance? [Having felled 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! We hear the original commentary:] 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 manÍs 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! [As Dorado looks on in horror, freeze on that image and cut back to the studio.] DD: There's nothing like poetic justice, folks. Dorado stole a victory over Liam Cassidy by way of the scheming Jodee Burwick, who threw brass knuckles into the ring after Cassidy knocked Dorado out with the Pikey Layover -- and Cassidy struck back, having bade his time in the fans all night, he came out to cost Dorado the match, much to the dismay of the "Golden Boy." Somehow I very much doubt that the issues between Liam Cassidy and Nolan Dorado are truly over and done with -- but they'll have to be put on hold. And as we will see a little later on, something else fell into the lap of Liam Cassidy three weeks ago in the Rose Garden that may force a reevaluation of his priorities from here on out. [The plasma screen behind Ditka shows some more post-match footage, as Owen Curtis picks himself up following Cassidy's chair shot, to see RCW President Daniel Spreadbury applauding from the top of the aisle with a smirk on his face.] DD: As for Owen Curtis, he may have won the match, but the result still seemed to please the RCW President, who -- I'm willing to bet -- was really smiling at the lump on the back of Curtis's head courtesy of the "Jersey Drifter." Relations between the RCW front office and Curtis's legal representation are... icy to say the least. And with no end in sight to the interminable horror that is Owen and Eddie Curtis's own promotion, Ring of Truth, polluting the airwaves every other Thursday night, perhaps the RCW President will be booking "The Truth" into some other... *interesting* matches in the weeks to come. For our sins, let's hear from the Curtis brothers now. [The screen is filled with one color -- gold -- and the picture fades into focus.] VOICE: Man, you gotta love the view here. The view. It's just incredible. VOICE 2: You're not kidding. [He whistles.] [The camera is showing reflective panels -- panels from the side of a tall building, as one could quickly infer.] VOICE: You want a beer? On me. VOICE 2: You know, beer's beer, but I'd take a frozen mango margarita if you're paying. [The camera is panning outward, showing the curvature of the building -- revealing that it is a skyscraper done in a trefoil design. That means it's one of those three-winged buildings like you see so many of ... in Las Vegas. Gold... did you guess the Mandalay Bay? Give yourself a point, because that's what you're looking at.] VOICE: Man, we paid $50 just to get in here, and I paid for both you and me. I'm also paying for this whole damn vacation out of my Pay Per View check. Now you want me to buy you a $10 margarita. Aw, what the hell; we're on vacation. [calling out] Garcina! [The view of the skyscraper is interrupted by the wavy dark hair and tanned, shapely backside of a woman in a string bikini, who has a towel over her arm.] WOMAN: Garcon means boy. VOICE: Yeah, and garcina then means girl. My brother here would like a frozen mango margarita, and I don't want it made with the cheap stuff. We're talking anejo all the way. This is, after all, the Moorea Beach Club at the Mandalay Bay Casino Resort. The very finest. VOICE 2: Yeah. The European bathing area, which means topless. Which begs the question... you're not topless, so where are they? Whip 'em out! We paid our 50 bucks. We ain't got all day! VOICE: Just ignore my brother. He doesn't realize you gotta be nice to the help. Eddie, don't push it with this gal; she's bringing us drinks. And as for me... [A sound is heard. A snippet. It's a ringtone. Drums banging ... horns blaring... Hammond B3 swelling ... Annie Lennox strutting around in her blonde crewcut... well, you can't see that last part. But it's the Eurhythmics.] VOICE: Make it two. Two frozen mango margaritas. You have to excuse me. [The background shot, meant to make you guess who's talking and where they're at, gives way to a view of the two speakers. "Would I Lie To You?" No, I would not. It's Owen Curtis grabbing his cellular phone, with his brother Eddie next to him. Each is in his own red beach recliner, clad in surfer shorts and shades. Since this is a rassling promo, Owen also has on his green eyeshade, available on www.ripcityswag.com. It bans all ultraviolet rays.] OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: Truth. Hello? [Pause.] OTC: Oh, hey, Eddie! It's Chesapeake! Charlie Chesapeake. Our attorney. He says Spreadbury's been calling all week. You mean that jerkwad's back from his vacation to England? [Pause.] OTC: No, I don't want you to call him back. Really, I'd just blow him off. Who cares what he wants. We got him right where we want him, as we demonstrated on the last show. There's none he can do about it. None! Except give us what we really want. [Pause.] OTC: What? Some of the wrestlers don't want me and Eddie calling their matches? That would only be important if they had a say in the matter -- which they don't. So what else is going on? [Pause.] Oh, you have the full card for the next RAMPAGE? Well, lay it on me! We gotta decide which of these Rip City matches... would be better as Ring of Truth matches! EDDIE "FLASH" CURTIS: [disinterestedly] All of them. OTC: Eddie says all of them. Jeez, Eddie, learn some compassion. We could, and should, claim all of them in the name of Ring of Truth. But what would Dan have left then? Nothing. It'd be like taking his whole promotion away, and we can't do that. Even though he signed a contract that, through aggressive interpretation, says we can. So tell me the matches. [Pause. A woman walks by with great legs, a bikini bottom barely covering her derriere, and a flash of sideboob that's barely visible at the top of the screen -- but then she's gone. Eddie starts to get up, but Owen pulls him back down by the hand while not missing a beat on the phone.] OTC: Pleasence and Coleman for the belt... Cassidy versus Daniels... Valentine versus Rage... Ron Paris up against somebody, and... who's that? There's a guy called Big Bad Wolff? Who's he wrestling, Red Hot Riding Hood? Come on, now, I love Tex Avery's work as much as the next guy but that's ridiculous. Not even Chris Blue's dumb enough to book toon wrestling... what? He already did it once? I stand corrected. All right, so humor me. Who's this Big Bad Wolff wrestling against? [pause.] Samuel Muster? I bet Spreadbury just hired THAT guy so he could fire him. Then for once he could Truthfully say he "cut the Muster." Ha ha, yeah... I kill me. So yeah. You catch all that, Eddie? Any of that strike your fancy? EFC: Well, I don't want to call a Daniels match. He thinks he can go around just creating belts, like he's the promoter or something. That's crazy talk. He can't just make himself the promoter! And I don't want to have to deal with any Big Bad Wolff... I don't want to be blown on by any bad breath numbskull retards. Valentine against Rage? Yuck. Ron Paris? Not so much. I guess that leaves us... OTC: Pleasence and Coleman. EFC: Exacto-mundo. That's the one. OTC: Great. That's what we'll do, Charlie. Pleasence and Coleman for the belt. Which soon will become the Ring of Truth championship belt. No, don't tell Spreadbury. It'll just give him a big hole right in the stomach ulcer. There's no notice required. We'll just show up on RAMPAGE next week and tell him then. Like the contract says, we get our show anytime we want, and that will be when we want it. The main event. You think Pat Nickrick has earned the right to referee a match of THAT magnitude? Hogwash! It's Eddie all the way, baby! [Pause.] OTC: No, nothing else. Well there's that other thing we have planned, but that's enough. You've done more than your share as our attorney by getting them to lift the ban against Eddie down at the Palomino Club. Now I have to pay to get him in THERE as well. Jeez, I'd say it's time for him to get a girlfriend who lap dances for free. Well, later. [Owen pulls the cellular phone away from his head and presses a button to hang up. Just then a red bikini bottom and set of legs walks into the frame and stops.] WOMAN: Two mango margaritas, frozen, but you didn't say if you wanted salt on the rim. I can go get it if you like. EFC: No need. I can salt your rim right here, baby! Just turn around and let the Flasher do the rest! You know I'm fully developed! [The woman shakes her long hair, then sets down one drink on the table next to Owen. She pours the other... directly into Eddie's lap... and walks off. The camera zooms in to show the grimace on Eddie's face -- literally, he's turning purple, like the McDonald's milkshake mascot -- as Owen looks on, laughing.] OTC: Eddie, my friend... I think you've just been F-Stopped. I told you to be nice. [Eddie's agony continues as the picture fades to black. Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc squares off against Ryan Faith in singles competition.] DD: After Orin LeBlanc was Mark Coleman's enforcer two weeks previously when the Tennessee rookie faced Faith's stablemate Dave Bryant and left Faith lying, a singles meeting between the burly Canadian and the young lion from Southborough, Mass. was inevitable. Equally inevitable, it seemed, was that Nathan Herod's manager, Mick Silvestri, would be at ringside to involve himself in the match, apparently desperate to prove his worth to LeBlanc, whom he still appears to be pursuing as the next athlete he wants to represent in RCW. [Faith can be seen smiling a wickedly triumphant grin as he plants the stunned LeBlanc's head between his legs in preparation. We hear the original commentary:] 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 man's grip. Spinning Faith around, LeBlanc then wraps his arms around one of the smaller man's arms and across the front of his neck.] DD: Cobra Clutch! Is LeBlanc going to hit the Beast's 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 Beast's Burden Suplex, the Englishman swings his steel chair at Ryan Faith's face. Faith, however, manages to yank downward just enough so that the chair misses him and slams directly into Orin LeBlanc's forehead!] * CLANG! * "OOOOOOOOOH!" [LeBlanc's grip loosens and Faith breaks free as the big Canadian falls backwards, 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. 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. Freeze on this and cut back to the studio.] DD: It wasn't a good night for Mick Silvestri. Just minutes earlier, he had been at ringside with his charge Nathan Herod, as he faced self-proclaimed RCW Supreme Champion, Danny Daniels. Folks, I should warn you, the footage you're about to see features commentary from Owen and Eddie Curtis, who once again invaded ringside and claimed that this match would be contested under Ring of Truth rules. [Cut to footage captioned, "Courtesy of Ring of Truth, 14 September 2006." 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. [As Cassidy stares down at the shiny gold belt in his hands, cut back to the studio.] DD: Well, folks, as you see, Liam Cassidy walked out of the Rose Garden in possession of Danny Daniels's Supreme Championship belt, and Mick Silvestri *ran* out of the Rose Garden, with two very annoyed, very big men in hot pursuit. One of those two men, Orin LeBlanc, had some words for us. [Cut to footage captioned, "After RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Fade up into the locker room, where we find a familiar looking medic trying desperately to hold back an "I told you so" smirk. Instead, our seasoned RCW medical worker merely hands a cold compress to a nearly purple with rage Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. After a few tense moments, the medic can't help but offer his two cents upon the situation.] Medic: No new stitches needed at least. OL: [not even looking at him] Shut up. Medic: Aren't managers supposed to let their clients in on their game plans? OL: Shut up. Medic: You'd think he could have at least said "Duck!" or "Look out!"... OL: SHUT UP! [The Lynx suddenly chucks the compress at the medic, who barely manages to jerk out of the way in time as it crashes against the wall. The medic swallows audibly, then opens his mouth one more time.] Medic: ...you know, I would like to point out that President Spreadbury usually frowns upon wrestlers attacking non-wrestlers without good reason... [A low growl cuts him off.] Medic: I did say "usually"... I'll be shutting up now. [Without saying a word, LeBlanc just shoots an ugly look at the medic before stalking off. The medic breathes a sigh of relief as we fade back to the studio.] DD: We'll find out more about how these events will develop next Thursday night, when RAMPAGE returns. When we come back, we'll run down the whole card -- don't go away! [Fade to commercials.] [Fade back from commercials.] ___ ______ __ / _ \/ ___/ | /| / / / , _/ /__ | |/ |/ / >< >< >< >< >< RAMPAGE RUNDOWN >< >< >< >< >< /_/|_|\___/ |__/|__/ [Ditka is still seated behind the trademark glass-topped desk, the RAMPAGE logo on the monitor behind him.] DD: Folks, in just seven days we will witness what is probably our biggest RAMPAGE broadcast to date -- and while every RCW event since mid-June has been a sell-out, a late release of a final allocation of tickets means that a small number of seats are still available for next week's show. Click onto www.ticketmaster.com right now, or get yourself down to the Rose Garden box office first thing tomorrow to be sure of missing out. Once you see the matches set to go down one week from tonight, your mind will be made up. [The screen behind Ditka shows the faces of Mark Coleman and Johnny Pleasence, the words "RCW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP" running along the bottom of the graphic.] DD: What an incredible main event. RCW World Heavyweight Champion Johnny Pleasence -- who has yet to be pinned or forced to submit here in RCW -- will face the hottest young rookie I can remember in this great sport going back more than two decades. Young Tennessean Mark Coleman has the challenge of his young life in just seven days when he goes up against the Big Bad, the man who has singlehandedly shed the blood of countless RCW superstars in his reign as top dog going back some four months. Can Coleman be the man to finally put a mark in the "loss" column for Johnny Pleasence, and take the belt? Three weeks ago in the Rose Garden, these two titans came face to face in a contract signing -- and as ever when Johnny Pleasence is around, things quickly got out of hand. [Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Pleasence stands, Matilda by his side, across the ring from Coleman, Don Ditka between them, holding a microphone for the man who wants to speak. Right now, that's Pleasence.] 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. Freeze on this image, and cut back to the studio, where Coleman's blood-stained face is shown on the large plasma.] DD: Wow, folks. The animosity between these two men... it's off the charts. Coleman has done everything to earn this shot. He's defeated Ryan Faith. He's defeated Dave Bryant. Next Thursday night in the Rose Garden, can he complete the trifecta? Let's hear from both combatants, beginning with the challenger. [*THWACK* The camera opens on a back yard. *PLUNK* It's a relatively well-sized back yard. Wooden fencing, complete with metal deer netting, runs around the sides, enclosing the green space. *SWISH* *THWACK* An oak tree sits in one corner, providing shade over the back of the yard. The leaves are mostly green, with just a hint of red and orange leaves peeking out from among the foliage. *PLUNK* Under the tree, tied to a leash wrapped around the trunk, a grey hounddog lies flopped on its belly, paws by its face, eyes closed. Its stomach gently moves in and out, in and out, as it snoozes in the mid-day shade. *SWISH* *THWACK* The fourth side of the yard is backed by a bit more fencing, filling in the gaps the house doesn't. It's a white, metal siding house, complete with a screened-in back porch. Also, by the small stone steps leading up to the porch, is a shed, almost like a doghouse, leaning against the back of the house. The lean-to currently holds a good bit of stacked logs, firewood for the upcoming winter. *PLUNK* *SWISH* *THWACK* A stack of logs that Mark Coleman adds two more on top of. Coleman is stripped to the chest, showing off his well-defined upper chest, sculpted and carved after years of good living and hard exercise, along with his prominent "Stars and Bars" tattoo on his bicep. He wears only a pair of blue jeans, brown work boots, brown leather work gloves, and an orange Tennessee Volunteers hat, turned backwards. With one hand, Coleman turns and palms a small log from a nearby stack of them. He turns back to a big splitting post in front of him, and sets the log on top of it. *PLUNK* Now, Coleman reaches down and grabs an axe from the ground. With a smooth, practice motioned learned from years of experience, Coleman easily brings the axe around in a circular motion, around the side...up over his head... *SWISH* ...and easily splits the log into two pieces of kindling. *THWACK* Coleman buries the axe in the ground, picks up the kindling, and puts both pieces into the lean-to. He stands back up, removing a blue kerchief from his pocket, and wipes the sweat from his face.] MC: Winter's coming. Ever since I was old enough to swing an axe proper, my aunt's had me out here every October 1st, layin' in firewood so she could heat her house for the fall and winter. Almost ten years, and every September, last few days, I'd get a phone call and she'd simple tell me "Mark, winter is coming." Next thing you know, I'm out here choppin' up firewood and puttin' it away. Never could convince my aunt to switch to central heat. Never complained or minded much, either. One thing, good physical exercise. Another thing... [Coleman reaches down, and grabs another log with one hand. Palming it, he lifts it up and sets it square in the middle of post. *PLUNK*] MC: ...it's good mental exercise too. Because, you gotta pay attention the whole time. One simple mistake... [*SWISH* *THWACK*] MC: ...end result won't be pretty. Perfect comparison to my match next Thursday. Kind of a big deal. You might have heard about it. October 12th, 2006. The night Mark Coleman beats Johnny Pleasance and becomes the RCW World Heavyweight Champion. Sure of myself? Of course. Overconfident? Maybe. Right on the money? Absolutely. I ain't got no delusions, no denials, and no fear, Johnny. Not one single lick of fear in my body. What you're lookin' at right here is someone born, bred, raised, trained, and ready for the match he's about to participate in in seven short days. Truth be told, takin' on Ryan Faith? I was a tad nervous. Dave Bryant? Bigger butterflies took nest in my stomach. But now, right here, with a shot at the biggest prize this sport's got goin' for it right now? Ain't got one nervous nerve in my body. Calm, cool, collected, sums up Mark Coleman right about now. Good news for me. Bad news for you, Johnny Pleasance. Now, supposed what happened nearly a month ago should have bothered me in some capacity. Stabbing a pen into my forehead, runnin' me down on national television, talkin' about how I was handed a title shot by the suits in Portland, and...startin' a bloody riot endin' my career, believe were your words exact. Ain't exactly the way to make friends, Johnny, guessin' that the concept don't mean much to you anyway. I see you now, Johnny, and I'm utterly focused. Because in a few days, it's gonna be you and me in the ring in Portland, and I'll make you eat every single word you said about me. I won't, however, stab a pen into your head. I ain't that kind of guy. Plantin' you headfirst into the mat, yes. Drivin' a writin' implement into your skull, no. That's the kicker, Johnny. You talked about how you're the Big Bad and Portland was going to run red with blood because of your title reign. But I don't buy it, Johnny. I never bought it from day one, and I don't buy it now, because everything I've seen about you from day one, from the tourney to crown you champion to our run-ins in tag matches and post-matchups... ...you don't got what it takes, Johnny. Lady said once "If you have to walk around telling people that you're powerful, you're really not." Allow me to apply that sayin' to you, Johnny, with a bit of a twist. If you have to walk around tellin' people you're the Big Bad, you're really not. Sound, fury, second-hand smoke, and harsh language, Johnny. That's all you are. You're not the Big Bad, you're not the Savior of All Things, and after Thursday, you won't be the RCW World Heavyweight champion. You ain't done a damn thing aside from a fluke win over Paul Driscoll and bashing people's heads open with your belt to qualify you to be World champion, let alone a ring assistant here in Portland. I look at you, Johnny, and then I gotta think about what you think when you look at me. I know what you see. 6'4". 250 pounds of pure muscle. Years of amateur wrestling in my head. And someone who ran a gauntlet to get at you and your title. Someone hungry. Someone lookin' to make a mark. Someone lookin' to become a champion at a young age, maybe even gunnin' for the moniker of "legend" way down the line. For now, though, RCW World Heavyweight Champion, Johnny. That's what it's all about. You want to be the Big Bad more then anything. I want to be champion more then anything. And right there, that's the heart of our match Thursday night, live on RAMPAGE. [Coleman reaches down, one more time, and places a new log on the post. *PLUNK*] MC: Bein' champion is second to you bein' the Big Bad, Johnny. You want people to fear and respect you. You think one'll follow the other. Be the Big Bad and make the people fear and respect you. Me? Champion. I want to be champion. If people fear and respect me, so be it. If they don't, so be it. Point is, I'll be champion. And, most of all, I'll have done it my way. I want to be champion, Johnny. I'm what you might call... motivated. [Coleman picks up the axe...] MC: RCW World Heavyweight Champion of the World Mark Coleman. Get used to hearin' it, everyone... and especially you, Johnny Pleasance. I'm motivated to take that belt from around your waist. [*SWISH* *THUNK*] MC: And motivation's very important. [Fade. From the darkness, a voice.] 'What do you want?' "That's what they asked me, long ago..." [Fade in on a shot of the the voice of that previous statement... namely, RCW World Champion, Johnny Pleasence, as he paces back and forth in front of a standard RCW backdrop. Dressed in all black with the World Championship title over his right shoulder, Pleasence takes a drag off of his Camel Turkish Gold and flicks it off the screen as he looks at the camera, continuing...] JP: That's what they asked me when I started out -- a couple of English blokes and all that... anyway, that's what they asked me, and I really didn't want to say much since I'd be coughing up my own lungs in the process. In fact, I didn't say anything. I just chuckled, swallowed whatever blood was in my mouth, and went on with it. Been goin' on with it ever since. [Pleasence shrugs.] JP: I've took my lumps, dealt my damage, and in some situations, I've had the last laugh... bein' a journeyman of the sport has more advantages than most blokes'd be willing to admit... yeah, you got your Driscolls and your Carmazzis -- potzers that aren't willing to acknowledge the fact that time passed them by... and whenever they get their shot, they go for it at _all_ costs. Bye, Paul. [The Big Bad mock waves to the camera.] JP: Then, there are some of us... just a slight few... that don't care about time and titles... all we know is the fact that we're _great_ and you're _not_. Consider me one of _those_ folks. For years, children -- for years I've dipped and dabbled in various promotions in this industry looking to make my mark... looking to _mean_ something to myself and everyone associated in this glorious life of ours... and nothing went _right_ until now. Until _right_ now. Before? I was just a man biding his time until someone "worthy" could hold this... [Pleasence pats his strap.] JP: ...World Title of yours. You all _never_ thought I was _your_ champion -- from Spreadbury right down to the sod that helps put up the ring, _none_ of you ever thought I was worthy of this gold. You all were waiting for that "other" Savior to slide on in... you were waiting for that man to shuck whatever bonafide money-makin' deal he had in the works to come here and get _guaranteed_ gold. But you couldn't get that, could you? So... enter Mark Coleman. [Pleasence smirks.] JP: Fits right in, doesn't he? Charming lad when one of the writers from the CW network isn't writing his lines for him, isn't he? The _perfect_ posterboy for Rip City Wrestling... wholesome, clean cut, young, willing to learn... [The Big Bad shakes his head.] JP: And, due to that, let me apologize. [Pause.] JP: I've not been the champion you've wanted me to be. I've been something much, much _worse_... and the funny thing is? I'm _not_ finished. There's more blood to be spilled, children -- some of it mine, most of it yours. All your heroes _will_ fall. All your so-called "saviors"? They'll be called back to the promised land soon enough. I've got a long, long way to go, kids... and while Rip Cty's other resident "Golden Boy" is set up to take me out? I _am_ eternal. [The Savior of All Things glares at the camera.] JP: You might think you can end my reign, Coleman... but in the grand scheme of things? I'm _far_ from done. ...trust me. [Pleasence winks, and with that we fade to black. Cut back to the studio, where the screen behind Ditka now shows the faces of Liam Cassidy and Danny Daniels, the shiny plate of the "RCW" Supreme Championship behind them.] DD: Having ended our last RAMPAGE broadcast in possession of the unsanctioned RCW Supreme Championship belt, you can be sure that Liam Cassidy is expecting a full-out assault from the belt's aggrieved -- and still unofficially recognised -- holder, "Your Hero" Danny Daniels, when these two men lock it up. [The camera fades in to an unusual site. It's Danny Daniels- same wraparound sunglasses, same YOUR HERO t-shirt, same hair. But there are two differences. First, he's wearing a deerstalker hat. And second, instead of his usual smile, Danny Daniels is frowning as he faces the camera.] D'YH'D: A horrible crime has been committed! The RCW Supreme Title has been taken! But fear not, my fans... together, WE will solve this and bring the criminal to justice! [Danny takes a step to the side, where a movie screen has been set up. He grabs a laser pointer as the screen is filled with a picture of Danny 'Your Hero' Daniels, his arm raised in victory.] D'YH'D: Let us begin with the circumstances of the crime. Last week, I, Danny "Your Hero" Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice, successfully defends my RCW Supreme Title against Nicky Hilton. After the match, there was a kerfuffle.. [The movie screen changes to scenes from a soccer riot] D'YH'D: During which my title disappeared. Obviously, there are many suspects who would try to steal my title... Let's look at the primary suspects. [Cut to a picture of Nathan Herod and Mick Silvestri.] D'YH'D: Nicky Hilton and his manager, Mickey Dolenz? Certainly they had a motive. After all, despite their best efforts, they came up short in their quest to win my title. However, both were occupied during the kerfuffle... [Cut to a picture -- Nathan Herod's and Mick Silvestri's faces on two country line dancers.] D'YH'D: ...at the time. Next up... [Cut to a picture of Orin LeBlanc.] D'YH'D: This man has had many problems with Nicky and Micky. Could he have stolen the belt in an attempt to frame them? [Danny thinks about it for a moment.] Always a possibility. However... [Cut to LeBlanc's picture, photoshopped into a still from 'Law & Order' with Detectives Green and Briscoe. A 'CHUNK-CHUNK' is heard in the background.] D'YH'D: He was already interrogated and released. [A new picture -- Daniel Spreadbury.] D'YH'D: Now this man has been the source of more crimes than anyone else in the history of mankind! [Cut to a picture of Spreadbury's face photoshopped onto Saddam Hussein.] D'YH'D: A true master of disguise... [Cut to Spreadbury, this time with Groucho Marx glasses and a fake mustache photoshopped onto him.] D'YH'D: And capable of the most heinous of offenses! [Cut to Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus", with Dan Spreadbury's head in place of Venus.] D'YH'D: He is most definitely a top suspect. We'll put a checkmark by his name for the moment. [Cut to a picture of the announce table, where Owen Curtis and Edward Curtis are commentating.] D'YH'D: And these two gentlemen... Curtis Owens and Curtis Edwards... they had opportunity. But did they have a motive? It's well known that they have asked 'Your Hero' to be their champion. Could they have stolen the RCW Supreme Title, believing that I would leave RCW to be crowned their champion? [Danny nods sagely.] D'YH'D: It's certainly a possibility. Both men have been courting me, offering me multi-year deals with incentive packages, to leave RCW and join their fed. One of them -- Curtis, I believe -- has even been hitting on me. [Cut to a picture of the Fab 5 of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy", with Owen Curtis standing in for Carson Kressley and Eddie Curtis standing in for Jai Rodriguez.] D'YH'D: But "Your Hero" doesn't swing that way, and he turned down their offer, explaining that I'm quite capable of being both the RCW Supreme Champion as well as their "Ring of Rings" Champion, so I didn't need to leave RCW! [Danny pauses] D'YH'D: Still, they may be jealous of my refusal. We'll put a checkmark by their name as well. [Danny sighs] D'YH'D: Just when the mystery was overwhelming, we caught a break. Abraham Zapruder, a fan, was filming the show at the time of the kerfuffle. [Cut to a slow motion film of Nathan Herod picking up the belt and throwing it into the crowd, where it gets passed around from one set of hands to another. Danny shakes his head in disgust.] D'YH'D: Once the belt goes into the crowd, it gets difficult to see who is holding onto the belt. I don't blame these people -- how often do you get to touch something so priceless? But, as we freeze frame 150... [A clear shot shows the belt in the hands of Liam Cassidy. Danny jabs the screen with his finger.] D'YH'D: THIS MAN! He ends up with the title -- MY title. Among the thousands in the audience, he holds onto the belt -- the RCW Supreme Title! This is the man! [Danny pauses.] D'YH'D: The only problem is -- no one knows who this man is! [Danny sighs] D'YH'D: So I turn to you, all of my loyal fans... if any of you know who this person is, call me at 1-555-326-4357. That's 1-555-DANIELS. Do NOT approach this man -- he may be armed, he's certainly dangerous, and he has MY RCW Supreme Title! Call now! Operators are standing by! We WILL get my title back! [The camera starts to fade to black...] D'YH'D: TOODLES~! [CHUNK-CHUNK. And we fade to black. Cut to young Jamie Bond on roaming assignment... Walking through the lobby of the Super 8 Portland hotel carrying a big paper bags in his arms, complete with the grease of the contents beginning to soak through. Jamie isn't dressed like he usually is... He's not "on the clock" as per the usual case. No, tonight... Or possibly this morning judging by the sleepy tired look in his eyes... He approaches the Courtesy Desk and rings the bell. As he waits for an employee, he turns and looks to the cameraman.] JB: So he called you here too? [The cameraman nods with the camera.] JB: Weird. I don't know he wants... [Finally, a frail little old lady walks in from the backroom.] Attendant: How can I help you? JB: Could you let me know what room Liam Cassidy is staying in? Attendant: Cassidy... Cassidy... [She fumbles around with some papers.] Attendant: Oh. He's in room two eighty five. JB: Thank you. Attendant: You tell him to keep the noise down in there. We've already had six complaints about the noise and if I hear anything else, I'm gonna have to call the cops. JB: All right, thank you, ma'am. [Jamie turns and heads for the elevator, cameraman en suite. The hotel's interior looks a little depressing... Run down and has a sad feeling across it. The doors to the elevator shut with the two inside.] JB: Did he say what this was about? [Camera shakes no.] JB: Me either. He called me at one a.m and just told me it was a matter of life or death and if I could bring tacos... [The elevator stops at the next floor up and the two step out into the hallway which appears to have several lights burned out or flashing. Needless to say, it doesn't look like the top quality establishment that one might expect a pro-wrestling superstar to be shacked up in. Then again, when it's Liam Cassidy, this beats sleeping on a park bench. There is a loud roar of laughter heard coming from down the end of a hallway. Jamie heads towards it. The door to the room is left wide open causing the light to spill into the hallway.] LC: ...Now I told ya lad, either you're in or you ain't... Voice: Just you wait boy, I'll be ready when I'm ready. Other voice: [BLEEP] that Stankman, just fold Ôem. We know you're bluffing anyway. [Jamie turns back to the camera with a look of fear in his eyes as he closes in on the door. As he enters the room, he walks into a slightly hazy, smoke filled room. The room is pretty torn apart. Beer bottles are lined up all over the place. The bed is flipped over onto its' side and resting up against a wall. In the center of the room where that bed should be, is a round table. Sitting around that table sits four men. Only one is recognizable by the black fedora atop his mangy head. Cassidy tilts his head back after noticing one of his acquaintances point out Jamie's arrival. Liam removes the thick stogie from his mouth as he greets his friend.] LC: HHHHHEEEEY LAD!!! JB: Liam. LC: Did ya bring the tacos? [Jamie holds up the bag.] JB: Fifteen tacos, no lettuce, extra hot sauce. Just like you asked. [Liam grins and slaps the man next to him hard on the shoulder.] LC: See, what'd I tell ya? He's a good lad! JB: What's going on in here anyway? [As Jamie steps forward, the rather portly fellow seated next to Liam swipes the bag from the intern's hands and quickly pulls out one of the greasy late night treats and begins scarfing it down.] LC: Poker! Have a seat! [Liam reaches over and pulls up a chair to the table. Jamie cautiously sits down.] LC: Okay lads, this is my mate Jamie. He's a good kid, so don't you guys be trying nothing on him, ya hear? [The collection of men grunt and grumble, as the particularly lanky man sitting across from Jamie begins dealing out cards.] LC: Al'right Jamie. This here is Old Man Parsons... [Jamie looks to his left and sees a big, physical looking man. Funny thing is, he doesn't look a day older than Jamie does. He picks up his cards and gives a nod to Jamie. Bond looks confused and glances at Liam.] LC: What? It's just a name. [Cassidy now picks up his cards.] LC: And this guy here dealing... Oh lad, watch out. That is Sneaky Pete and if you ain't careful, he'll walk out of here with your girlfriend and that car you drove in on. [Jamie blushes sheepishly.] JB: But I don't have a girlfriend and I took the bus to get here. LC: Then he'd date your mother and steal your bus money. You get the picture. [Sneaky Pete pays no particular attention to Jamie. Instead, he's intently looking at his cards and puts his chips in the center of the table. Both Old Man Parsons and Sneaky Pete look to be dressed down like... well... like Liam himself. Liam points across to the gentleman sitting next to Sneaky Pete... And it is a rather strange looking man, dressed up as a native American, complete with facepaint and tribal headgear.] LC: This feller... Well... I don't know who he is, but damn bastard knows how to play that's for damn sure. [The native man nods at Jamie as he glances up from his cards.] Native: I'm in. LC: And that there is Stankman. [The portly fellow looks up from his cards and smiles at Bond.] Stankman: Hey Jamie. JB: Hey Stankman.... [Between holding up his cards and scarfing down another taco, the greasy looking Stankman puts his chips in. Liam grumbles to himself and folds. He then looks at Jamie.] LC: You in, lad? JB: Huh? Oh, I don't know how to play poker. LC: Well, pick up your cards. [Bond looks in front of himself to see that he has been dealt in. He gingerly lifts the cards from the table. Liam leans over and sneaks a peak at the cards.] LC: OOOOOhhhh lads, he's in. He's in. [Liam pushes some chips from his small pile in front of Jamie, and tosses some into the middle.] LC: So anyway, Jamie knows that Nolan Dorado feller and that chick of his, Jodee Burwick. Sneaky Pete: Is he that guy with that goldigger you was talkin' bout earlier? LC: Yeah, but guys, you really should see the wrack on this girl. No way they're real, but that don't stop us from lookin', eh Jamie? JB: Errr... I guess. LC: But you guys oughta see this windbag. If you think boxing is fun, you all really should try this whole wrasslin' thing. I get to beat this bastards head in from pillar to post, and they can't say nothing about it. It's all legal. Anyway, I ain't sure I'm gonna get the chance to do it to him again. He's got some issues from the last time I knocked him out... Won't give me another match. I think he's got some brain damage or something, cause that would explain why he listens to that hot looking harpee of his. [As the discussion is going on, the game of poker is being played around the table. Old Man Parsons is out, and Sneaky Pete raises the ante causing the Native to fold. Stankman is still in.] LC: Son of a bitch... [Liam folds.] JB: What do I do? LC: Well you got good cards, I'd raise if I were you. JB: But... I don't have any money... LC: Hrm. I'm almost out too....Hold on. [Liam rises from the table and heads over to the dresser. He opens the top drawer, knocking over several beer bottles as he pulls out something that is supposedly of great value.... The RCW Supreme title belt. On his way back to the table, he picks up two beer and drops one down in front of Jamie.] JB: Oh my god, is that Danny Daniels's Supreme title? What are you still doing with it? My god Liam, that's stolen property! [Everyone around the table gets a good laugh at Jamie.] LC: Shhhh. Quiet Jamie, I told these guys you were cool. [He picks up his cigar and takes a big puff as he examines the gold Supreme title. He grins and winks at Jamie. He tosses the title in the center of the table.] LC: He's in, and he calls. [There is a hush of silence across the table as Stinky Pete and the Native American think about their options. The Native folds before taking a swig of his beer. Stinky Pete is just staring a hole through Jamie.] LC: Hey Pete, you in or not? JB: Umm... Liam.. you just put the title in the pot... LC: Quiet Jamie, I know what you're doing. [Jamie glances back at his cards.] JB: But I don't... Stinky Pete: All right, kid. Too rich for my blood. I fold. LC: All right! JB: Huh? What does that mean? LC: What does that mean? You won, lad! JB: But I wasn't really playing.... And I don't even think I had good cards. [Liam sit sup and pulls the chips and title towards Jamie.] LC: Don't matter. You bluffed. [Stinky Pete slams the table in frustration.] JB: I can't believe you put Danny Daniels's belt on the line like that. LC: What? That piece of tin? I didn't think it was worth much. JB: He said he paid thousands of dollars for it. LC: For that ugly piece of [BLEEP]? He got robbed. [Jamie looks down at his watch.] JB: Liam, I have to get going... the last bus comes by in ten minutes. [An angry Stinky Pete stands up from the table.] Stinky Pete: What the Hell?! You ain't just taking my money and walking out the door like that, boy. LC: Hey. Cool it Pete. [Liam raises his fist, pointing it at Pete. Stinky Pete grumbles and sits back down.] LC: Lads, just give me a sec... [Liam and Jamie rises from the table. Liam cashes out Jamie's chips and hands it to him. LC: That oughta cover the tacos anyway. JB: Sure. All right, guys, it was a pleasure playing cards with you... I guess it was beginner's luck or something... I'll just be on my way. Stinky Pete: See to it, Kid. [Bond picks up on the tension in the room and quickly steps towards the door.] LC: Hey wait, Jamie! [Jamie stops at the doorway. Liam comes over and tosses the Supreme title to him.] JB: Oh... I can't take this Liam... LC: Sure you can, you won it fair and square. JB: No... Seriously... I can't... LC: Well why the Hell not? JB: Because... I... err... I don't want Danny Daniels coming after me. [Cassidy gets a good laugh out of that one.] LC: What? That pompous windbag? Don't worry about that poof, Jamie, he couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag. JB: Err... even still.... I don't want to have it. Here, you take it. [Jamie hands it back over to Liam.] LC: But it's yours. JB: I insist Liam. LC: Heh. I guess this makes me a two time champ, now don't it? [Liam grins as he unclasps the belt and puts it around his waist. He grins and looks down.] LC: How's she look? JB: That is a very, very scary picture. LC: Al'right. [Liam grins wider.] JB: I have to run. I'll see you Thursday, Liam. [Jamie exits into the hallway. Liam pokes his head out.] LC: Taker easy Jamie... Swing by on Wednesday, we're all going golfing down at the club on Winchester Street.... Come to think of it, go buy me some clubs and I'll pay you back! See ya lad! [Liam waves goodbye and walks back into the room, beaming from wearing the Supreme title belt. He grabs his beer and returns to his position at the table.] LC: All right lads, the champ is here. Stinky Pete: Who the Hell was that Liam? LC: What? Jamie? He's a good kid that guy is. A little off, but he means well. Al'right, where were we... who's turn to deal? [Liam reaches for one of Stankman's tacos and pulls one from the bag. There is a lot of banter across the table as the five men resume their wild game. The camera slowly zooms in on that valued Supreme title around Cassidy's waist as he leans back in his chair. He rests his beer on his thigh, next to the belt and spilling some on it. As we fade out, Liam gets a good belly laugh going, shaking that belt up and down... and accidentally dropping some taco sauce on it. Cut back to the studio. The screen now shows the faces of Giuseppe Valentine and Derek Rage.] DD: Newcomer Giuseppe Valentine may have bitten off more than he can chew. His debut in RCW will see him standing across the ring from the giant Derek Rage. Will Valentine fall for the Hammer of God? Let's hear from both men, beginning with the Intelligent Thug. [Derek Rage has obviously seen better days. His face is covered in stubble of varying lengths. His usually well-groomed afro looks a bit picky in places. He is caught in an unrelenting frown and his eyes are both intense and yet burnt out. He looks directly into the camera. There isn't a shred of subtlety about him right now.] DR: Giuseppe Valentine, welcome to Rip City. I see you've made the trip up from Los Angeles. I see you've discovered that the EMWC is not the place where legends are created. Daniel Spreadbury is a man who makes legends. Some might argue that Daniel Spreadbury built my legend. The Prophets of Rage are most famous for their contribution to the tag-team wrestling scene in the IIWF. THis is the house that _I_ built. [Rage jabs his thumb into his chest.] DR: And the punks just keep jumping up to get beat down. Yeah, they keep thinking that all they have to do is sign on the dotted line and waltz into a match with Derek Rage and they'll be on their way to the top. [Derek's sneer is grotesque.] DR: You're just another punk, lank-haired little bitch who thinks some deep depravity and some inability to realise that you're outclassed is your ticket to success. It bloody well isn't. You get me? Giuseppe Valentine, just like the rest of your royal wrestling crew, you're just another carbon copy. You're just another in a line of steretypes. THink I bat an eyelid watching you booze it up with cheap women? Do you think I care that you would sell your soul for victory? I guarantee you that the price of your soul is pretty cheap. I guarantee you that you are pretty cheap. So here's what's going to happen. You and I we're going to step into that ring. You're going to try to avoid me. You're going to be scared by just how big I actually am. You're going to try to actually match skills with me and then you're going to try to outsmart me. I mean, I'm big, right? So I can't possibly know what I'm doing in that ring. I can't possibly have seen every big man/small man match in the ring. I can't have seen them, right? You're wrong. I know you're going to try to put me on the mat. I know you're going to dust off some of your old high-flying manoeuvres and I know that you're going to try to cheat to win. Everybody else does. Think about it. Dave Bryant got me looking up at the lights because Lord Byron decided to stick his nose into my match. Nathan Herod he beat me because Byron decided he wanted to make a point. But you see what happened to Byron when Spreadbury made him wrestle me. Byron never showed up. He ran like a little bitch and hid and so they suspended him without pay. [He pauses.] DR: I want you to think about that, Joe. I want you to think about that long and hard. Lord Byron preferred to lose all his money and go hungry rather than step into a ring with me. That's some [beep], ain't it? So what do you think you're going to do? Huh? You better find a friend and get him to try to take me out, too. You can't do it on your own. And now that I'm pissed off, Sep, it's gonna be even worse for you. I'm coming to prove a point. You're a punk from a weak ass organisation trying to move into _my_ territory. I'm gonna eat you up, you silly little bastard. I'm gonna hurt you in a way you have yet to feel pain. And then I'm gonna [beep] you out all over the ring. Feel me? [The camera zooms in on the rage in Derek's eyes. He blinks once.] DR: Now fade to black. [Dutifully, the screen fades to black -- and then we cut to Giuseppe Valentine hunched in a darkened hotel room -- and not alone; it peers from behind over the right shoulder of an unknown female -- slender, white and crept over by strands of blond hair. Valentine -- shirtless himself -- pays no attention to the form of his mystery consort. Over the rim of a winecup clasped under his nose, his gaze is bolted to the pieces of a chessboard that lays between he and her; Giuseppe plays black, defending. He thrusts forward a Knight, scrapes away his black forelocks from his eyes and acknowledges the camera's presence.] GIUSEPPE: Don't think me a chess-player. Dice, always: instant, straightforward, detached. For chess, I have my patience and my cunning tried enough elsewhere. That is, until I arrive in Portland. That is, until this evening. You might say... [He steals a glance across at his opponent.] GIUSEPPE: ...I'm feeling my way into it. [Smirk. She pours herself a drink, still to make the next move.] GIUSEPPE: Because for four years now I've seen and learned how our promoters play fast and loose at their business. Pick you up, see what you've got, then keep on trying you 'til something falls right. Play it out quick and after a year, disappear. Here, I see, that's not the case. Here, it's about the long game. [A white Bishop slides in to threaten the Knight. Giuseppe indicates the game.] GIUSEPPE: And so. I'm practising. Training myself to remain aware of broader strategy, to sense an advantage or a weakness, to know when to hold back and when to make a move. I might have had the privilege of our President's acquaintance for only a minute, but it's clear he's a man of intellect. You can tell in how he looks at you from behind those flashing glasses -- he's calculating how and when you'll be made or broken. [Valentine squeezes an eye over the board again, biting his bottom lip.] GIUSEPPE: So a man with any ambition to influence the game himself -- rather than to be content just to be pushed around inside it -- should understand after he's shaken Signore Spreadbury's hand not to relax his wits for so much as a second. [Absently, still considering his move, he sips again from the winecup.] GIUSEPPE: And as he's already offered me his gambit... ...I've set mine to work immediately. [He presses a pawn between her white piece and his Knight.] GIUSEPPE: My opportunity, he called it. To show my quality. ...Or just as soon, to stretch too far... and fall to pieces. [The pawn is taken. Valentine arches a black eyebrow.] GIUSEPPE: I'd guess that many of those whom the President spends the rest of his time shepherding lack the subtlety to grasp the difference between the two. I'd guess that many of them simply launch themselves into it, all resolve and bravado. [He looks back to the board and takes the Bishop with another, unseen Knight.] GIUSEPPE: Of course, I intend to do things differently. An opportunity, at RAMPAGE, I might have. To succeed or fail, yes -- but more than that as well: to set the tone. To establish position. To make _my_ opening. President Spreadbury, I hope -- I'm sure -- will be watching closely. [Taking up his cup again, he observes his opponent make her next move.] GIUSEPPE: Until then... [Cut back to the studio, where the plasma screen behind Ditka shows the face of Ron Paris on one side, and a silhouette in the shape of another figure on the other.] DD: "Global Superstar" Ron Paris is finally done with talking Ñ and he will finally make his RCW debut in the Rose Garden in a special challenge match against a mystery opponent! [The screen shows the faces of Samuel Muster and Big Bad Wolff.] DD: And rounding out next Thursday's big broadcast, a match pitting two debutants against one another. South Dakota's roughest, toughest, *biggest* SOB, Big Bad Wolff -- who tips the scales at 335lbs and stands 6'8" -- will square off against Samuel Muster, a remarkable young man from Skyline Mountain, Montana, who is the very definition of a blue chipper: Notre Dame football, decorated Marine, and now, not yet 30 years of age, a very promising wrestling talent. Let's hear from both men, beginning with the Big Bad Wolff. [Once again, Big Bad Wolff. Once again, the malcontent giant stands before the camera with the demeanor of a man who just watched his wife being tupped by his neighbor. In other words, he is not happy to be here. Not happy at all...] BBW: Sam Muster, let me ask ya a question there, son ... [Wolff furrows his brow with mock inquisitiveness.] BBW: Are ya a glass half-empty or a glass half-full type of guy? Ya see, myself... [He snickers.] BBW: I'm just a guy who don't much like the fact that my glass is half-anythin'. I'm a guy who gets pissed off 'cause my glass ain't full one way or the other. So, seein' as I ain't got my hands on what I want, I'd say that my glass ain't full. And that, my friend, is a problem for ya. [Wolff scowls.] BBW: Ya see, I ain't show up here in this joint to hold hands and make nice with people, ya understand? I ain't show up here because I'm a nancy boy lookin' to join some lily-livered chorus. Nah, pal. Let me tell ya why I showed up... [Wolff cracks his beefy knuckles as he glares menacingly at the camera.] BBW: I showed up here 'cause 'though the name is Wolff, I'm the big ram at the top of the mountain... or at least I'm gonna be. And the longer I'm down here... [Wolff holds his massive hand flat and below his waist.] BBW: ...havin' to knock off the rest o' ya blasted sheep from the friggin' hilltops, I ain't a happy camper. [Wolff cracks a grin.] BBW: Now some say I'm just a surly son of a gun, born never to be happy. And hey, maybe that some got it right. Maybe I ain't ever gonna be happy. But one thing's fer damn sure... [The grin quickly erodes to a somber grimace.] BBW: ...I will be the head ram 'round here. [Wolff pauses to let the viewers reflect on that chestnut for a moment. He then hitches his hands into his belt.] BBW: Now I suspect, Muster, that yer most likely an unreasonable man. I suspect that, as we speak, yer probably blatherin' on 'bout what yer gonna do to me. And that's fine. I could care less 'bout what ya say. People say a lot of stuff. Don't make none of it true. What I care 'bout, Muster, is what ya do... [Wolff points at the camera.] BBW: And if ya do dare to walk down that aisle, if ya do step in my way to the mountaintop, if ya do put up a fight... [Wolff sneers.] BBW: ...well, there ain't no accountin' for the amount of hellfire and brimstone I'll rain 'pon your pointy lil' head. [Wolff spits then glares at the camera before storming away. We spin-cut to a front porch. It's not really a fancy residence, this. The house has plain white walls, white trim, and a white railing surrounding the porch. There's really only one truly notable aspect of this place, and that's the location. The house is on a large, empty grassy field in the midst of some mountains... there is no sidewalk, road, vehicle, or any other dwelling in sight. Nothing but the house and it's adjacent barn. Now exiting his home is Samuel Muster. The muscular ex-Marine is clad in a simple blue-and-gold striped button-up shirt, black shoes, and navy blue slacks. Samuel is a wide-shouldered man with natural dark-blonde hair in a short, curly style. He's got a very picturesque face, with a solid jaw structure and clear blue eyes. He marches past the camera as he speaks.] SM: Follow me. It's eighteen miles to the nearest road, and I don't wanna be late. [So the cameraman starts following him, and we see that Samuel is quite directly walking across his field to the nearest wooded mountain.] Cameraman: Uh, that's a mountain you're walking towards. SM: It's eighteen miles straight as the crow flies. Bit more than that going over the mountains. Cameraman: Uhhh... don't you have a helicopter for precisely this reason? SM: I can use the exercise. Besides that, I'm looking to get into the mind of a man who would call himself the Big Bad Wolff. Plenty of wolves out yonder. Cameraman: I am officially not going that way. SM: Suit yourself. At the least, I'll do what you came here for first. I'll tell you what I think about a man who calls himself the Big Bad Wolff. A wolf is a proud creature, ya see. A Big Bad Wolff less so. For one, it feels a need to tell you that it's Big and Bad. I am fairly sure Mrs. Wolff didn't name her child Big Bad. So what we have is a man without a name. A man that hides his own name... that's a red flag. Tells you something about him. What does he have to hide? We may well find out when we see him fight. I heard his comments to date, and he spent a good deal of his time making it clear that he has no respect for the rules. A man like that thinks this is a show of strength. If he has the strength he'd like us to believe he has, he would never have said these things. The rules aren't there to hold a man down. The rules are there to ensure that the better man wins. The strong don't need to break the rules, because the rules favor them. The only motive for breaking or ignoring the rules is a fear of defeat. What am I getting at? This Big Bad Wolff hides his name and hides from a fair contest. This doesn't sound like anyone of worth by my reckoning. So in contrast, here's my mission statement. My name is Samuel Muster, and I don't fear to fight by the rules. I will defeat the Big Bad Wolff on RAMPAGE, and if he wants to fight like a man, that will be outstanding. And if he wants to fight like a coward, let him. Everything we need to know, we will find out on Rampage. That's about all that can be said. [And so Samuel leaves it there, continuing to hike on. After a short pause, the cameraman butts in.] Cameraman: That's it? SM: Talk's cheap, and I only do these things because it's a part of my job. Nobody ever beat anybody by talkin' about it. Maybe the Big Bad Wolff likes to huff and puff... but this house... [Muster slaps his chest.] SM: ...is made of discipline and heart. You ain't gonna blow me down with words. No, the Wolff is gonna have to show me what big teeth he has. Which is too bad for him... ...'cause I ain't no Little Red Riding Hood. at's all he has to say, and so the camera stops moving. Muster pulls away, into the distance.] Cameraman: ...hey! I can't fly a helicopter! How am I supposed to get... damn! [And we cut back to the studio.] DD: Which of these two men will come out on top in their first match in RCW? You'll have to tune in next week to find out. [The screen behind Ditka now once again shows the RAMPAGE logo, with the Ticketmaster logo and phone number of the Rose Garden box office.] DD: All that action -- plus undoubtedly more from the delightful Curtis brothers -- coming your way next Thursday night. Don't miss out -- the last few tickets are going fast! [A camera tracks Ditka as he stands from the glass-topped desk and walks around in front to his mark on the studio floor.] DD: Well, folks, that's our show. I'll be back next Thursday night, *live* at 10pm Pacific, alongside my broadcast colleague "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare for RAMPAGE. Until then, thanks for watching. This is Don Ditka, wishing you all a good night, everybody! ["Bodies" kicks in over the PA once more as the lights in the studio fall. Ditka puts his sheaf of papers on the desk behind him and walks forwards out of the shot as the camera pans up to the RCW logo mounted on the set. Fade to black.] ____________________________________________________________________ / Copyright (C) 2006 Rip City Wrestling, Inc. All rights reserved. / / www.ripcitywrestling.com / /___________________________________________________________________/