[We cut to backstage where we see the "Big Daddy" himself, Sinister,
looking rather focused instead of his normal light-hearted vibe. He is
wearing a black t-shirt with "Chi-Town Massacre" in bold red letters,
a pair of black slacks and white Nike Air Jordan's. We hear footsteps
and the big man looks up to see the small masked man we know as Senor
Cloak Dos walk up to him. Cloak is wearing his full wrestling gear and
has his hooded cloak on, the hood pulled over his masked head. Sin
looks at the luchadore with a sympathetic smile. The luchadore speaks
in a quiet voice.]

SCD: Hola, Padre Sin.

Sin: [Just as quietly as Senor Cloak Dos] "Hey little brotha', how are
you feeling?

SCD: I am sorry I was not there to help you at the end of the last
Heatwave.

Sin: [Waves his right hand dismissively] "Don't even sweat it man, I
had a feeling Gibson wouldn't be honorable and fight me like a
warrior. As soon as I saw his two 'supporters' come out with him I
knew something was up. No matter, everyone saw what happened and it's
in the past now."

[The luchadore nods his head then reaches into his cloak and pulls out
tickets to Disney World. Sinister's expression changes, a grief coming
over his face]

SCD: She wanted you to have these back and I want to fulfill all that
she asked me to do.

[Cloak hands the big man the tickets. Sinister's expression
immediately turns dour as his shoulders sink visibly and he exhales
slowly, loudly while taking the tickets with his left hand. He bows
his head, closes his eyes and pinches the base of his nose between his
right index finger and thumb. He keeps his eyes closed for a few
moments while shaking his head slowly. He clears his throat then
lowers his right hand and looks at the tickets, inspecting them
closely for a moment. He stares intently at the little daisy flower
stickers on them]

Sin: [Obviously choking back tears] "Josie...put these little stickers
on the tickets but never got to use them. [He exhales even deeper than
before and looks skyward, his bottom lip quivering as he chokes out an
exhale] I know that little angel will always be with us in spirit
Cloak, and though we'll miss her terribly, we can take solace in that
truth."

[Dos nods his hooded and masked head.]

SCD: I.. I have to get ready for my match but thank you, Padre Sin.
Thank you for letting me complete one of the tasks.

Sin: [A tear streams down each of his cheeks] "Of course little
brotha'...of course."

[The luchadore nods his head then shakes Sinister's hand before
walking offscreen. The big man from Chicago stares down at the tickets
as we fade to the PVW - Tradition Six Logo ...]

  _______                  __  __  __    __
 |       |.----..---.-..--|  ||__||  |_ |__|.-----..-----.
 |.|   | ||   _||  _  ||  _  ||  ||   _||  ||  _  ||     |
 `-|.  |-'|__|  |___._||_____||__||____||__||_____||__|__|
   |:  |
   |::.|
   `---'


                        .-..-. .-. .-.  .-.
                        | | ~  | | | |  | |
                         \|    | | `-'..`-'
                           |\  | | .-.`'.-.
                         _ | | | | | |  | |
                        `-'`-' `-' `-'  `-'







	***********************************************************

		     TRADITION SIX - SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA

		        Live at Valley View Casino Center

	***********************************************************




~~~ FFFFFOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH ~~~






~~~ FFFFFOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH ~~~






~~~ FFFFFOOOOOOOOOOSSSSHHHH ~~~






!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM !!!







!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM !!!









!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM !!!








[HUGE WE LOVE FIRE WORKS CHEERS!!!!]






[We fade into the Valley View Casino Center fans seem to be a little
mixed in their reactions after the opening ...  Signs are being shoved
up in the air in support of PVW's young angel, Josie.  "GET WELL SOON
JOSIE!" / "JOSIE IS MY FAVORITE LUCHADORE!" / CALI LOVES JOSIE!" /
"JOSIE OWNS CHRISTOPHER BLACK!" ... There are obviously more signs in
support of Josie and all the PVW superstars, but the camera crew
focuses in on Josie signs.  The San Diego fans have packed the Valley
View Casino Center.

The camera finds it's way to the allotted space where the PVW Squared
Circle is set up and ready for action.  We have a throw back to the
original look of the first PVW ring. The Red and Gold ropes have
returned and the original PVW logo sits proudly in the center of the
ring celebrating the accomplishments of every superstar to ever
wrestle inside a PVW ring.

We head to the broadcasting table ... Sitting in the center of the
table is a small child size, Senor Cloak Dos mask.  One that is sold
at the merchandise stands before every show ... One that Josie wore so
proudly ... Sitting at the booth are the two men who bring flavor to
our events, Chip Lester and Fred Hoyle.]

CL: Thank you lady and gentlemen for being with us on such a landmark
night.  Over three years ago the doors opened to a small promotion in
Arizona.  To celebrate the promotions and every person who made this
industry grow from the promoters to the ring crew to the announcers to
the referees to the road agents to the wrestlers themselves  ...
Tradition was born.  Tonight we continue to pay tribute to those who
came before us.

[Chip pauses as he tries to collect his thoughts.]

CL: But first ... Before we start the night off.  As we all saw just
moments ago ... We received word that young Josie has lost her battle
with cancer.

[Moment of silence pause.]

FH: Please allow me, Chip.  I know in this industry we all have our
roles.  We all have our favorites ... And we all quite simply do our
jobs.  However there are times we have to set that aside for a moment
and just say thanks to a young child who reminded us all what this
industry really is about.  It's about the child inside us ... Living
free to mark out for our favorite superstar if we want.  It's wearing
your mask on the outside showing everyone who you truly are.  Rest in
peace our little angel.

CL: Well said, Fred.  This is a truly sad moment for all of us here
with the PVW family.  Most of us had a chance to meet Josie who was a
bundle of joy.  Our thoughts and prayers are with her family.  And
this mask right here sits at ring side in honor of her love and memory
for the PVW and this world.  I hope the rest of us can follow suit as
she taught us all a lot.

FH: She sure did.

[Chip coughs clearing his throat attempting to find the courage to
transition from Josie ... to a much less important topic ...
Tradition.]

CL: And tonight we have three PVW Championship matches.  All three
single titles will be on the line as Christopher Black is set to
defend the TV Championship against Christopher Black ... Nevermind
challenges, Hersher von Donkerhardt for the PVW American Championship.
And the PVW World Heavyweight Title will be on the line when AsH steps
inside the ring with Gibson Hayes.

FH: What a way to honor a memory ... Gibson Hayes standing up for the
youth in America.

[... and like that the transition is well under way back.]

CL: I wont even go there ... We also have the highly anticipated
Presidential Debate between Danny Daniels and Johnny Detson with a
night full of additional matches.  Tradition Six stands a chance to go
down in history as the best Tradition yet.  Before we head to the ring
we have cameras rolling in the Hayes Gang locker room.

[The locker room of Todd Johnstone's gang. Livestock, Gutch, Uncle
Frank and Gibson are all present. The quartet are all in suits, except
Uncle Frank, who is wearing his shirt and jeans combination. Bubba
Hayes and Evelyn Prosser play cards as Todd Johnstone (in terrible
burn victim black suit with vomit olive tie and putrid red shirt with
his Brown Belt from Sears) walks in.]

TJ: Gentleman, Tradition VI is where we make our statement. We have
enemies, we have the lingering eyes of the world upon us. Look at one
another and think about what each man has accomplished.

[The camera pans to Livestock.]

TJ: You, Zappa, you've captured those damned tag belts with two
different partners and have helped run out of town so many tag teams
the booking committee is actively afraid to let you face other, puke
stained teams.

[We get the Gutch.]

TJ: And you, lard-o, you've helped your boy end the career of Mal
Practice and Ohno Ow with one hell of a ruse. Together you and
Livestock are the very best in tag team wrestling today - no one else
comes close. Bar none - you are the standard that all other tag teams
are measured; not only in PVW but in wrestling everywhere.

[The blue eyes and smiling face of Frank Knight is next.]

TJ: Frank, good old Uncle Frank.

[Frank smiles.]

TJ: The true believer; the man who knows the bright future and better
tomorrow is just around the corner if only we can break the spirits of
the wicked. You put hope into the hearts of those who need it most.
You, Uncle Frank, are the right arm that Gibson needs. You have a
special mission and you will strike fear into those who wish to give
up.

[Frank eyes Todd's fat arm but then returns to listening.]

TJ: No one realizes just how much they need you Frank. You are going
to save so many lost souls... and then we have Gibson.

[The world champion has stood up and has his back turned.]

TJ: Gibson, there isn't much to say about you and what you do. You've
humiliated, retired and survived all comers. You are the fulcrum of
PVW and the man who'll throttle all challengers, The plebes fear you
and look up to you. This is your time.

[The screen splits into a picture of all four men.]

TJ: This is your time, gentleman. Taken as a pair and two singles, you
are only as strong as yourselves but together? The four of you
represent the 4 letters of hope.

[Livestock]

Handsome.

[Gutch]

Overwhelming.

[Uncle Frank]

Parlous

[Gibson]

Exultant

Together, the four of you are the standard that the rest of the world
can only hope to live up to and tonight, tonight we fucking wreck up
the place. Let's end some careers and make a damned tidy profit!

[And with that we cut back to ringside.]

FH: If that doesn't make you want to run through a brick wall I don't
know what does!  John Wooden ... Vince Lombardi ... Red Auerbach ...
Bear Bryant ... NONE of them have anything on Todd the FREAKING Rod,
baby!

CL: That was quite the pep-talk ... I'm not sure I agree with it all,
but ...

FH: _HOPE_, Chip ... _Hope_ ... They give us all hope ... And we all
need it especially after all that has unfolded tonight.

CL: I ... I ... Oh hell forget it, The Voice is standing by inside the
ring.

[The Voice stands tall in the center of the ring.  He knows that
tonight he has to really bring it to bring the excitement level up for
a normal mega-PVW event ...]

HD: Introducing first, with their partner Pizzazz Elysee - the team of
SShadoe Rage and Derek Rage - THE PROPHETS OF RAGE !!!

[The houselights go down to be replaced by purple spotlights. Smoke
fills the arena and the broad, slow, deep, gloomy notes of Chopin's
"Death March" suck the joy out of the arena. The curtains part and
Pizzazz Elysee is the first to emerge from the backstage curtains.

Right behind here sweeps the Angel of Death, Shadoe Rage. In sharp
contrast to the dirge, Rage is animated. He wears his sparkling
sequined cloak. He throws out his arms, flourishing to the dirge's
heavy beat. Right behind him strides his brother, Derek Rage. He wears
a boxer's robe with the hood up over his head.

He looks like a giant Grim Reaper.  With slow deliberate steps he
marches towards the ring. His face betrays no expression. As Shadoe
Rage comes to the ring, he pulls of his sunglasses and hands them to a
child at ringside. His eyes burn with an almost inhuman fever. From
the floor he springs up the ring steps and leaps over the top rope. He
spins and flourishes in the ring to the time of the music before he
whips off the cape. He leans over the ropes, pointing at the child he
gave his glasses. "The violence tonight is all because of you!" he
screams]

And then...

***BANG BANG BANG BANG BANG***

[So many pillars of pyro technics fire off that you wonder how much of
a bribe it took to get the fire chief to look the other way.]


#Oh woman you make me feel
#Like I'm fire
#Oh woman you make it real
#It's the only way for me... *LAsERS BEGIN AS THE SONG CHANGES*

[The arena darkens as Ferry Corsten's "Fire" kicks up and into the
HEAT's big match theme song: Eliot Lipp's "PLW3D" from the Peace Love
Weed 3D album. A cavalcade of rainbow colored laser lights swirl from
above the ring and making his entrance is none other than the HEAT's
mouth piece: Arvelle "MAGIC" Lafayette - dressed in a red sequined
basketball uniform with yellow number 1, white sequined bow tie, long
magician's cane and his motor mouth.]

AML: Hello, world! Welcome to the answers to your prayers; your wishes
come true and your desires made flesh! Y'all know me, I'm the hottest
manager on the circuit today; the master of magic and a damn smart
man. I am Arvelle "MAGIC" Layfette!

[To accentuate his point, Arvelle blows his air horn then shoots out
cards at the audience from both his sleeves! The volume grows louder
and even more lights start to swirl from all points around the arena.]

AML: Allow me, your humble master of ceremonies, to, as a courtesy,
introduce you to the tag team that has captured the imagination of the
fellas and the wet dreams of all the ladies.

[Shining onto the entrance way is a very bright spotlight. Arvelle
baskes in the glorious attention of the audience, who don't seem to
appreciate his efforts.]

AML: First, from Miami, Florida - coming in at 6 feet 5 inches (but
more where it counts) and 290 pounds of solid, rock hard love muscle
is the Miami Pound Machine; the Master of Mayhem and the Adonis of the
Caribbean - MAXIME JEAN BAPTISTE!

[Stepping out from backstage is the HEAT's big man: Maxime Jean-
Baptiste. MJ-B is wearing red bicycle trunks with flames airbrushed on
the sides and over the crotch. Hiding Max's eyes are a pair of fierce
red sunglasses. Jean-Baptiste is well put together, his body a
masterpiece of possible steroid use and working out most every day.
Maxime's hair is braided and at the ends has small glass beads of
various colors. On the right back leg the flags of Haiti and Florida
are represented as the HEAT's muscle walks purposefully to the ring.]

AML: Ain't that something? Well, we got more for you folks in
attendance! The other half of the combination that is making this
nation fall backwards in appreciation and quivering with anticipation
of their next match! From WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-HA-
KA, ME-SI-CO; weighing in at a sextacular 253 pounds and packing more
girth where it counts on his 5 foot 10 inch frame (10 inches is where
he starts). This is EL RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUDO! Otherwise
known as EL MACHISMO MAGNIFICO Y GUAPO, he is all that is man and his
name is *deep breath* FranciscoGabrielMaximillienIsadoreOsorioMagnon
ay kay ay PACO Magnon!

[The rougher and smaller of the HEAT slithers into the spotlight. His
black hair slicked into a pompador with 5 o'clock scruff around his
MACHO mustache and soul patch showing prominently on his strong chin,
PACO makes kissing motions towards a few ladies and thrusts his pelvis
at others. Magnon is quite hairy on both the front and the back, but
Paco is cut, ripped, chiseled and JAAAAAAAAAACKED. Tonight PACO is
wearing matching deep red trunks that are almost like speedos, with
white wrestling boots that have spangles on them (silver). The trunks
have yellow piping and a Mexican flag on the right cheek. Over his
crotch is the obligatory air brushed bull's head huffing out steam.
Around his neck are PACO's beloved gold chains, with one in particular
(a big thick and heavy chain with a giant dangling male symbol being
the main one). Finishing Magnon's ensemble are black chaps with gold
spangles. Though when the shot goes to show PACO from behind you can
see he is also wearing silver colored knee pads and elbow pads. PACO
has also gone to the trouble of putting white tape around his finger
joints and wrists.]

AML: Of course the HEAT always has another trick ready to tip the odds
in their favor and that special, go to gal is none other than the Bell
of the Southlands, Miss Arkansas herself and a talented lady of in the
ring herself. Y'all know who I am talking about and all you boys out
there are just bursting with anticipation for the arrival of Miss
Floooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooriiiiiiiiine
Walker-Davies!

[Walking out, deliberately and with a lady-like refinement, is Miss
Florine. The HEAT's XX trump card is wearing a form fitting red
catsuit, getting catcalls and wolf whistles for her not huge curves
but sufficient womanly qualities. Florine has an umbrella in her right
hand and is twirling it about. Walker-Davies's long, blond hair shines
in the various lights that are going off as Arvelle allows for the
lady to move on ahead of him.]

AML: Lads and lassies, The HEAT come in at a total combined weight of
EXCELLENT. Y'all know who we are but I gotta tell you again and again
because that brings in the paychecks. Folks, to-night is gonna be a
hot one. The Piglets over yonder don't know what kind of trouble they
done got themselves into because anyone who plays with fire is gonna
get seared by the HEAT!

[As the HEAT make their way into their corner Pizzazz has a chair and
rushes Miss Florine! Pizzazz brings the chair down... but Florine
pulls Arvelle in front of her! The HEAT's manager takes a massive
wallop to the head and he screams a loud "WHY!" Before Pizzazz can be
angry she missed her target, she gets a genga into a forward flip kick
to her nose flowing into a foot sweep by Maxime! Pizzazz's nose is
bleeding and she's lands hard on her head! Shadoe Rage rushes over and
tackles Maxime as PACO points at Derek Rage across the ring!]

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \                T6: Six Man Match:
 / / / /_/ /        Prophets & Pizzazz v. Arvelle & Heat
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*

CL: No waiting here as the two men in the ring are already champing at
the bit. PACO starting the match against Derek Rage after Pizzazz is
wobbling back to her corner.

FH: I like both these teams but, I kind of want the Heat to win.

CL: Why is that, Fred?

FH: I hate French and they tried to hurt Miss Florine! At least that
weird French lady took it in the face! Poor Arvelle, going for the
save!

CL: Uh... Florine pulled Arvelle in front of herself!

FH: THREW HIMSELF IN FRONT OF THE LADY IN DISTRESS!

[The large of the two Rage brothers goes straight for PACO, trying to
overpower the actually not all that small luchador. Instead of
actually trying to match up, PACO goes straight for the cheap shots
and lunges and Derek Rage's back knee, clipping it shoulder to knee
cap, taking down the larger man immediately.]

CL: It seems the Prophets are trying to create a mismatch with Rage
going up against the luchador, PACO.

FH: A good idea except PACO is actually a luchador and not your
stereotypical high flier.

CL: I can't believe I'm agreeing with you but PACO Magnon is nearly
250 pounds and just shy of 6', he's more of a power luchador with the
typical flourishing flying skills but he's no lightweight.

FH: Is this match over with yet? I don't want to see either team lose!

CL: Rage is holding his knee and it looks like he could be in some
serious trouble as PACO does a Garvin stomp to the knee and... did he
just?

[In addition to just leaping down with both feet firmly on Derek
Rage's knee, PACO leaped down with both heels into Derek Rage's
crotch. A large loogie spit in the Rage brother's face accentuates
PACO's attitude.]

FH: HOPSCOTCH!

CL: PACO pointing at Pizzazz and... oh dear lord, did he just...

FH: I know some Spanish and PACO is just calling Pizzazz a proper
lady... of the evening but lady none the less.

CL: Magnon and his cousin Angel were well known, and hated, in Mexico
as Los Guapos Caliente aka The Hot Handsome Ones and as the original
HEAT once they found Arvelle.

FH: Who's it what now?

CL: A little background on why PACO is such a jerk. He's hated in the
Southwest including California. The Rage brothers are disliked from
Portland to Toronto so it's not like we have any angels in this match.

FH: Except Florine in her catsuit!

[The referee is distracted by the fact Shadow and Maxime are still
going at it on the ring floor. Florine has managed to lift Arvelle and
draped his lifeless body onto the ring apron where his team's corner
is located. Meanwhile, Derek Rage has managed to grab a hold of PACO's
trunks and pulls Magnon towards the corner. Rage gets up and catches
the bouncing off the turnbuckles PACO in a belly to back suplex.
Meanwhile, Shadoe Rage has kicked Maxime in the head and is climbing
the apron, measuring Jean-Baptiste.]

CL: Shadoe hurling himself on the downed Maxime! Pizzaz is bleeding
from the face and Arvelle is dead! Meanwhile Derek Rage is getting
gingerly up and PACO...

FH: SWEEP THE LEG PACO!

CL: Magnon has a body part selected on the stronger Rage brother.
After delivering a shoulder to straightened knee clip, causing the
knee to bend inwards, Magnon has shown us the Heat's gameplan! Derek
has that leg swept out from under him and PACO follows up with a
rolling knee snap!

FH: I heard PVW was afraid of the Prophet's game plan which was to
have some shaved anteater show up.

CL: What the hell are you talking about, Fred?

FH: That weird Frenchie garbage Pizzazz said in the Prophets's last
interview!

[Shadoe, with the shaking the cobwebs out Pizzazz put the boots to
Maxime as Arvelle lay motionless and then...]

CL: Magnon not entirely focused on Derek Rage as he delivers a TOPE to
the outside! Magnon deliberately aimed for Pizzazz, causing the
Prophet's companion to bear the brunt of the blow.

FH: That's 250 pounds flying at Pizzazz - heavier than your average
lady wrestler. Shadoe grabbing PACO while Maxime taking this
opportunity to climb into the ring. The referee is beside himself.

CL: So far the HEAT have been holding their own in the Prophet's style
of match - which is no style. Shadoe isn't as complete a wrestler as
PACO and Maxime isn't as strong as Derek, so neither current possible
match up looks good for one side.

FH: Except Arvelle being super athletic against Pizzazz. Say what you
will about Pizzazz, she's a wrestler and a pretty good one at that,
Arvelle is a basketball star!

CL: Good grief, Fred, stop sucking up to Arvelle.

FH: You're just jealous he's my friend!

[The HEAT's second plan, hitting Pizzazz often, is showing up.
Meanwhile, Shadoe Rage has a plan too! That plan is to hit PACO upside
the head with his shoulder as he lunges at the slow to recover Magnon.
Shadoe grabs PACO by the greasy hair and puts the luchador into a
front chancery, hoisting Magnon up and onto the guard railing.
Meanwhile, Pizzazz has recovered enough to slap Magnon on the backside
of his head.]

CL: Right now there is no structure to this match - everything is a
mess!

FH: The Rages wanted chaos and the HEAT wanted to look good - a
recipe for uh, good chaos? Does that work?

[In the ring Derek Rage has stood up and he manages to move out of the
way of a butterfly kick from Maxime Jean-Baptiste. Rage goes over to
Maxime and lifts the largest member of the Heat into an Argentinean
backbreaker... but his knee does not hold up! Instead, Rage ends up
underneath Maxime! Cover!

1...









2...







...





Kickout!

CL: I never thought I'd see a pin attempt in this match, Fred!

FH: This is about which of these two teams gets to destroy Max and
Sal! I mean, the Prophets have a reason because Sal and Max are
cheaters who have gotten the #1 contendershiper through bribery while
the HEAT have a bone to pick with Sal and Max because people are
confusing the handsome PACO with the hideous Sal!

CL: That's Magnon's fault!

FH: A-HA! So you admit Sal is hideous! CASE CLOSED!

CL: Nevermind!

FH: He wins later!

CL: AUGH!

[On the outside Shadoe Rage is getting a chair will Pizzazz has
dragged the lifeless body of Arvelle LaFayette into the ring, the
referee is about to do a pin attempt on Arvelle, courtesy of Pizzazz
managing to lift up the dead weight of Arvelle and powerslam the poor,
dead manager onto the mat. However, Miss Florine pulls the referee
out, preventing a count. Just then, from backstage...]

CL: THE BESERKERS!

FH: Not these chumps! The Prophets are ignoring you because you smell
bad and eat kippers! Go home!

CL: Wolf and Doom are no longer going to wait around for the Prophets
to answer them! Wolf tossing Derek Rage out of the ring and Doom
headbutting Pizzazz into next week! Doom lifting Pizzazz onto his
shoulders as Wolf climbs the top rope!

FH: No! Do that to Fontana's wife! She's into this kinky stuff!

CL: DOOMSDAY DEVICE! Wolf just delivered a clothesline to Pizzazz that
sends her into next month! Doom dragging the still unconscious Arvelle
onto Pizzazz's body! And Florine finally letting the referee go!
Shadoe lunging towards the ring!

1...







CL: Shadoe Rage's leg is caught by a desperate PACO and Shadoe is
kicking PACO in the face!



















2...



























3!!!


***DING DING DING***



HD: The winners of the match, via pinfall - THE
HEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT!

FH: Arvelle with an amazing display of wrestling prowess single
handedly leads the HEAT to victory!~

CL: Fred... are you high?

FH: High on Arvelle's wrestling acumen!

CL: I have a note here ... Pizzazz had signed a wrestling waiver for
one night that made her an eligible PVW superstar.

FH: She wanted to be treated like a wrestler ... Well that's what
happens when you step in the ring with the big leagues.  Something the
French know _nothing_ about.

CL: You just want to make every country hate us don't you.

FH: They already do ... With Gibson Hayes as our champion, we are
America's league!

CL: I'm not sure if that was the best way to open the night off, but
the fans seem to have enjoyed the Berserkers showing up.

FH: They pulled a Renegades!

CL: Pizzazz wanted to wrestle ... The Prophets are all about fair
competition no matter what the sex is.

FH: HA ... You just said sex.

CL: Okay now we are juvenile tonight.

FH: Arvelle kicking some tail is always a great way to start the night
off.  Kodos to the PVW!

CL: I may not survive the night.  Let's just go backstage.

[Cut to just inside the arena entrance where we see a couple of
security guards talking to.  The area is otherwise deserted as the
show is well underway, that is until a certain unhinged PVW star
suddenly appears from around a corner, making a beeline right for the
two men and completely ignores any concept of personal space by
getting right up in their faces.  As in his nose just inches away from
first one, then the other guard's nose.]

Guard 1:  What the...

Guard 2:  Er...  Uncle Frank, isn't it?  Is there something we can do
for you?

[Uncle Frank just stands there, far too close for anyone's comfort.
And yes, he is grinning like a loon.]

Guard 2:  Sir, if there is something you want...

Guard 1:  Will you back _off_?!?  Or at least get some breathmints?

[Still Frank just grins.]

Guard 1:  Dude, you're getting on my nerve here.

[Guard 2 gets on hos radio, which is apparently something Uncle Frank
finds fascinating.]

Guard 2:  HQ, this is Jeff at the entrance.  Can someone find
Johnstone?  We've found something of his which won't go away or say
anything.  It's creeping us the hell out.

[A response apparently comes over the guard's earpiece, because he
nods.  This is when Frank decides to speak.]

FK:  Has he been here?

Guard 1:  What?  Who?

FK:  Have you seen him here?  He's playing silly-buggers with Uncle
Frank.  The English do that, you know.  They play silly-buggers.  He's
avoiding Uncle Frank.  It's not polite to avoid Uncle Frank.

Guard 1:  I completely understand his reasoning, whoever he is.

FK:  Uncle Frank must make sure he doesn't do anything unwise.  Uncle
Frank must make sure Mr. Gibson Hayes is safe.  Uncle Frank must make
sure Gabriel doesn't assassinate Mr. Gibson Hayes because he wants to
destroy the Last, Best Hope for a Bright Future and a Better Tomorrow.

Guard 2:  You're out of your mind.

FK:  Uncle Frank is not!  Uncle Frank understands him now!  Uncle
Frank understands everything!  He was here, wasn't he?  You're in on
it!

[The tone of Frank's voice gets threateningly soft and cheerful as he
stares unblinkingly at the second guard.]

FK:  You should have told Uncle Frank.  Yes you should.  If something
happens to Mr. Gibson Hayes because of your involvement then Uncle
Frank will hold you every bit as responsible as Gabriel.  It's not
nice to keep secrets from your Uncle Frank.

[And just like that he turns and stalks away, leaving the two guards
behind.]

Guard 1:  Freak.

Guard 2:  Craven, Cole, Spectre, Manson, Black, Fontana and now this
guy.  Does anyone in the PVW offices ever bother to read the psych
evaluations at all before hiring new wrestlers?

[Fade out to another location backstage. "The Paladin" Chris Hartt
drops his gear bag next to his locker room bench, but even before he
begins his preparations, he stops. There's a presence, nearby. Like a
looming shadow of misery somewhere behind him...]

Fontana: J'ai deux mots a te dire, Chris.

[Hartt turns.]

Hartt: Fontana. What do you want?

Fontana: I'm not here to strike from _behind_, cousin.

Hartt: Since I'm not sucking pavement, I figured you're not here to
attack me. Yet.

Fontana: Rest assured that I'm _saving_ it for the ring, aaaah ouais.

[Fontana smirks, but Hartt isn't buying.]

Hartt: What do you want?

Fontana: Just a _friendly_ chat, cousin.

Hartt: Friendly?  What makes you think we're friends, Fontana? I don't
need any more friends right now.

Fontana: Don't underestimate friendship, Chris.

[Beneath the hood of his boxer's robe, "Il Eterno" purses his thin
lips.]

Fontana: You don't really know what you're _missing_ until you RIP OFF
his ARM and _mask_, OUAIS!

[He shakes his head.]

Fontana: ...Seemed like the right thing to do at the time, but in
retrospect...

Hartt: Friends only stab you in the back and then complain when you
get upset at them for doing it. Looking back just makes you hurt more
from missing the signs leading up to their betrayal.

Fontana: That brings _pain_, doesn't it? But I'm a _man_ of PASSION,
Chris, and _pain_ is the price of PASSION, ouais! Without passion...

[The King of Armbars flips off the hood of his robe, his dark eyes
intense and round.]

Fontana: ... Without _friendship_ and LOVE, cousin, things turn...
_dark_. Without them... good men turn into Spectre. Or Craven. ...You
know the type.

Hartt: This coming from the man who betrayed his wife, his family, and
all of his friends....

You're some kind of monster, too, aren't you? Isn't that why you've
injured so many wrestlers?

[Filled with sudden sadness and misery, Fontana joylessly smiles,
purses his lips, and nods.]

Fontana: Peut-etre, peut-etre...

Hartt: Not a very strong case for any locker room friendship. And if I
was looking for one, it wouldn't be you.

Fontana: Dis-moi, is that the voice of the BOLD young _man_ who raised
_hell_ in the streets of Minneapolis and crashed into an old couple's
car that I hear?

[Hartt frowns.]

Hartt: That was a long time ago.

Fontana: You're _right_. What I hear is actually the _sanctimonious_
voice of the MILQUETOAST this young man _became_, ouais! The
_meatball_ who now thinks he can _cast_ the FIRST _stone_.

Hartt: Everyone's made some mistakes, myself included. It does not
absolve you of sin.

Fontana: That's fine, I'm not here to seek your forgiveness.

Hartt: What are you seeking, here.

Fontana: Tonight, ouais, I just don't want you to GET in the _way_.

Hartt: I'm your opponent. Being in your way is why I'm here.

Fontana: No, not _our_ match, the American Championship match. Nothing
less than a hard fought match is acceptable for such a prestigious
title, ouais, but if someone gets over-zealous, cousin... I need to
make sure _nothing_ happens to Donkerhardt... he's not as healthy as
he should be, you understand?

Hartt: You're going after Nevermind?

[The news doesn't seem to please the Paladin.]

Hartt: I've got my own issues with him and I'm going to solve them.
Leave Nevermind to me.

Fontana: Hey, it's nothing personal, the meatball's completely
meaningless to me. After dealing with Manson, there's no doubt HvD can
deal with Nevermind. But if the flea-bitten pantywaist tries to take
the Dutchman out instead of trying to take his title, I'll have to
step in.

Hartt: No. You just admitted Nevermind means nothing to you, but
getting to him means everything to me, so if anyone steps in, it'll
have to be me.

Fontana: As _skilled_ a wrestler as you are, cousin... if I want
things done RIGHT, I need to do them _myself_.

...Unhindered.

Hartt: Tell you what. If you can beat me, you can run to Herscher's
rescue if you need to. But if I win, Nevermind's mine, and you don't
get to butt in.

Fontana: You want to get your hands on him that _badly_, eh? Even
though he'll just _run_away_ again?

Hartt: I will, unless he pulls more of his... mindgames.

Fontana: Whether you call it "_mindgames_" or "retrograde advance,"
OUAIS, running _away_ is _running_ AWAY.

Hartt: He can't run forever.

Fontana: Touche.

[Il Eterno nods.]

Fontana: Alright. You're on. He who WINS gets the _spoils_.

[The Everlasting One extends his hand. Hartt sizes him up, furrows his
brow... and shakes the Italian-French-Canadian's hand. Fontana
smirks.]

Fontana: _Friendships_ can begin so innocuously...

Hartt: We are NOT becoming friends.

[The King of Armbars smiles.]

Fontana: OK.

Hartt: See you in the ring.

[Like a passing storm, the looming shadow of misery, still cloaked in
his orange, red and gold robe, retreats... but no rainbow awaits Chris
Hartt this time. Dark moods are contagious, it seems. Brooding, Hartt
reaches for his gearbag, and the image fades...]

CL: And things became a little more interesting when Fontana and Chris
Hartt step inside the ring.

FH: Sounds like a win-win for Perry Fontana.  Chris Hartt wont be able
to lift his arm to run down the ring anyways after the match is over.

CL: Chris Hartt is in a dark place right now.  I have a feeling that
Fontana was doing a little CYA ...

FH: Are you saying that the King of Armbars is scared of Chris Hartt?

CL: Chris Hartt has tasted quite a bit success on Tradition in his
time in the PVW.  Remember T1?  Winning the one night only tournament?

FH: Was Perry Fontana in that tournament?

CL: Well no ...

FH: Exactly.

CL: Not to change the subject ... But My headset is buzzing already.
I am getting word that our hard working camera men is picking
something up again backstage.

FH: Hopfully it's an Arvelle celebration party!

[He's screaming and something crashes against the wall before the
camera turns a corner. Rob Cole is breathing hard, long hair tousled
and hanging in wet ringlets about his features. The bench has been
turned over, ripped from the floor and several locker doors hang open
and bent. He turns and leans against the locker door, shaking his head
as a PVW security officer sands nearby. Cole leans forward and presses
his palms against the brick wall as the guard crosses his arms.]

Guard: It's your own fault, you know?

RC: My fault? How is it my fault?!

Guard: You burned bridges, you hurt people, and now you think you can
whitewash it away... life doesn't work like that, Cole. You should
know
that by now... few years back, when they created the safe zone and all
those rules and you just waltzed right through them all? You put
people at risk. And, the honest truth, no one really wants to help you
out now.

RC: I don't want "help"... I want you to do your job!

Guard: Stop some masked guy from interfering with you and Craven? I
don't know who is in the mask... you don't know...

RC: and it's not like the list of suspects is short. We can rule out
Retro... the guy just doesn't have the height or the weight, so he's
out
of the equation. We can rule out Brian Young... he's in a wheelchair.
But that still leaves Brett and Dropkick and any other member of that
family. Then you have the Styles contingent, Marley, Hiroyoshi Takada,
Dr. Hate...

Guard: How about the families you destroyed? The fans you let down
over the years... maybe some grew up, maybe someone wants to make a
name
on your carcass. Either way, I don't care... I just don't care. I keep
the fans from interfering in the matches. That's all I do.

RC: That's all I want. I want you to keep whoever it is out of the
match... do you realize how personal this has become for me? I can
beat
him.... I can beat William Craven! I just need a chance to step in the
ring with him and not have to worry about some guy in a mask... it's
all
I want. One on one... if the coward wants to face me, he has all the
time in the world but I want this night! THIS NIGHT!!!

[The guard uncrosses his arms and furrows his brows. Cole turns away
from the wall, eyes focused as he steps closer to the guard... the
camera remains far back so as not to be seen by the two men.]

RC: This night. My wife and my son... they didn't' deserve to be
dragged into this. William Craven has bullied his way throughout his
entire career... he stalked, he brutalized, and he tortured one victim
after another and another and another. I'm not going to be another
notch on his belt... not anymore. I need to take him down a level...
to break him just a little bit, to peel back the green skin and show
every single person out there that he can be beaten!

I don't know if this guy... this mask... I don't know if he's allied
with Craven, if he's just targeting me by himself, or what. I don't
know! But I do know that he could cost me this match... I'm not
stupid! I'm not asking you to keep any wrestler from the back from
interfering, I'm not asking you to make sure Craven behaves... all I
want is for you to keep this masked guy from getting near that ring.
That's it.

Guard: I'll do my job, Cole. But you made your barbed wire bed... and
now you have to lie in it.

[Cut back to ringside.]

CL: Rob Cole is ready for war tonight ...

FH: Seems a little worried to me.

CL: That masked stalker who apparently has taken issue with Rob Cole
has shown up to play mind games with the Outcast.  Rob Cole just wants
to concentrate on the Motor City Madman and end this once and for all.

FH: You don't _end_ things with William Craven.  You just hope to
escape.

CL: Next up ... It all started at End Game II.  When Gabriel
Whitecross had the duty of being the special guest referee in the PVW
World Heavyweight Championship.  It appeared that the legend was
getting to close for Gibson Hayes comfort and he introduced him
unstable enforcer, Uncle Frank.

FH: What's so unstable about our good ol' uncle?  Everyone has an
uncle like Frank, Chip.

CL: Yeah, but it's the uncle we try to limit our visits to once every
five years.

FH: That reminds me I need to stop by and see Uncle Hank.  I think
visitation is in a few days.

CL: The Voice has headed to the ring and that means we are ready for
our next match.

[Cut - Herk Douglas stands in the center of the ring ready to announce
the next match.]

HD: This match is scheduled for one fall and will be wrestled under
sanctioned tag team rules.

["Rock the Casbah" by the Clash blast over the PA system as the fans
leap to their feet.]

... Introducing first ...  Wrestling out of New York City.  Max
Weinrib and Salih Mubarak!

[The fan favorite duo emerge from the back dressed in their usual
Arabian / Russian garb.  Can't you just see the face of Gibson Hayes
right now?  They slap the hands of the California fans as they work
their way down the ring aisle.]

FH: Look at this sign of disrespect.   Max and Sal is set to take on,
America's Team and they have the gall to come to the ring dressed in
their usual terrorist garb!

CL: I would argue that some would say that Max and Sal are, America's
Team.

FH: Yeah ... Al Queda.

HD: And their opponent ... Wrestling out of Oxfordshire, United
Kingdom.  He is The Era of Defiance ...

Gabriel Whitecross!

["Something Wicked" by Nuclear Assault hits the PA system.  The
wrestling legend, Gabriel Whitecross emerges from the backstage area.
He is stripped to the waist, while black denim jeans and short white
boots adorn his lower extremities.  His fingers are heavily taped, and
thick black leather supports encircle his wrists to a point just below
his elbow. A white metal legbrace covers his right knee.]

FH: UK and Al Queda working together now.  This really is a serious
threat for America.  Thank god, Gibson has his men on it!

CL: Gabriel Whitecross is one of the most well-respected men in this
industry.  Gibson Hayes understands the threat that the legend is to
his PVW World Championship.  That is why he has painted a bullseye on
his back for Uncle Frank.

HD: And their opponents.

[Before, The Voice can even introduce their opponents boo's fill the
arena from the California crowd.  This disturbingly cheerful
announcement from the PA system is fillowed by an unpleasant chuckle
and then...]

# Noone knows what it's like #
# To be the bad man #
# To be the sad man #
# Behind blue eyes #


HD: Making his way to the ring at this time and hailing from Chicago,
Illinois, he weighs in at a cheerful 250 lbs.  He is your friend and
mine!  The happiest man in all of wrestling!  This is the man known as
Uncle Frank! This is...

...FRANK...

...KNIGHT!!!

[At this point a solidly muscular Caucasian man steps out from behind
the curtains, his medium length dirty-blonde hair messy and unkempt
and several days of stubble on his face. He stops, looks around at the
fans and then slowly a wide, disturbing grin spreads across his face.

Stalking down towards the ring that psychotic grin never wavers from
Frank's face as he looks from side to side at the fans. Sliding into
the ring under the bottom rope he then takes a seat on the second
turnbuckle in his corner, still grinning from ear to ear and staring
unblinkingly right ahead with a manic look in his eyes.]

FH: Now there is a good American right there.  A loyal soldier that
will take a bullet for his country.  Give me a unit of Uncle Frank's
any day.

CL: That's scary right there ... A whole unit of Uncle Frank's?

FH: They would get things done ...  Send them into a war zone and they
would get the job done.  Heck after tonight you might as well send
them into the United Kingdom after Uncle Frank destroys their legend.

[Uncle Franks stands alone in the ring almost ready to attack the
three men on his own.  However for a moment, better judgement has
prevailed.]

HD: His partners ... Weighing in at a combined weight of 685 pounds.
They are the PVW Tag Team Champions ... LIVESTOCK AND THE GUTCH!

#There I was completely wasting, out of work and down,#

["Breaking the Law" by Judas Priest plays, and with no lighting
effects, no fanfare, just the words "Livestock and the Gutch" on the
PVW video screen, a pair of big men in business suits carrying
briefcases emerge from the entrance portal.]

#all inside it's so frustrating as I drift from town to town.#

#Feel as though nobody cares if I live or die,#

[The Gutch stops just outside the portal and begins doing what can
only be called a "Stupid white man dance".  He calls it "The Gootch
Bartilootch." Livestock just looks the other way, pretending that he
doesn't have an idiot for a partner.]

#so I might as well begin to put some action in my life#

#Breaking the law, breaking the law!#

[At this, they begin walking down the aisle.]

#Breaking the law, breaking the law!#

#Breaking the law, breaking the law!#

[Still walking.]

#Breaking the law, breaking the law!#

[Aaand they reach the ring.  Saints be praised.]

CL: And there are the unusually quiet tag team champions as of late.

FH: They have been letting the brains of the operation, Todd Johnstone
do the talking for them.

CL: Either way ... You have to assume that they realize that Max and
Sal are hot on their trails. And both sides are talking over who will
start the match off.

FH: Uncle Frank looks almost like a rabid dog.  He is pointing and
hopping around.  If I was Gabriel Whitecross I would get the hell out
of dodge!

CL: Whitecross can handle himself when he isn't jumped from behind.

FH: Would you want to take on Uncle Frank head on?

CL: Not particularly.

FH: And your not even British!

CL: What does that have to do with anything?

FH: British never win in America.

__________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \                T6: Six Man Match:
 / / / /_/ /  Max, Sal, & Whitecross v. Livestock, Gutch, & Frank
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*


CL: And Gabriel Whitecross is going to start things off.  And it
appears Uncle Frank isn't even giving his partners a chance to out
vote him.

FH: Uncle Frank is a man that George Washington would be proud of.  A
modern day John Adams!  Those men stood up against the red coats and
look at Uncle Frank!

[The two men begin to circle staring each other down. Frank then
charges the legend unloading on him with right hands with Whitecross
only getting in a few shots of his own.]

FH: Uncle Frank using the same tactics our fore fathers used to beat
the British.

CL: And that was?

FH: American strategy at it's finest, Chip!

CL: Oh brother ...  You do realize that England is one of the United
States biggest supporters and allies right?

FH: That's what they want you to think.  Does Whitecross look like our
friend?

CL: Actually he does.

FH: Gibson Hayes needs to bring you in and interrogate you.  Spend a
few hours with Uncle Frank and you will be singing a different tune.

[Uncle Frank now backs The Era of Defiance back into the ropes and
then whips him off the set. Frank wastes no time and charges forward
with a clothesline but Whitecross ducks it. The Legend bounces off
the ropes and nails Frank with a charging running knee lift.]

CL: Whitecross now back into his corner and tags in Sal.

FH: I don't blame him.  Whitecross doesn't want any more of Uncle
Frank.  He has had more then enough over the last few shows.

CL: Whitecross is far from done with Frank Knight.  He just knows this
is a log war and three is better then one.

[Sal enters the ring and immediately fires off right hand after right
hand giving Frank Knight chance to get back into Uncle Frank unstable
mode, softening him up. Sal whips him into the corner and charges
after him, going for a flying crossbody in the corner but Frank
catches him, takes a few steps out and slams him to the mat.]


"___THUUUUD___"


FH: Sal goes squat!

CL: Uncle Frank looks to be in a daze now ... He is looking at Gabriel
Whitecross and he is now sitting Sal up ... And CHOPS him with an
authority in the back.

"___TWAAAAP___"

[Then kicks him in the chest.]

"___THUUUUD___"

FH: That was a direct message for Gabriel Whitecross.  Don't mess with
America!

CL: Uncle Frank bounces off the ropes and nails Sal with a jumping
Knee Drop to the face and he shoves his palms down across the throat
and chest of Sal!




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




... and Sal kicks out!

FH: Wrong move terrorist!

[Frank shouts towards Whitecross and pulls Sal to his feet and goes
for a powerbomb, but Sal counters with a Hurricanrana and quickly
rolls backwards and tags back out to Gabriel Whitecross again.  The
fans roar in support as the Legend storms back inside the ring.]

CL: Whitecross storming in and takes Uncle Frank down again with a
lariat.  And Frank is right back up, but the legend grabs him in a
full nelson.

FH: Do something Livestock and The Gutch!

[Full Nelson Legsweep Faceslam! And Gibson Hayes enforcer flops and
rolls over tagging in the big man, The Gutch.   HIDE THE CHEETOS chant
breaks out in the front row as the tag team champion storms in going
for a Clothesline on Whitecross but the Legend ducks it and as The
Gutch turns around, and is nailed with a Roundhouse Kick to ribs.]

"___CRAAACK___"

CL: Stiff kick right into the Gutch's ribs!

FH: That didn't hurt ... look at all the armor the Gutch has around
those ribs.

[... but it did enough damage as Whitecross goes to whip The Gutch off
the ropes but The Gutch reverses. The Gutch flips Whitecross up onto
his shoulder and nails him with a Tilt-O-Whirl Powerslam as over four-
hundred pounds crash down on the Legend.]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




CL: Close call, but Whitecross shoots a shoulder up as Uncle Frank
nearly begs to be tagged back in.

FH: Frank wants in so bad he can taste it!

[Livestock attempts to calm their partner down as, The Gutch picks
Whitecross up and with a scoop and holds him across his chest ... He
turns towards the PVW number one contenders to the tag team titles,
Max and Sal ... And he drops down with that 400 plus weight again.
And this time he doesn't stay down for the cover as he turns and tags
in his partner in crime, Livestock.]

CL: Whitecross has suffered two powerslam's by the Gutch and now the
other half of the tag team champions, Livestock in and stomping on
the Legend like crazy.

[And with each stomp, Uncle Frank shouts _AGAIN_!]

FH: And Uncle Frank seems to be enjoying himself yet again.

[Livestock mounts the back of Gabriel Whitecross and locks him in a
seated chinlock. As he pulls back with pressure ... Livestock yells to
Sal that he stole his move being a bit derogatory...  which angers him
enough to step into the ring and get into an disagreement with the
referee.]

CL: It looks like Livestock has gotten under the skin of Sal.

FH: It hurts when some one else does things better then you.

[Max Weinrib tries to calm his partner, but Uncle Frank enters the
ring and locks Whitecross in a Boston Crab while Livestock holds the
Camel Clutch.  The crowd roar showing their disapproval.]

CL: Max and Sal are shouting wanting to get in there, but they are
just making things worse as the referee is pushing them back!

FH: A win ... for America!

[The two release the submissions and Frank steps back out onto the
apron.  Livestock picks Whitecross up and whips him off the ropes.
Livestock bends down for a Back Body Drop but Whitecross kicks the tag
champion right in the chops ... He stumbles up and Shortarm
Clothesline takes him down!]

CL: Whitecross stumbles towards his corner ...

FH: And Livestock is doing the same!

[... and the two make a double tag.  Max Weinrib and The Gutch both
enter the ring and Weinrib uses his speed to take the advantage by
throwing out the first punches on the big man. Weinrib whips The Gutch
off the ropes and catches him with a very impressive Spinebuster on
the way back, right in the middle of the ring, covering him ...]

CL: WEINRIB GOT THE GUTCH UP AND THE COVER!




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THR !!!




... The Gutch kicks out ... Livestock enters the ring and goes for a
Clothesline but Max ducks it and takes him down with a gutwrench
powerbomb.


"___THUUUUUUD___"


FH: Max can't be taking down both tag team champions.  Something must
be wrong.

[Max quickly turns his attention back to The Gutch and goes for a
right hand, only to receive a thumb to the eye. The Gutch whips Max
into the corner, then charges after him, decimating him with a huge
Avalanche. Max drops down in the corner and The Gutch looks around at
the crowd, putting his weight on Max Weinrib.]

CL: All that weight across the chest of Max ... And he bounces off the
ropes. He charges forward again, but Max raises his foot and nails The
Gutch as he comes charging.

[The crowd roars in approval as Max pulls himself up in a crouched
position. The Gutch shakes off the cobwebs ... And Max comes charging
and plows right through him with a shoulder tackle, and takes the big
man down!]

FH: That's impossible!  No freakin' way!

CL: Max is here and he is taking it to the Gutch.

[Max Weinrib makes the excited cover ...]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




CL: No! Uncle Frank broke up the pin by pulling Max off of his team
mate.

FH: Frank is shouting now pointing and demanding that Max tags in
Whitecross ...

CL: he is now pleading!

[Max gets up and glares at Uncle Frank with blazing fury in his eyes.
Uncle Frank holds his hands up with a big smile ...  The crowd in full
support cheer Max on who charges with a clothesline, but Livestock out
of nowhere with a spinebuster!]


"___THUUUUUUUD___"


FH: And that's how they do it!

CL: Uncle Frank, Livestock, and The Gutch all begin stomping on Max
Weinrib ...

FH: He deserves it!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

THUMP!

[Jeers turn to cheers as Whitecross and Sal charge in to rescue their
partner.  Whitecross spins Uncle Frank around who seems quite pleased
to see him, but not for long as he is hit with a barrage of right
hands.	Frank swings back, but Whitecross ducks under and hits a
butterfly suplex.]

CL: Uncle Frank rolls to the outside and Whitecross isn't going to
allow, Gibson Hayes enforcer any time to escape as he is right behind
him!  And Sal off the ropes hits The Gutch with a Tornado DDT!

"___THUUUUD___"

FH: What is going on here!

[The referee is trying to get control here ... Max has Livestock
backed up in the corner and he just drills him with a big uppercut
that sends the tag team champion up-and-over the top and to the
outside.]

CL: And now it's down to Max and Sal and The Gutch in the center of
the ring and listen to these fans, Fred!

FH: It's going to take both Max and Sal to do any damage to the beast,
The Gutch.

[... And both men begin working over the 400 pounder.  They back him
up in the corner and send him across with a double Irish whip.  As he
smashes into the corner the turnbuckles make a loud crash as if they
were screaming in agony as the Gutch crashed into them ... The big man
bounces out as Max Weinrib comes charging with a clothesline.  He
collides, but The Gutch stands on his feet ... Sal leaps with a flying
knee that connects and still The Gutch stands on his feet.]

FH: You can't take The Gutch down, Chip.  They need three men and
Whitecross seems to be a little occupied on the outside with our Uncle
Frank.

CL: CL: It looks like Max and Sal are now setting the Gutch up for a
double suplex.

FH: Good luck getting him up.

CL: They did it once before.

FH: He has gained some weight since then.

[Even both men are struggling to lift the Gutch ... The fans roar in
support and finally the PVW number one contenders to the tag team
titles lift him up and over with a double Vertical Suplex.]


"___THUUUUUUUD___"


MAX and SAL !!!

MAX and SAL !!!

MAX and SAL !!!

MAX and SAL !!!


FH: What is going on here?

[Max and Sal are calling for "The Jimmy Carter Blues" ... Sal begins
to set up for the Camel clutch ... Max begins to head towards the
ropes, but gets cracked over the back of his head with a briefcase
from Livestock on the outside.]


"___SMAAAAAAAAAAAACK___"


CL: What the heck!

FH: Follow the law ... Or the law will take care of you!  Thou shall
not do Jimmy Carter Blues!

[The fans roar as referee Jay O'Riley calls for the bell.  Sal leaps
up and charages and tackles Livestock in the midsection and pushes him
back into the corner as the briefcase falls to the mat.  The boo's
turn to a nice popping reaction as Sal begins to work over the tag
team champion.]

*DING*DING*DING*

CL: Sal isn't letting Livestock get a shot in on him ...

FH: No, but there is one more tag team champion, Chip!

[The Gutch has began pushing himself up and he notices the briefcase
near his feet.  He snatches it up ... Sal hears the fans warning and
turns and ducks under a big swing by The Gutch ... He hits the ropes
and rebounds, but Livestock fires out with a freight train spear that
takes Sal off his feet and to the ground.]

CL: And the two versus one advantage by the tag team champions was too
much.

FH: You weren't complaining when Max and Sal were finishing off The
Gutch!

CL: And Whitecross is still having it out with Uncle Frank on the
outside.  Both men on the outside have been at each others throats
like Jackals.

[Livestock and The Gutch pull Sal up ... Livestock sets Sal up for a
vertical suplex and The Gutch hits the ropes and leaps and drills Sal
with a big splash.]

CL: Max still down from that briefcase shot and Sal looks to be in
trouble.  Wait WHITECROSS HAS DOVE UNDER THE ROPES!

FH: Frank is on the floor ... This isn't good.

[Whitecross has apparently gotten the upperhand on the outside and now
is unloading on _BOTH_ tag team champion.  The Legend ducks under a
wild swing ... He nails Livestock with a stiff round house kick.  He
turns and moves behind The Gutch and belly-to-back suplex!]

CL: WHITECROSS IS TAKING ON BOTH TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!  He grabs
Livestock and Powerwhip into the corner ... SPEAR!

FH: The British are coming ... The British are coming!

[The fans are in full behind, Whitecross mode ... However Uncle Frank
slips back into the ring and grabs Whitecross behind with a double
chickenwing, Whitecross now in a bad position bends and Frank drives
him down with a bulldog!]

CL: Frank Knight calls that move, Say Uncle ... And he keeps on the
double chickenwing applying massive pressure on the Legend!

FH: Say Uncle Whitecross .. SAY IT!

CL: Calm down Fred.

[Max and Sal have come too and before they could reach the Gibson
Hayes enforcer, Livestock has grabbed his partner and rolled him to
the outside along with The Gutch.  The fans boo as Uncle Frank is like
a rabid dog trying to get back and fight as the tag team champions
live to fight another day.]

HD: The winners of this match by the ruling of a disqualification ...
Max, Sal, and Gabriel Whitecross!

[The fans roar as Uncle Frank fights to get loose.  He screams out, I
AM COMING FOR YOU!  As Livestock and The Gutch pull him back up the
aisle way as the three fan favorites have all made it to their feet
and call for them to return to the ring.]

CL: You can bet this is far from over.  Max and Sal will get their PVW
tag team title shots soon ... very soon.

FH: Sure after HEAT!

CL: And you can bet that Gabriel Whitecross wants to face Uncle Frank
inside the ring and settle the score once and for all too.

FH: No .. Nobody wants to step inside the ring with Uncle Frank.  I
don't care how pissed off you are.  That's just suicide right there,
Chip.

CL: I think Whitecross can handle himself out there.  We are going
backstage for the first time with Masked Dean.

FH: Has anyone told him that there is a penis on his mask?

CL: Umm ... I was told it's a microphone.

FH: I think he is taking that Masked Bro's thing a little _too_ far.

CL: Let's just go backstage!

[Backstage. T6. The masked interviewer, "Swingin'" Dean Hayes stands
side by side with Phoenix Valley's newest signee, a man that goes,
appropriately enough, by the name of Phoenix. Sporting a weathered
pair of blue jeans and a matching white t-shirt, the guy screams blue
collar as he smiles beneath the face paint.]

DH: We are backstage at Tradition six and I now have the pleasure of
conducting the first interview, with Phoenix Valley Wrestling's newest
superstar in the making...

[He waves a hand in grandiose fashion.]

DH: Phoenix!! Now... Phoenix, can I call you Phoenix?

[Phoenix nods, allowing Dean to continue.]

DH: How does a guy that calls himself Phoenix end up in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling, of all places? Coincidence?

[Phoenix smiles and claps Dean on the back, putting an arm around his
shoulders as he begins speaking.]

"Coincidence? Not so much as... 'I'd like to think of it as...
Destiny. If you'll indulge. My career started to hit stride in my
second year in Japan. The more experience I was able to glean from
overseas, the more I realized, watching what American Wrestling has
become, that it was time to come back stateside and attempt to restore
some of the tradition, some of the integrity that this amazing
business  used to exude in abundance! I have been, and will be,
Phoenix, long before PVW, and long after. But the fact is, when I
stumbled across a tape in Japan labeled "End Game 2" and I watched
this tape it was like a sign from the lord himself. I realized that I
could finally go home, and make my name in the States. It was time for
Phoenix, to go back to Phoenix"

DH: Fair enough. I think a question that has to be on a lot of peoples
minds after Shockwave, is why Tetsuo Kimura?

[The expression behind the face paint sombers up a bit.]

"Well Dean-o, to be honest, there's a few reasons why Tetsuo found
himself on the wrong end of business with yours truly. Cause me and
all the little 'nixers, we don't really care for bullies. That little
display that Kimura put on with Brom was out of line, disrespectful,
and it needed to be put to a stop. Who better to put a stop to it than
me? I didn't see anyone else running down to that ring to help that
kid. That being said, I gotta lotta respect for everything Japanese,
especially the wrestling culture, and Tetsuo also represented what I
knew would be a nearly insurmountable challenge. So yeah, one cause he
was asking for it, and two, because I know what kinda challenge he
represents."

DH: Shed some light on your ultimate goal here in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling?

[The smile returns as he runs a hand through his short cropped hair.]

"Present a worthy challenge, and always give the people their moneys
worth. Win or lose, I will always put on  show, and if I happen to win
a couple titles along that definitely won't hurt"

[He winks at the camera.]

Dean: Thats all the time we have for now, lets go back to Chip and
Fred!

[Fade out as the two men continue their conversation.]

FH: Oh brother ... This guy isn't going to last long.

CL: Why do you say that?

FH: He has no fire ... He comes out saying the company line ...  And
he has picked the wrong hombre to mess with!

CL: He seemed like he had a goal in mind and ready to roll.
Everything sounded good to me.  And I love the name.

FH: It's a shot in the dark at a merchandise gold mind.  They should
have just grabbed Perry Fontana tossed some paint on him and called
him Phoenix.

CL: Except ... he is a jerk.

FH: It's why I like him.  This guy is probably somebody like Outlaw
returning all painted up.  Or maybe it's Caleb Foley ... Except he
looked to tan!

CL: Whoever it is ... He has the fans excited!

[Sammy Knight is shown walking backstage, presumably towards his
locker room in preparation for his challenging match against The
Spectre and the "Misery Machine" Marcus Manson.  Knight, who is
wearing a black hoodie with the words "MY TRADITION STARTS NOW" and
black basketball shorts, is shown wearing some headphones connected to
his iPhone.  As he notices the camera nearing him, he takes off the
headphones, resting them on the back of his neck.]

"Don't even start.  Because I get it.  I really do."

[Knight refuses to let the camera man respond.]

"The entire wrestling world sees me standing in the Valley of Elah in
between a Monster and a Machine and you're asking yourself _WHERE_
exactly does that leave someone like Sammy Knight, huh?"

[Knight quickly nods his head.]

"How can someone like _ME_ compete against two sick and twisted
individuals like Spectre and Manson?"

[The questions keep on rolling.]

"Is this really just a simple case of a taking a lamb out to be
slaughtered?"

[Knight smirks.]

"If only things were that simple.  That cut-and-dry."

[Knight holds up his hand.]

"For the doubters."

[And extends his pointer finger.]

"The Internet pundits."

[Followed by his middle.]

"My opponents."

[His ring.]

"But it isn't.  Because Sammy Knight isn't _JUST_ some lamb on this
farm of Phoenix Valley."

[He quickly shakes his head once again.]

"Not at all.  You got the game twisted if you think that.  Because
you'd be ignoring these teeth.  These ears.  These claws.  Because I
ain't anything close to a lamb."

[Beat.]

"Wrong species.  I _AM_ a wolf in sheep's clothing."

[Beat.]

"And I'm hungry.  Hungry to step into the ring against two of the most
dangerous men on this entire roster."

[He smirks.]

"Spectre, you yourself decided to take a trip to where you _THOUGHT_ I
was from - South Central.  Yet whoever gave you your directions were a
little off.  You see, Compton is about 8 or so miles south of where
you were - a different city, a different community, a different
lifestyle.  In spite of your geographic mishap, your point was not
lost.  _MY_ environment doesn't intimidate you.

It shouldn't.

And for a madman such as yourself, I certainly hope that it wouldn't.
Because I know that you are intimidated by _NOTHING_.  And certainly
not of me.  And I can respect that.  But please, don't think that
standing for 5 minutes on a corner in what you perceive to be the
'hood can ever amount to walking a day in the life of Sammy Knight
because your conclusions, much like your desires for this match, will
ultimately come up..._SHORT_."

[Knight pauses; a deadly stare punishes the camera.]

"And Manson."

[Knight shakes his head.]

"Your spiteful disrespect just continues to grow."

[More head shaking.]

"Even as you describe the mother of my son as nothing less than a
groupie whore.  Even as you call my son a simple accessory, a fashion
statement.  _EVEN_ as you discount anything that I've tried to
accomplish to benefit my son...I see good in you.  I see who you
really are.  Who you _COULD_ be.

But you don't want it.  And then you ultimately question deep down as
to why you remain to be _SO DAMN ANGRY_.  And you can continue to
break bones, tear limbs, and destroy careers but how fleeting is
that?"

[Knight pauses.]

"How quickly until you find yourself looking for that next violent
'fix'?"

[Another pause.]

"You're better than that Manson.  And I know that."

[Knight looks down at the ground momentarily, looking back up into the
camera as focused as ever.]

"Everything that I thought has been confirmed.  I am in for the battle
of my life.  But I don't care.  I am ready.  I am willing.  And even
though I may not be a young Jewish king, I too plan on shocking the
world tonight."

[Knight stares intensely into the camera.]

"Because many people laughed.  His opponent mocked.  But David
believed."

[Beat.]

"And so do I."

[Beat.]

"You can count on that."

[Knight walks away from the camera, putting the earphones back on his
head.  We cut back to the PVW ring where the Voice has been standing
by.]

HD: Introducing first... the challenger, weighing in at one hundred
and ninety five pounds...

["Solamente Una Vez" plays over the PA and nearly every fan in Valley
View Casino Center jumps to their feet! Slowly from the back walks out
a Mexican man, lean yet muscular. He is wearing black tights with
cherry colored boots, cherry colored wrist tape and a cherry colored
hooded cape with the hood pulled up, covering his face. He grabs the
hood and throws it back to reveal a black luchadore mask with cherry
colored eye visors that prevent us from seeing his eyes, cherry
colored "SCII" on the forehead and a daisy sticker on his mask that he
points to.]

HD: Senor....

          ...CLOOOOAAAAAK

                     ...DOOOOOOSSS~!!!

[The crowd erupts in cheers and Senor Cloak Dos begins walking towards
the ring in a slower but more determined way than we are used to. He
sees the young fans along the railings reaching for him and he goes to
them and soon finds himself swarmed with embraces from young fans,
their parents and other fans. All of them crying and trying to touch
the daisy sticker on his mask.]

CL: The sticker, Fred...

FH: We all know what it represents, what happened, and we all knew
this moment was coming. And in spite of all these emotions that may
tug at our heartstrings, we have jobs to do, Chip.

CL: Since Black will be wrestling instead of taunting the innocent, I
believe we can keep our emotions in check. It's so rare that we agree,
but we're professionals. Our listeners depend on us to call this
match...

FH: All we can do is... put aside the emotions for a while, and call
this match.

CL: Exactly. However... before we do that, Fred. Let me once more
extend all of our deepest, most sincere condolences to little Josie's
loving family and friends. Which, in my opinion, is exactly what Senor
Cloak Dos and his fans and doing in their own way, as the challenger
makes his way towards the ring.

[Dos slowly makes his way, embracing emotional fans along the way.
Finally he makes it to ringside and he climbs up the steps onto the
ring apron before grabbing the top rope and hopping over it and into
the ring. The luchadore then climbs to the 2nd turnbuckle of a corner,
looks up to the ceiling of the Valley View Casino Center and he
touches the daisy sticker with one hand and the other he places over
his heart. Then he hops down and he takes off his cape and he waits
for the Television Champion.]

CL: Now, emotions aside... the contest should be an exciting one.
Senor Cloak Dos is already proving to be one of PVW's most beloved
performers ever, not just because of his dazzling abilities, but also
because of his heart!

FH: However, no matter how much fans might want to see him win
tonight, odds are stacked against him, because his opponent is...


HD: Hailing from Lancaster, England, and weighing in at two hundred
and four pounds, he is the PVW Television Champion...

      ..."Bad Wolf"...

            ... CHRISTOPHER BLAAAACK~!!!

[All it takes are the few opening notes of "Painkiller" by the
Freestylers with Pendulum to start playing for the PVW faithful to
ERUPT into massive boos. After a few tense heartbeats, the PVW
Television Champion, the Bad Wolf himself, Christopher Black steps
out. Dressed in his black t-shirt, jeans and Doc Martins, Black's face
is twisted into a cold smirk, blue eyes locked onto the lucha favorite
down in the ring. Behind him stands his financial advisor Jacob Rose.
His client's trademark black leather jacket draped over his arm, the
grim-faced Rose's head is bowed slightly, though whether it's due to
respect for the Bad Wolf's talents or the fact even he can't bear to
look at Black is up in the air.

But the Television Champion's head is raised high. With one hand, the
lanky Englishman thrusts the title belt overhead and the displeasure
of the crowd jumps to near-deafening levels. Black's smirk only widens
into a cruel predator's grin at that reaction. Gaze still fixated on
Senor Cloak Dos, he drags his thumb across his throat as a signal to
cut his music. Without a look back to his financial advisor, he sticks
his empty hand out towards Jacob, who dutifully places a microphone in
it.]

CB: Broken bird don't fly no more, now do she, mate?

[The crowd doesn't let up their booing for a second at that vile
taunt. A low chuckle escapes Black, whose crooked smile now shows only
the barest trace of teeth.]

CL: Oh god... [Chip shakes his head, look of disgust on his face]
Can't Black show some decorum for once in his life?! If not for Senor
Cloak Dos then at least for Josie's family!

FH: For once, you're not gonna get any arguments from me, Chip. But
the Bad Wolf knows how shaken and off his game Dos has got to be right
now and he's going for the jugular! As much as I hate to give anything
to the little twerp, I actually feel sorry for Senor Cloak Dos
tonight!

[Still at the top of the aisle, the Bad Wolf begins to pace, his eyes
never leaving his tormented opponent down at the ring.]

CB: Do you regret it, Dos? Couple o' Shockwaves ago, that dumb yob
Cole got lucky an' was gonna cave the Wolf's head in. But you...
[Black's eyes narrow as sarcasm now drips from every syllable] You
told him to be "better" than that. Be "good". Show mercy... Oooh, he's
touched, mate! Ya got the Wolf-- [he thumps his chest] --right here
with that act o' kindness!

So it was only fittin' that the Bad Wolf passed that _generosity_
along to the next generation.

[The Television Champion's face twists into a mockery of pity as he
shakes his head. The furor of the PVW faithful is only renewed as
Black continues his hateful diatribe towards his foe.]

CB: Ohh, that poor little girl! [The Bad Wolf traces his tongue along
his teeth. A moist smacking sound escapes his lips.] Livin' in
ignorance for all her miserable, tiny life! An' then she got to see
the Wolf! Got to hear, got to _know_ the whole bitter truth you an'
her bastard parents were hidin' from her. That in the end, when the
weak must die, ain't gonna be no heroes to save your sorry ass when ya
need it most.

CL: Somebody, anybody...shut Black's mic off! I'll settle for someone
like Gionet or Manson or even Detson right now to put him in his
place!

FH: Easy, Chip...

CL: But why?! Why does Black have to say any of this?! The crowd's
ready to tear him apart themselves if they got the chance!

FH: Dominance, Chip, pure and simple. Guys like Craven, Spectre and
Nevermind...hell, even Cole when he still had his testicles, you look
at them and you expect them to be monsters. But Black? Black's the
devil who can hide in plain sight -- and THAT is what makes him so
dangerous! He's the guy who didn't bat an eye when the three hundred
pound Sinister answered his challenge. He willingly stood up to Rob
Cole not once but twice and all but said "Thank you, sir, may I have
another?". And all those lessons on violence Craven schooled him in,
the Bad Wolf is now proving he can take it to a new, sick level...all
without laying a hand on ANYONE!

CL: [dryly] And if anyone does attack Black, it throws the title match
out with a DQ.

FH: Like I said, Chip. Devil in plain sight.

CB: Take a little comfort there, mate! [Black is grinning now from ear
to ear] That little girl on her deathbed, those final moments where
she's all-- [His eyes suddenly roll back as a series of shallow,
choking gasps erupts from him.] --lyin' in a pool o' her own piss an'
excrement, she died free! Free from all your lies. The wisdom o' the
Wolf, she took that to the grave.

An' the Wolf? The Wolf took her innocence. [Black's body shakes with
disgusting laughter.] Fair trade, dontcha think? [The Bad Wolf fixes
Senor Cloak Dos with a piercing stare.] Or do ya now regret, Dos?
Under that mask? All the tears, all the empty prayers, all the screams
o' useless rage?!

Let's...

Find...

Out...

[*THUNK* The microphone mercifully drops from the eager Black's hand
as he begins to stalk down the aisle, every step practically daring
his challenger to attack him as the crowd boos all around him.
Seemingly afraid to get too close and still carrying his client's
jacket, Jacob Rose follows a half-dozen steps behind, still unable to
look at the Television Champion.]

CL: Hurt him, Dos! HURT HIM!

FH: I told you, Chip. Odds are stacked against little runt, and now
that Black has made sure that there's no way in hell the luchadore can
keep properly focused on the task at hand... stop hoping Senor Cloak
Dos will win, and start praying he doesn't get hurt.

CL: Fred, I swear, if there's any justice in the world at all...

FH: When he dies, maybe Black will have to answer for what he's done.
Even if he's already been tried and convicted in the court of public
opinion, Chip, this isn't a Disney movie. Only the strongest get
justice in the ring.

CL: Don't underestimate Cloak's resolve, Fred! Many have done it
before, and they came up short.

FH: I can't deny that, but you can't deny that with Josie's passing,
and Black pouring even more salt in these emotional wounds... The
masked twerp can't be in his right mind.

[Showing amazing poise under the circumstances, Senor Cloak Dos
appears primed and ready to meet Black in the ring, which might be why
the Champion reclaims his jacket from Rose, while giving some
instructions to his financial advisor. Reluctantly, Jacob Rose climbs
the apron, and complains to the referee as he points out the
luchadore.]

CL: For someone who didn't bat an eye when Sinister challenged him,
he's taking his sweet time getting in the ring!

FH: Champion's privilege, Chip.

[As per Rose's request, the referee instructs Senor Cloak Dos to step
back so the Champion can enter the ring fairly... but it's only when
the luchadore complies that we notice that Black is no longer by his
financial adviser's side... but jumping Cloak from behind instead! The
crowd roars with boos when Black wraps his leather jacket around
Cloak's throat, taking down to the mat. Pulling with all his might,
Chris Black slips through the bottom two ropes to increase the
leverage of his choke, pulling even harder when he pushes off the
apron to choke the life out of Dos!]

CL: Just when you thought that man couldn't be a bigger scumbag!

FH: And Cloak's hopes wilt a little more...

[The referee warns Black that he'll throw out the match, but as he
pulls on the jacket that chokes SCD, the Englishman calls the bluff
and dares the referee to disqualify him even before the bell has rung,
knowing the man in the striped shirt won't want to cost the luchadore
his chance at gold. Cloak's arms flail, and as he begins to slip into
unconsciousness, Black balls a fist and jabs straight at Josie's
flower. Black smirks with self-satisfaction, Rose steps back a little
to disassociate himself, the San Diego fans scream the most injurious
insults and Senor Cloak Dos... he already seems lifeless. As the
referee untangles the luchadore from leather jacket and ropes, Black
rolls back inside the ring, strutting confidently.]

FH: Hate to say I told you so, Chip, but...

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \               T6: PVW TV Championship Match:
 / / / /_/ /            Senor Cloak Dos -vs- Christopher Black
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*


*DING*DING*DING*

[Dos is barely freed that Black swoops in. He grabs the little masked
bro by the head and takes him down with a snap mare. Pushes his
shoulders to the mat with a lateral press...]

ONE~!

...

CL: Dos kicks out! Obviously... How condescending was that pin
attempt, Fred?

FH: The twerp looked out of it to me...

CL: You can't pin Senor Cloak Dos that easily! Come on!

[Black's a bit surprised but the kick out, but he keeps his wits and
stays on the offense. He reaches down to pull up Dos, but the
luchadore reaches up, grabs him, rolls him...]

CL: Small package... One!... Two...

[DEFLATED POP!]

FH: It's Black's turn to kick out!

[Like a flash, SCD's already runs the ropes while Black gets to his
feet. Cloak charges in with a shoulder block, but despite his weight,
Black stonewalls him like a rugby tackler and it's Dos who slams on
his back. But the elusive luchadore athletically reaches up with his
feet, trapping the Bad Wolf's head between his crossed ankles and
performs a headstand... the fans draw in their breath... and Dos spins
on his mask, simultaneously untwisting his legs, and the accumulated
momentum sends Black flying in the air and crashing on his back! The
fans scream their enthused approval, but the Bad Wolf is undeterred.
Arching his aching back, Black scrambles to his feet, just as the
luchadore twists in the air, headscissors the Brit, and flips him down
to the mat again with a graceful spinning legscissors... out of which
Senor Cloak Dos lands on his feet!]

CL: WOW! Another awesome move from Senor Cloak Dos!

FH: It's pretty, but it's not knocking anyone out. Christopher Black's
already back to his feet...

[Again Cloak runs the ropes, leaps up, headscissors Black... sits on
Black's shoulders, then flips over, rolling down his opponent with him
in a spectacular sunset flip! Crowd cheers as the referee slides down
next to the Bad Wolf's pinned shoulders...

ONE~!

...

[Cloak has him rolled up tightly...]

...


TWO~!!

...


[Black's fighting, but he's trapped!]

...


...


THREE?

CL: OWW! Black kicks out! Boy, that was close!

FH: I can't believe it! Could it be that Christopher Black's plan
backfired? I thought Cloak would be mentally out of it!

CL: He's as alert and fast as ever, Dos is showing just how much poise
he really has!

[The luchadore shows no signs of slowing down. He boots Black in the
gut to fold him over, then he sprints across the ring, leaps up to the
center of the top rope and springboards up and soars over his
opponent!

*FLASHBULBS!*


... In mid-air, SCD grabs Black and flips him over along the way,
pinning his shoulders to the mat with a jaw-dropping sunset-flip, and
here comes another pin! The referee's hand slaps the mat!]

ONE~!

...

TWO~!

...

...

[Just before the referee's hand slaps down a third and final time,
Black smashes SCD's mask between his knees to break the pinfall
attempt, to the crowd's utter disappointment! But still, the luchadore
is once again a few steps ahead when the Bad Wolf gets up. SCD's ready
for him, reddening the Brit's chest with some chops!]

"___THWAACK~!___"

"___THWAACK~!___"

"___THWAACK~!___"

[Dos pushes Black into the ropes, then whips him across, and when the
Bad Wolf comes running on the rebound...]

CL: BIG DROPKICK! Squarely on Black's head!

FH: I think that one caught the Bad Wolf by surprise!

[Woozy, Black gets back to his feet, and walks straight into Cloak's
armdrag! ... And then another! Then a running dropkick that sends
Black tumbling into the turnbuckle! The fans go wild as Dos steps up
to Black, trapping the Brit in the corner as he climbs up to the
second rope, taking Black by the mane as he tightly closes his right
fist...  And then comes the anticipated first punch!]

*UNOS!*

[The enthused crowd chants along with the second punch!]

*DOS!*

[And again!!]

*TRES!*

[Then Cloak plants both feet on Black's chest and falls backwards into
the ring, grabbing the Bad Wolf by the head and flipping him all the
way across in a most spectacular way! Fans across the arena are on
their feet, cheering on for their favorite luchadore!]

CL: Amazing! Simply amazing!

[The Amazing SCD runs across the ring and springboards off the
opposite turnbuckles to crash on top of Black with a big leg drop!
Cloak scrambles over the Bad Wolf, hooks the leg, and...

ONE~!

...

TWO~!

...

CL: NO! Black kicks out!

[Undeterred, Dos jolts up and dashes into the ropes, charging back
with a flying crossbody block just as Black gets to his feet! He falls
on top of the Bad Wolf, hooks his leg again.]

CL: Does he have him this time? One! ... Tw- NO! Black kicks out
again.

FH: No big surprise there, frankly. Even on the receiving end, Black
has to see the pattern... Flash pins no longer take you off your guard
when you expect them.

CL: Perhaps, but Senor Cloak Dos will think of something. He's back on
the offense, and here come some more knife-edged chops!

"___THWAACK~!___"

"___THWAACK~!___"

"___THWAACK~!___"

"___THWAAAACK~!___"

[With Black reeling from the pain, Cloak Irish whips him again. With a
resounding thud, the Bad Wolf crashes into the turnbuckles as Dos
heads to the opposite corner, taking careful aim at his opponent. He
rubs the little flower sticker for good luck... and off he goes! He
sprints, jumps, bounces in a handprings, cartwheels through the air,
props out his elbow... fans hold their breath...]

CL: CLOAK ELBOOOWWW....

"___TTTHHHUUUDDD!!!___"

FH: NOBODY HOME!

CL: OH NO!!!

[When Black slinks out of the corner, it becomes a hard landing into
the turnbuckles for the luchadore, and crashes in a heap at the Bad
Wolf's feet, completely out!! A hush falls over the arena.  On all
fours, exhausted, Black reaches for the bottom ropes for support while
he catches his breath, recollects his thoughts.]

FH: That's the cost of Senor Cloak Dos' style, Chip. When you throw
your body around like that, sooner or later, it bites you in the ass.
It ain't called "high risk" for nothing.

CL: He still came this close to winning this match at least twice
already, if not more!

FH: He's had his chances, but with Christopher Black's "low risk"
offense, the twerp may not get more.

[Back to his feet, Black sizes up the supine Dos, and drops a precise
knee right on the luchadore's shoulder. He lightly kicks at Dos' mask
with disdain, already adding salt to a future injury, then drives an
elbow straight into Senor Cloak Dos' throat! SCD clutches as his
throats as he spasms on the mat, Black feels his all of his confidence
and arrogance returning... and the fans boo! Methodically, Black picks
up Dos, and drapes him over his shoulder, only to take the running
start he needs to ram the luchadore upside down in the ring corner!]

"__THUUUUUD~!__"

[Black folds SCD's feet behind the top turnbuckle, and the masked man
is at the Brit's mercy, completely trapped! Somberly grinning, Black
takes aim... then jams his knee right into the luchadore's
midsection!]

"__THOOOCK~!__"

[And again...]

"__THOOOCK~!__"

[And yet again!]

"__THAAACK~!__"

[Noticing that, in spite of the vicious blows, Dos remains trapped in
this tree of woe, Black nods as he back-steps to the opposite corner.
At the perfect moment, he sprints back across and dives into a
baseball slide that practically beheads SCD!! The impact has such
force, in fact, that Dos falls out of the corner onto his stomach, his
mask practically askew. Standing at ringside, Black seems especially
pleased with himself. He pulls on Cloak's arm, and slams it on the
ring post's cold, unforgiving steel! And then... he sees it. SCD's
mask, slightly off kilter.]

CL: Uh-oh... I think Black's getting an idea.

FH: And truth be told, doesn't seem anyone likes the way Black's ideas
turn out...

[Black tugs on SCD's arm to pull him out of the ring further, until
the masked man's shoulders are on the apron, his head jutting out and
exposed. Black grabs the top of the luchadore's mask with his left
hand... then viciously strikes SCD's nose with his elbow! And now that
Dos seems good and out, Black slides back in the ring and clutches at
the black and cherry colored mask!]

CL: WHAT THE HECK IS BLACK DOING?

FH: THE MASK! He's taking off the twerp's mask!

[HEEL POP!]

CL: What? He can't do that!

FH: This isn't the ASLL, Chip, and no matter how close to the border
San Diego is, we're not in Mexico. The traditions of lucha libre mean
nothing to Christopher Black.

CL: But that's the mask with... with Josie's flower!

[The fans are appalled, and that can be heard loud and clear! But
feeling Black's fingers pulling at the mask, untying the laces... it
activated some survival reflex in SCD, and weakened as he may be, his
hands dart back to his black and cherry mask, thwarting the Bad Wolf's
plan. Once up, Black viciously stabs SCD in the neck with a throat
strike, then drills his mask into the unforgiving canvas with a big
Implant DDT!]

"__THUUUUUD~!__"

FH: Did you see that? The twerp bounced on his head like he's a pogo
stick!

CL: Dos is in some trouble, no doubt about it.

FH: Wait... why isn't Black going for the pin, here?

[The answer? Because he's trying to rip off SCD's black and cherry
colored mask, again. Just the thing to rile these San Diego fans up!
He twists Cloak's arm into a grounded hammerlock, then reaches for the
mask with his left hand. But Black is no southpaw, and the mask is
tougher to remove than expected...

Suddenly, SCD jams an elbow backwards, right into Black's abdomen! The
Bad Wolf sucks in his breath, which gives Cloak the opening he needs
to get back to his feet, pulling up his opponent with him, hammerlock
still applied. With better positioning, Dos strikes backwards to hit
Black's temple with his left elbow then steps forward to straighten
his arm and escape the hammerlock! But the fans can only groan in
disappointment, because Black still kept his wits, and he still held
SCD'd wrist... and he uses both to keep the advantage with a straight
arm lock!]

CL: Ack! I thought Cloak Dos had it!

FH: Black's as capable and crafty as he is hated, Chip.

[SCD, Black still twisting his arm, working that joint, circles the
ring, looking for any escape. Even through the screams of pain, he
bids his time... and makes his move! He twists one way, then the other
and knees Black in the gut, which loosens the grip just enough for Dos
to leap over as if he was performing a tornado DDT! The crowd cheers
when Dos' escape succeeds! ... But as soon as he lands behind Black's
left side, the Brit swoops with a leg trip! Cloak tumbles down again,
right back into the arm lock!]

FH: Christopher Black is quite the hooker... and we know Senor Cloak
Dos doesn't go for those.

CL: Well, for now it appears Cloak Dos is trapped in a hell he can't
escape from.

FH: I knew it. The runt's married!

CL: Not to my knowledge, no.

FH: Why else would he turn down a masked bro's hoes? Seriously, who
does that? Free hoes, Chip. Hoes you don't even need to pay for.

CL: Uh-hun. Can we talk about a different subject, here?

FH: And plural! Not just a ho... but hoes! Because there are multiple
free hoes that could've been had. And he turned them down. The only
reason that kinda makes sense is... Because he's married!

CL: Or perhaps S.C.D. doesn't want an S.T.D.

[Cloak on his back, writhing in pain, still trapped in the arm lock...
He pushes up with his free arm on Black's face, then headscissors the
Bad Wolf! He pulls Black over him to the other side and the fans
cheer... until they notice that in spite of all this, Black still has
the arm lock applied! But all these efforts did bring the luchadore
back to his feet, and he swings himself in desperation, until his boot
lands on the bottom rope! Now, finally, the referee steps in, counting
down Black's hold.]

CL: HE MADE IT!

FH: Black's showing no signs of breaking this arm lock, though...

CL: He will, or he'll be disqualified.

FH: Chip... Christopher Black doesn't care if he gets disqualified. In
fact, it would suit him just fine. He'd lose the match, but he'd be
walking out of San Diego with his Television Title.

[Fred has it right, Black doesn't care. He even dares the referee to
DQ him, and cost SCD his chance at gold. The fans are boiling with
anger and disgust! Scoffing, Black drags Cloak Dos back to the middle
of the ring with his arm lock... but using the top rope for leverage,
the amazing SCD does a back flips! And the crowd gasps with hope when
springboards off the middle rope... and right back into Christopher
Black's arm lock.]

          S!   C!   D!          S!   C!   D!

          S!   C!   D!          S!   C!   D!

          S!   C!   D!          S!   C!   D!

CL: Fans chant his name, but Senor Cloak Dos still can't find an
escape!

[Again Dos circles within the ring, Black twisting his arm, applying
severe pressure on the elbow joint with his arm lock. In a sudden
motion, Cloak back bumps to the mat and pushes his feet up into the
Bad Wolf's abdomen, flipping him over so he crashes spine first on the
mat! Even as the arm lock remains unbroken, SCD defly rolls over,
pushing Black's shoulders down on the mat! The referee slides down for
the count as the crowd cheers with hopeful anticipation...]


ONE~!

...

[Black applies more pressure on the arm lock! SCD screams in pain, but
maintains the pin!]

...

TWO~!

...

...

Kick-out!

[Deflated Pop!]

CL: Oh! So close!

FH: But Black had to break his own hold to kick out. The twerp is
finally free!

[SCD bolts up... but right into a completely blatant low-blow from
Black. Add a vicious European Uppercut, and the luchadore falls right
back into Christopher Black's damned arm lock!]

CL: You're KIDDING! The arm lock? Again?

FH: The referee clearly saw that low blow, and decided not to act upon
it. Black should already have been disqualified a few times.

CL: He knows Black just wants to use that loophole to keep his
Television Title.

FH: Referees are always more tolerant for championship matches, but
this time, it seems different.  Now, I don't know if it's because of
the emotions surrounding this match, but it seems likely.

CL: Maybe you're right. I can't imagine little Josie would want to see
Senor Cloak Dos get cheated...

FH: She wouldn't want to see him trapped in an inescapable arm lock
either. I told you, Chip, this ain't no Disney movie.

[Shaking his head from the pain, SCD makes another break for it! He
bolts up the turnbuckles, flips backwards in the air over Black and
pulls him up, over and down with a arching arm drag!]

"__SLAAAM~!__"

[Black crashes on his back, and the fans go bananas when Senor Cloak
Dos rolls over the Bad Wolf to transform the move into a Fujiwara
Armbar!!]

CL: YES! Black getting a taste of his own medicine!

[The crowd goes wild as the Bad Wolf howls in pain! He scrambles on
his belly, practically panicked, desperately trying to squirm his way
forth until he can reach the sanctuary of the ropes... Inch by inch he
crawls, biting his lip and fighting the tears... stretching his arm...
he finally makes it, and grabs the bottom rope!]

FH: Black is free.

CL: Only because Senor Cloak Dos breaks a hold when the referee asks
him to, unlike some other scumbags.

[Cloak stuns Black with a quick forearm to the jaw, takes his wrist
and whips him into the ropes... but Black reverses, and it's SCD who
bounces into the ropes! But on the return trip, SCD rolls over the Bad
Wolf's back, and hooks him on the way down with a schoolboy pin
attempt!]

ONE~!


...


TWO~!


...


...


CL: Three? NO!

FH: Black lifts up a shoulder just in time!

CL: Cloak almost won!

FH: That's not what it looks like to me, Chip.

[Rolling out of the pin attempt, Black tackles SCD down with a double-
leg take down, then forcefully stomps into the luchadore's gut to suck
the breath out of him! Dos rolls on the canvas, clutching his gut...
Black smirks, and punts the little masked bro's head!]

FH: You see... Senor Cloak Dos fights like a man who knows he has
already lost. Black's in control of this match, the little twerp knows
he's over-matched, and so he keeps going for the "Hail Mary."

CL: It almost worked!

FH: Face it. As much as we hate the man, Black's strategy worked. The
Mexican's completely off the game, mentally. He knows he won't make
Black tap, he knows he won't knock him out... all he has left are the
few desperate pin attempts of a defeated wretch. On another day, maybe
Cloak could pull it off. Maybe. But tonight he's got little Josie
weighing heavily on his mind.

[Slowly, methodically, Black circles around SCD like a predator
stalking his prey... He jabs a knee in the small of Cloak's back,
kicks the back of his mask, then traps him in standing headscissors.
Black slips on the underhooks, lifts... then drops to his knees!]

"__THUUUUUD~!__"

CL: PILEDRIVER! That's not good!

FH: Landing on your head is never good...

CL: And look at how smarmy Black is in making this pinfall!

[Black lounges over Cloak, and the referee counts.]

ONE~!

...

CL: Come on, cloak! Come on!

...

TWO~!

...

FH: Nah, it's over, Chip.

...

THREE~?

...

CL: HE GOT A SHOULDER UP! SCD's still in this! He's still in this!

FH: Looks like it's only delaying the impossible. I think this one was
over right there, Chip. If Black had really hooked the leg with a
textbook pin, I don't think the little twerp would've made it.

CL: He would have, because he HAS to win!

FH: Real life ain't a fairy tale, Chip. Scrawny little tailors don't
fell giants, and no wayward hunter saves Little Cherry Riding Mask
from the Bad Wolf's  clutch.

[Black's surprised, but not necessarily disappointed. He stalks the
struggling luchadore, and at the perfect moment, pounces on his prey,
applying a Full Nelson! Cloak fights, screams... but he falls to one
knee, and that only enables Black to apply even more pressure!]

CL: Don't give up, SCD!

FH: He probably should, though.

[The pugnacious luchadore doesn't look willing to give up, though.
Especially not on a night like this... and judging by their chants,
the fans are like minded.]


     LET'S GO CLOAK DOS, LET'S GO!		LET'S GO CLOAK DOS,
     LET'S GO!

     LET'S GO CLOAK DOS, LET'S GO!		LET'S GO CLOAK DOS,
     LET'S GO!

     LET'S GO CLOAK DOS, LET'S GO!		LET'S GO CLOAK DOS,
     LET'S GO!


CL: There's still a lot of fight left in Senor Cloak Dos, Fred! You
don't know him like I do!

FH: If I wanted to know a Mexican, I'd talk to my maid... whatever her
name is.

[With the crowd's help, Dos gets back to his feet... and pulls himself
towards the ropes, one heavy foot at a time. He reaches out, and his
fingers can almost reach the rope... almost! Freedom is right there at
his fingertips! ... And that's when Black leaps on his back to pull
SCD down to the mat, wrapping his legs around the luchadore's waist,
adding bodyscissors to an already taxing Full Nelson!]

CL: NOOO!

FH: Yep, it's over, now.

[His hopes crushed, SCD screams out of agony, Black mocking him in his
ear... goading him into throwing the towel! But in spite of the
agonizing pain, Dos doesn't give up, he can't! But he's trapped...
truly trapped, and Black knows it. The Brit leans in, and mimics a
choking death rattle, pours salt into the wound!]

CL: How disrespectful can Black possibly get?

FH: Seems the sky's the limit, with him.

CL: Or rather, the deepest level of Hell is the limit. But the fans
won't let Black win, listen to them, Fred!

FH: Are they... trying to drown out Black's taunts with a chant of
their own?

CL: They are!


	ESS!	SEE!	DEE!		ESS!	SEE!	DEE!


	ESS!	SEE!	DEE!		ESS!	SEE!	DEE!


	ESS!	SEE!	DEE!		ESS!	SEE!	DEE!


[As if the fan's support fed him additional endurance, and extra
energy, Senor Cloak Dos pushes on the mat with a foot, which makes
both men roll closer to the ropes, even if it does nothing to break
the unforgiving Full Nelson. Extending his other leg, SCD tries to
drag himself - and his opponent - to the ropes, the crowd chanting his
name with every inch of progress!]


		DOS!

		DOS!

		DOS!

		DOS!

		DOS!

		DOS!

....		YEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHH!!!


CL: HE MADE IT!

[The luchadore's ankle lands on the bottom rope, and the spectators go
nuts! He persevered, never gave up, won the right to freedom... but
when the referee tells Black to break his hold, he stubbornly refuses
to listen! That fast, the ring is inundated with boos, until,
completely disgusted, the official himself physically intervenes to
pull Senor Cloak Dos out of the Full Nelson! Black argues with the
referee, dares him to disqualify him instead.]

FH: Why doesn't he disqualify Black? He certainly earned it, by now!

CL: This referee doesn't want to see such cheap tactics in a match as
important as this one, Fred. This is a Television Championship match.
This is Tradition! This is for Josie!

[Methodically, Black pulls up Cloak, and traps him in a Dragon
Sleeper... only he's not going for the submission. What he's really
going for is Senor Cloak Dos' mask again, a tactic that elicits
complete disgust among the fans in attendance. Even Black's financial
advisor, Jacob Rose, shakes his head in disapproval.]

CL: Leave the mask alone, Black!

[The Bad Wolf pulls at the mask, still maintaining a mostly functional
dragon sleeper. But even folded backwards, SCD comes to life and
stiffly strikes the top of Black's cranium with his knee! The Brit is
stunned, the hold is broken, the fans come alive... Senor Cloak Dos
grabs his opponent's head and backflips over, falling on top of his
opponent in a pinning position!]

...

!!! O N E !!!

...

!!! T W O !!!

...

CL: Owww, Black kicks out!

[But the cheering fans have brought SCD back to life! He darts into
the ropes, and when a disoriented Chris Black stumbles to his feet,
Cloak leaps and sends him flying across the ring with a jaw-droppingly
spectacular spinning legscissors! A move that throws Black with such
force that he falls out of the ring under the bottom rope, where he
crashes on the ringside mats! One one knee, Senor Cloak Dos nods,
kisses his fingers... and touches Josie's flower sticker.]

CL: That's right, Dos! Do it. Do it for Josie!

[The luchadore runs the ropes again, but this time, he dives over the
opposite rope, and leaps high into the air...


*FLASHBULB!*

*FLASHBULB!*

*FLASHBULB!*

... And CRASHES right on top of Christopher Black!]

CL: TOPE! PLANCHA! SUICIDE-AHHH! TOPE-AHHHHHHH! PLANCHAAAAAAAAAHHH!!!

FH: Jose Ignacio, leave this man's body!

CL: DID YOU SEE THAT? Listen to those fans roar!

FH: Never liked the flippy stuff, but he did with such speed, with
such height... and Black caught all of it and more! I never imagined
Senor Cloak Dos could leap that far, it's as if... as if...

CL: As if celestial hands came down from Heaven to give him that extra
bit of divine distance?

FH: I was going with "as if he jumped from a trampoline," but
whatever.

[The massive impact took it's toll on Senor Cloak Dos, of course, but
in time, he does struggle back to his feet to slowly stumble towards
the ring, hunched over with fatigue, readjusting his precious mask. He
reaches the apron as the referee counts eight, and rolls under the
bottom rope to break the official's count... then begins the return
trip to Black's inert body.]

CL: As you know, Cloak Dos has to bring Black back to the ring, Fred.
He can't win the Television Championship on a count-out, and he has to
win it. He HAS to, for Josie!

FH: I keep telling you, Chip, this isn't some Hollywood movie. In
wrestling, the bad guys win.

[Cloak pulls up Black, and drags him towards the ring by the arm. As
he goes to whip the Brit into the ring, under the bottom rope, the Bad
Wolf reverses! Both men twist, and it's Senor Cloak Dos who ends up
being unwittingly projected face first into the steel post!]


"__CLAAAAAAANNNNG~!__"


[Senor Cloak Dos crumples down to the ringside mat, lifeless, and the
fans boo with all their might. Black leans onto the apron to
recuperate.]

CL: No! This can't be!

FH: Hate to say I told you so, Chip. Especially in circumstances like
these.

[His wits restored, Black pulls up the luchadore towards the ring
steps, twists his arm and spins him into a hammerlock, lifts him...]


"__CLAAAAAAANNNNG~!__"

[VICIOUS HEEL POP!]

CL: NO!

FH: WOLF'S BANE!

CL: ON the steel steps? What's Black trying to DO? End a career?

[Black grins with a sickening arrogance, visibly getting a kick out of
his own despicable cruelty as he pulls up Senor Cloak Dos, who's
practically deadweight at this point, and stuffs him back into the
ring.]

FH: This match is as good as over.

CL: It can't be over! It can't be! And don't you say anything about
good guys finishing last!

FH: What am I supposed to say, then?

[SCD's inert and lifeless... but Christopher Black isn't going for the
pin. He leans over, cradling the luchadore's head in his left hand...
then rips off the flower sticker little Josie placed on the mask!]

CL: OH MY GOD!

[THE FLAMES OF HELL SWALLOW SAN DIEGO WHOLE AS CHRIS BLACK NOW TOPS
THE FBI'S MOST WANTED LIST HEEL ANTI-POP!]

CL: DID HE JUST DO WHAT I THINK HE JUST DID?

FH: Wow. Yeah... That's low. And he's gloating about it, too!

CL: HE'S A DEAD MAN! A DEAD MAN!

FH: Stay in your chair, Chip!

CL: LEMME GO, FRED! IMMA KILL HIM!

FH: No. He'd kill _you_!

[San Diego is on the verge of a riot! Literally! A crazed fan tries to
climb into the ring, but Jacob Rose intervenes to stop him. The fans
are rabid, absolutely berserk! Additional security storms to ringside
to contain this wave of unadulterated hatred... and all Black does is
flick the sticker to the ground in mock disgust, which of course only
adds fuel to the fanatic's fire!]

CL: THAT MAN IS THE DEVIL! THE DEVIL! This... This... This is the
absolute worst thing he could possibly do!

FH: There is no low Christopher Black won't stoop to, to get his way.
I've done my best to play devil's advocate, but I can't. Not for
something like this.  Christopher Black is flat out indefensible.

[Security's still battling with numerous fans attempting to jump the
barricades to deal with Black themselves, but the match itself isn't
over. Black struts to one of the corners, climbs up the turnbuckles to
sit on the top-most padding, then leaps off!]

FH: Knee drop!

[HUGE POP!]

CL: Dos rolled out of the way!

[The luchadore runs the ropes, charges towards his opponent, and
flattens him with a Thesz Press!! He lays in the punches, and the
elated crowd count with him!]


		UNOS!


		DOS!


		TRES!!!


[Still straddling Black, Cloak reaches back to hook a leg and the
referee slides in for the count...


ONE~!

...

CL: Please let this be it...

...

TWO~!

...

CL: Oh, please please let this be it!

...

THR-

CL: DAMMIT!

FH: Yeah, Black kicked out.

[But SCD's riding this wave, and he's back on his feet, running the
ropes again, only to practically behead Chris Black with the stiffest
Shining Wizard this side of Hogwarts!]

CL: SENOR WIZARD!!

FH: Oh! Now's the time to get that pin! Black is OUT!

[Dos falls on top of Black, hooks the leg and the referee slaps that
PVW mat!]

...

ONE~!

...

[SCD has that leg solidly hooked!]

...

TWO~!

...

[Black's completely, utterly unconscious, both shoulders flat on the
canvas.]

...

...

THREE!!!

[SAN DIEGO ERUPTS WITH CHEERS!]

CL: YEEEEEEESSSS! I KNEW IT! I KNEW IT! This is fate! This is Destiny!
This is...

FH: The referee's waving it off, Chip!

[IMMENSE DEFLATED POP!]

FH: Black's foot is on the bottom rope!

CL: But...

FH: Jacob Rose put it there, you can see it on the replay!

CL: You're right, I wasn't even looking at him! Why would he do this?
He didn't even look like he wanted to do it!

FH: Because he wants to keep his job, that's why he did it!

[Regardless, the match continues, and Senor Cloak Dos now has to pull
all the stops! He goes up top, perches himself on top of the
turnbuckles... He nods, shakes a fist to psych himself up, he kisses
his fingers then... all of the San Diego fans suck in their breath
when he reaches up to touch Josie's flower... the sticker that is no
longer there!]

CL: Oh no...

FH: He didn't know! He didn't realize Black ripped it off!

CL: This is horrible! AIEEE!

[SCD looks around, confused, lost, bamboozled... and as Black rises,
he must do something... but the sticker is gone! Yet, he must act! In
desperation, Cloak Dos finally leaps...]

"__SSTHTOOOOCKKK~!___"

"__BRRAAAOOOMMMM~!___"

[HEEL POP!]

CL: Lord almighty! Black leaped up with an uppercut, and connected
with Cloak's jaw in mid-air!

FH: I think they call that one the Ruddy Uppercut across the pond. Ask
Drogba how that one feels...

[SCD looks like a broken heap of a man, laying lifeless in the ring.
Completely spent himself, Black slowly crawls over, and drapes an arm
over the luchadore...]

ONE~!

...

CL: No... no...

...

TWO~!

...

CL: This can't be over! Not like this...

...

THREE~?

...

[MASSIVE POP!]

CL: He got a shoulder up!

FH: Incredible! The little twerp's a new strain of cucaracha that just
won't die no matter how hard you squash it!

[Black is absolutely shocked by this turn of events! How this twerp
weathered the Full Nelson, and how he survived this... it can't be!
The Bad Wolf bestrides the supine luchadore and pulls up his own leg
so that his own shin pushed up under SCD's chin! Visibly, Black's
going for the Lamb to the Slaughter gogoplata, and he's doing it from
mount instead of the usual rubber guard!]

CL: Uh-oh!

FH: Black showing his versatility! He masters the Lamb to Slaughter so
completely, he execute it from all sorts of-...

CL: Wait!

[Out of nowhere, the flexible SCD slips his own legs under the Bad
Wolf's arms before he can lean in to complete his hold, and rolls him
backwards into a surprise pin! The ref slides in and...]

...

ONE~!


...



[Black's all tied up, and his shoulders are pinned...]


...


TWO~!


...


[Black's own leg, the one whose shin is still lodged deep under
Cloak's chin, is the limb that prevents him from kicking out of this
predicament! He can't move! He's trapped!]


...


THREE~?


...


[DEFLATED POP!]


CL: NO! This was it! This was supposed to be it! How could this not be
it?

FH: Black barely got a shoulder up, Chip. I'm sorry.

CL: NOOO!

[As the two men break apart, Dos being out of breath, Black is first
to his feet, and he quickly reigns in his opponent do drive him skull
first into the mat with a DDT!]

"__THUUUUUUD~!__"

[Black shakes his head in frustration. Clearly, the situation calls
for more extreme measures.  He pulls up Dos in a front facelock, lifts
him... and sits the masked wrestler on top of the top turnbuckle
before climbing up himself. Precariously perched on the ringpost,
Black pulls up SCD, lifts his arm and applies another face lock...
grips the side of Cloak's waist...]

CL: No... Not the Delta Wave!

[But the anxious crowd starts to cheer when Dos blocks the vertical
lift with his leg... then they cheer even louder when he knees Black
in the gut and pushes him off the top turnbuckle! And the entire arena
leaps for joy when Black crashes in the middle of the ring with a
thunderous boom! But right before leaping off... Senor Cloak Dos
stops, and turns to stone on top of the ringpost, like a masked
gargoyle.]

FH: What's wrong?

CL: He doesn't have Josie's flower!

[But then, he sees it! On the mat, close to the ropes! It's the
sticker! Instantly, Senor Cloak Dos drops off the ring corner, picks
up the sticker and places it right back where it belongs to massive
cheers of approval!]


		JOSIE!		JOSIE!		JOSIE!

		JOSIE!		JOSIE!		JOSIE!

		JOSIE!		JOSIE!		JOSIE!


[Dos shakes a fist, kisses his fingers... touches the flower... and he
bolts up the turnbuckles!]

CL: EL TRIBUTO DE ORIGINAL!

[Everything in its right place, the stars have serendipitously
aligned... Dos sprints up the turnbuckles, then leaps off with
lightning speed and maximum velocity...


...


*FLASHBULBS*

...


He graciously turns as he arcs through the air...


...


*FLASHBULBS*


...


Horrified fans gasp as Black rolls out of the way...]


...


CL: LORD, NO!


[... And Senor Cloak Dos lands hard! Terribly hard... right on his two
feet! Black thinks he outwitted his opponent, but SCD landed on his
feet! From behind, he hooks a leg behind Black's arm, hooks the other,
then rolls up his unsuspecting foe!]


CL: LA MAGISTRAL!



ONE~!


...


[Black's too shocked to fight!]


...



TWO~!



...



[Now Black starts to kick to try and free himself... but no one does a
Magistral Cradle as well as the Amazing SCD can!]



...



THREE~!!!



...



...



...



[SHAKE THE ENTIRE BUILDING DOWN TO ITS VERY FOUNDATIONS POP!!!]


CL: HE DID IT! YES! YES! YES!

FH: Unbelievable!

CL: That's how SCD rolls... up a magistral cradle! YES!

FH: I... I can't believe it!

CL: NEW CHAMPION! WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION!

[The fans clamor his name, and everyone in the arena rejoices...
except Black, pacing around the ring, a murderous look of pure evil
anger in his eyes.]

FH: And Black can't believe it either! He looks like he could take
down the entire roster, right now!

[Jacob Rose pleads with his client to leave the area, but Black can't
be tamed. When some of the additional security that came down to
prevent a riot block his way, a seething Black spits at them and
storms off up the aisle, his financial advisor chasing after him.]

CL: Well he deserves it! He deserves it all! Because sometimes, the
bad guys lose, Fred. Even bad wolves lose! You know why?

FH: Why?

CL: Because nice guys DON'T finish last.

FH: Regardless, I have a feeling you have not seen the last of
Christopher Black, Chip. If you hated him before, you're definitely
not going to like what the Bad Wolf is capable of doing next!

CL: I don't care! Because right here, right now, Senor Cloak Dos is
our new PVW Television Champion, and no one has ever deserved this
title more than him!

[The referee raises Dos' hand high and San Diego is all cheers as he
gives the luchadore the prized Television title he just won. Cloak
looks down at the championship belt for a moment but then places it
down on the mat. He walks over to the ropes and motions for the
microphone and for a towel.]

CL: Has a match outcome ever felt this right, Fred?

FD: It's certainly unexpected.

CL: This has to be karma at work. Has to be! But... quiet now, quiet.
I believe SCD has a few words for us...

[Herk Douglas hands the luchadore the microphone and a towel. Dos
thanks him then walks to the middle of the ring and he catches his
breath for a moment as his music fades out. After a while, the
luchadore takes a hard swallow and then he lifts the microphone to his
masked face.]

SCD: Mucho gracias... Thank you all for helping me tonight.

[SELF POP]

SCD: There was a little girl who faced impossible odds who found in
this mask..

[Dos points to his mask.]

SCD: ..a way to face the world with bravery. Tonight..

[Cloak points to the Television championship on the canvas.]

SCD: This.. This is for her!

[The crowd does a huge applause for the little girl.]

SCD: She.. She asked me to wear this mask that she put her sticker on
so that she could be here tonight to help me win. Together, all of you
and me, we have fulfilled what our little amiga asked of us.

[Dos looks down at the towel and begins lifting it up towards his
head.]

SCD: That is why tonight...

[Senor Cloak Dos puts the towel over his head, completely covering it.
Then he reaches behind his head, under the towel, and he begins
undoing the laces on his mask. The crowd begins to get anxious as he
messes about under the towel and then a loud GASP emits from the crowd
when his hand produces the mask from under the towel!]

SCD: Tonight we retire this mask that Josie put her sticker on! B-
because..

[The now towel headed man starts to choke up but he swallows it down.]

SCD: This, tonight, was for her! We honor our little amiga by
preserving this moment tonight all for her! This mask will go to a
special display at the hospital she stayed at as a constant tribute
for her.

[An emotional crowd gives an emotional ovation. As the towel headed
Senor Cloak Dos composes himself a familiar face begins making his way
towards the ring, Sinister. The luchadore takes a deep breath then,
towel covering his face, looks up to the ceiling.]

SCD: G-gracias Josie.. *SOBS*... Adios, amiga! Siempre con nosotros!
*SOBS* Adios, Josie!

[A HUGE standing ovation ensues from the crowd, honoring the memory of
this little girl that touched so many. Cloak holds his towel faced,
openly sobbing. A tearful Sinister climbs into the ring and gives the
luchadore a big embrace, as if comforting a little brother or son.]

CL: Yes... This is for you Josie, and your family, your friends...
This is as much your victory as it is your hero's!

FH: Sounds to me like the world agrees.

CL: You know, Fred... you were not as insufferable as you usually are.

FH: On an unrelated note... I can't feel my arms anymore...

CL: You can be a good, decent man, sometimes.

FH: No need to degenerate down into insults, Chip! All that name-
calling seems inappropriate at a time like this.

CL: You're a much better man that I give you credit for.

FH: Zip it. I'm warning you.

[Sinister says something to the towel-headed luchadore who nods his
head then reaches down and picks up the Television Championship. Sin
helps Cloak out of the ring, keeping the towel from falling off and
exposing his identity. Then the two men make their way to the back,
the crowd POURING from their hearts as they do so.]

CL: In glorious moments like this... just makes you want to get your
loved-ones close and hug them, doesn't it?

FH: Get away from me, Chip. Do not get all touchy feely on me, now. I
may have aged, but I still remember all the moves!

CL: We all have a finite time on this earth, Fred. So it's all about
doing like Senor Cloak Dos, like little Josie, and make sure the
people you-..

FH: THE FOLEY GENE POOL JUSTIFIES ABORTION!

CL: WHAT?

FH: Oh! That feels so much better! WOW! AsH is a psychotic monkey fit
for the loony bin!

CL: The heck are you doing, Fred?

FH: The feeling in my arm is back! This is working! Chris Hartt's a
pathetic, friendless little ginger! YES! I'M BACK! I'm BACK!

CL: Oh, great. Just when we were finally starting to get along...
Leave it to you to ruin a feel good moment.  Well screw it I am not
letting you ruin this moment for me!

FH: No? Well what about that voice telling us to go backstage.

CL: Damn.

[The camera cuts backstage to the hallway outside of the dressing room
of Perry Fontana.  Road agents walk to and fro as Fontana moves from
craft services towards the sanctuary of his private chambers.  As he
stomps past, a figure steps out of the recess of the doorway next to
his room.  With the slightest of smiles, The Spectre calls out to
him.]

Spectre: We would have words with you, little Fontana...

[Hearing his name being hissed, the Everlasting One stops dead in his
tracks. He doesn't turn around, but he does respond.]

Fontana: _Spectre_.

Spectre: Indeed.  We've been watching... waiting... and we feel the
need to share an observation with you, friend Fontana.

Fontana: Isn't your match beginning momentarily?

Spectre: Every prophet in its house, Little Fontana.  Our thoughts
will take only a moment to convey... and we would be oh so...
disappointed were you not to hear them.

[Slowly, the Deathless One turns to face the deadlocked freak of a
man.]

Fontana: Hear _what?_ What is it you want to _tell_ me so badly?

Spectre: Not tell.  Ask.  See how polite we are?  We would ASK that
you ensure that you pay careful attention to our match.

Fontana: ... Why?

Spectre: Guidance, little Fontana... guidance.  Watch as we peel back
our lips, bare our teeth and engage friend Marcus.  Stare in horror as
we unleash our Beast and feast upon little Knight's flesh.  Listen in
amazement to his screams as we leave him bloodied and broken in the
middle of the apron.  Bear witness to the baptism in pain with which
we bless them both.

[Fontana seems incredulous.]

Fontana: I'm already well versed in the _art_ of inflicting PAIN,
cousin. So...

... Why?

Spectre: Because you show promise, friend Fontana.  What you've done
before... it calls to us.  Chance McKenzie.  Brian Masters... so many
playmates.

So few survivors.

Fontana: "Promise"? While completely _annihilating_ my opponents is a
habit I _might_ consider kicking, the list of _my_ PVW VICTIMS is
regrettably longer than _yours_. And I did it with my _bare__hands_,
aaaah OUAIS! So what do you _want_, cousin?

Spectre: What we want is inconsequential to this conversation, friend
Fontana.  What we EXPECT is for you to continue your work.  What we
EXPECT is for you to gird yourself for battle...to step forward and
lay waste to your opposition.

We've heard what little AsH has asked of you...we expect better of
you.  We expect you to listen to the Beast within you.  We expect you
to use that Beast to guide your actions...to show you the way
forward...show The Paladin what happens when he crosses you.  You know
that a single match isn't enough...you've merely whet the appetite of
your Beast.

Fontana: When the kitchen closes, ouais, it's too _late_ to order a
second serving.

Spectre: YOU decide when the feast ends, friend Fontana.  Not the
kitchen staff.  The pig does not dictate when it is sent to the
slaughter...why should you allow anyone other than you decide when
you've finished with Hartt?

Your Beast wants his arm.

Take it.

["Il Eterno" falls silent, his emotions inscrutable under the hood of
his robe. Only his dimpled chin can be seen... and his pursed lips.

Knowing the appetite has been whet, Spectre smiles.]

Spectre: It is our turn to feed, now.

Watch.

Learn.

Let us inspire you.

[He grins.]

Spectre: You have so much pain to share, friend Fontana...

Teach them to fear YOUR dark...

[The dark...

As Spectre leaves the King of Armbars to slink back into shadowy
depths, the dark is precisely what we fade to.]

CL: Fontana now hanging around with Spectre?  That's just not good.

FH: Now there is a tag team I can get behind! We could call them
Chewed faces and broken arms!

CL: No I don't think that would be a good idea.

FH: I could apply to be their manager.

CL: Would that remove you from the booth?

FH: Do you think PVW is stupid?  To remove their cash cow of,
Wrestling announcer of the year?

CL: And to think I thought you may have forgotten about winning, HALF
year award.

[The arena lights cut out. For a moment, there is nothing. Then, the
drums and spooky, echoing guitar of "Angry Chair" by Alice in Chains
fills the arena.]

#Sitting on an angry chair
#Angry walls that steal the air
#Stomach hurts and I don't care

#What do I see across the way, hey
#See myself molded in clay, oh
#Stares at me, yeah I'm afraid, hey
#Changing the shape of his face, aw yeah

FH: Uhm... That's Alice in Chains, but it's not "Rooster"...

#Candles red I have a pair
#Shadows dancing everywhere
#Burning on the angry chair

[As mist rises from the floor, the arena lights soon fade up into a
deep red, filling the arena with an angry glow. The big screen has
only the words "CAN YOU HANDLE THE MISERY?" in crimson lettering....
along with the aisle lighting, this is the only source of light in the
arena.]

CL: Well, that's obviously Manson's motto on the screen... but the
rest of this is all new. Spectre and Knight have clearly gotten to the
man.

FH: Clearly.

[The powerful frame of Marcus Manson splits the curtain, and steps
onto the entrance ramp. He is wearing a decades old beaten leather
trench coat over his full-length black tights, red kneepads and
elbowpads, and black stricking gloves. His black boots each have MM on
the side in red lettering.]

#Loneliness is not a phase
#Field of pain is where I graze
#Serenity is far away

[Marcus Manson takes his time walking the aisle, his brow furrowed in
a look of murderous concentration; a look made more ominous by the
scar running from above his right eye all the way to his chin.]

#Pink cloud has now turned to gray
#All that I want is to play
#Get on your knees time to pray, boy

FH: I tried to tell them. Marcus Manson is not a man to be trifled
with. Sammy Knight got Manson's attention. Knight woke him up and made
him angry, and the Spectre didn't help matters. And now, Manson means
business. He is here for no other reason than to hurt people, and he
will do that whether he wins or loses.

[Manson climbs the ring steps, and looks over the crowd with a scowl
before stepping over the top rope into the ring.]

CL: Marcus Manson has not been a happy man ever since Sammy Knight
came to PVW. He's taken multiple Rebirths from Spectre over the last
few weeks and has refused medical attention. I'm surprised he's
cleared to wrestle.

FH: Marcus Manson is cleared to wrestle because he is, pardon the pun,
a freaking MACHINE. He is officially the toughest son of a bitch in
Phoenix Valley Wrestling, which makes him the toughest son of a bitch
in the entire wrestling WORLD. I don't like anyone's chances when they
are across the ring from that man.

HD:  Introducing first, from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania standing 6'9"
tall and
weighing in at 295 lbs,  This is...  THE MISERY MACHINE...

... MARCUS ...

... MMMMMMMMAAAAAAANSONNNNNNNN !!!


[Pause as the music fades out.]


HD:  And his opponent from New York City, New York at 6'4" and 275
lbs...

[The arena lights suddenly cut to pitch black without warning.  Over
the PA system, the faint sound of a heartbeat begins after ten seconds
of complete silence.

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

Thump-thump

"Do you fear the Dark?" a gravelly voice asks in a whisper.

A single red spotlight cuts through the blackness, illuminating the
solitary form of The Spectre as "Beautiful People" by Marilyn Manson
cuts in over the PA System.  Spectre, clad in a pair of cutoff jeans,
a black t shirt and combat boots stands with his taped forearms held
up at angles away from his pale, scarred body as the combination of
his dark dreadlocks and the red lighting paints a ghastly picture over
the ghoulish wrestler.]

HD:  THE...

... SPECTRE !!!


[As the music picks up, the lights start flashing in time with the
beat, creating almost a stobe-effect as The Spectre makes his way
towards the ring, ignoring the fans lining the aisles.  As he reaches
the apron, the pale skinned grappler speeds up to a run and slides
smoothly under the bottom rope, standing and stalking towards the
ropes in front of the announce table.  Climbing to the second rope, he
stares coldly at the announce team for a moment before stepping down
and moving to his corner to await the start of the match.]

Wrestling out of Compton, California.

[TEAR DOWN THE ROOF POPPAGE!]

HD: And finally... He is known around the wrestling world as the white
knight of wrestling ... SAMMY KNIGHT!

["Hiii Power" by Kendrick Lamar hits the PA system and the California
home town crowd goes nuts.  The muscular African-American is covered
in a variety of tattoos.  Dressed in red do-rag, wife-beater, jeans
and boots.  He takes the time to greet the hometown fans as he heads
down the ring.  Spectre stands watching with a smile feeding off the
energy that the crowd and Knight have in-between their bond.]

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \                T6: Triple Threat Match:
 / / / /_/ /        Spectre v. Marcus Manson v. Sammy Knight
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*


CL:  And this triple threat match is officially underway.

FH:  More like a double threat and one lamb led to the slaughterhouse.
I mean, who in their right mind gets themselves in trouble with both
Manson and The Spectre at the same time.  Either one of those guys are
like the definition of the word monster.  They live to HURT people!
The only question is whether or not they're gonna split Sammy Knight
in two like a Thanksgiving turkey wishbone or if they're just gonna
turn him into a thin, red smear on the mat.

CL:  This isn't a handicap match, Fred.  I'm pretty sure Manson and
The Spectre has plenty of animosity between themselves to go around.
I doubt they're just going to team up on Sammy Knight.

FH:  Won't matter.  The kid is dead either way.

[The three men circle around the edge of the ring, all three keeping a
wary eye on each other when suddenly Spectre slides out under the
bottom rope. This momentary distraction is all the smaller and quicker
Sammy Knight needs to go on the attack, a quick dropkick right to
Manson's knee  sending the big man a step back while Knight quickly
rolls back to his feet.]

CL:  Sammy Knight taking advantage of an opportunity to get an early
hit in on Marcus Manson, but what in the world is The Spectre doing?

FH:  I have no idea, Chip.  I long ago gave up trying to put myself in
that guy's head.  The nightmares were just too unpleasant.

CL:  Of that I have no doubt.  Manson with a clothesline, ducked by
Knight who bounces off the ropes.  Manson tries to grab him but Sammy
slides between the big man's legs!  Up behind the behemoth and KICK to
the back of Manson's knee!  It looks like Sammy Knight's game plan is
to stick and move on the bigger men and to target their wheels.

FH:  That may be his plan, but I don't think that's gonna survive
contact with Spectre's plan.  He's got a chair!

[The Spectre does indeed have a folding chair he picked up on the
outside and has slid back into the ring behind the other two men.  He
smashes the chair into Manson's back, then swings at Knight who ducks
under the blow.]

CL:  The man is nuts!

FH:  Rebirth rules, Chip.  Perfectly legal.

CL:  That doesn't make it any more right!

FH:  If swinging a chair and crushing skulls is wrong then I don't
think The Spectre wants to[ be right.

[Spectre swings the chair at Knight again, who once again ducks the
blow, and then a furious giant rises from behind the madman!]

CL:  DOUBLE AXEHANDLE BY MANSON!  Spectre is holding the chair high
above his head as he was about to swing at Knight again, and Knight
takes advantage, tearing the chair from Spectre's hands and tossing it
aside! Manson off the ropes.  Clothesline DUCKED by The Spectre and
Marcus Manson just ran over Sammy Knight like he wasn't there!

FH:  This is what you do not want to happen if you're facing Marcus
Manson. The big man has built up a head of steam and when that happens
you may as well try to stop a runaway train with your bare hands.

CL:  Manson does indeed seem to be in charge at this stage of the
match. Knight is back up.  Manson has him by the throat!  SPECTRE WITH
AN EYERAKE ON MANSON!  AND NOW SPECTRE AND KNIGHT ARE GOING AT IT,
TRADING BLOW FOR BLOW!

FH:  That's playing into Spectre's strengths!  He's bigger and more
powerful than Knight.

CL:  You may be right, Fred, as The Spectre seems to have gained the
upper hand.  A brawl like this is really right up his alley. A flurry
of punches has sent Knight staggering back into the corner.  And the
Spectre isn't letting up, continuing to rain blows on...  OOOOH!

[The brawl is effectively broken up as Manson, recovered from the
eye rake, comes smashing into the corner with a monstrous lariat,
sandwiching both his opponents between his own considerable bulk and
the turnbuckles!  Taking a step back he grabs a momentarily stunned
Spectre and...]

CL:  SAMOAN DROP BY MARCUS MANSON!

FH:  Now, you KNOW that's gotta hurt!

[Manson stomps away on Spectre.  Meanwhile Knight is back on his feet
and quickly joins in.  Both men pull Spectre up and send him to the
ropes.  As he comes back off them Manson grabs the crazed monster by
the throat, and then before Knight has time to react he too finds
Manson's huge hand wrapped around his own throat...]

FH:  HOLY CRAP!

CL:  DOUBLE CHOKESLAM!  Marcus Manson just chokeslammed both his
opponents in the middle of the ring!  And he's covering them both, one
hand on each chest!


!!! ONE !!!


!!! T--KICKOUT AND KICKOUT !!!


CL:  Perhaps a bit optimistic of Manson to go for a double pin at this
point, but still, that has got to give Spectre and Knight pause.

FH:  Knight, maybe.  Spectre?  Somehow I don't think so.  He's not
right in the head.

CL:  Manson pulls Knight to his feet.  Short-arm clothesline DUCKED by
Sammy Knight who catches a rising Spectre with a Running DDT!  The
action is getting fast and furious here!  Knight to his feet and he is
stomping away at Spectre's right knee!

FH:  At least he's sticking to his game plan.  I guess I have to give
him that.  It's not gonna do any good, but still, he's not panicking.

[Manson is still part of the match, however, and he grabs Knight from
behind, sending the smaller man flying with a HUGE release German
suplex!]

FH:  I think Knight just achieved escape velocity on that one!

CL:  It doesn't pay to forget about the Misery Machine.  Many men have
learned that over the years.  Knight is up, leaning against the ropes,
and a huge lariat takes both men over the top rope!

[Knight and Manson tumble to the floor, but both men quickly get back
up and go at each other again, Knight aiming kicks at Manson's legs
and
Manson inflicting heavy blows on Knight's head and upper body in
return.  Meanwhile the third man is getting back up inside the ring,
and the chair is still there as well.]

CL:  Oh no!  Spectre has that steel chair once more, and I don't like
the look on his face!

FH:  Oh, this is gonna be ugly!


!!! "DID HE JUST DO THAT?" POP !!!


[It is ugly indeed.  The Spectre, never a high flyer at the best of
times, throws caution to the wind and charges across the ring, leaping
over the top rope and crashing into Manson and Knight with the chair,
probably hurting himself as much as them in the process.  A trainwreck
is a kind way to describe as all three men lay writhing on the floor
in a pile of limbs and pain.]


CL:  Well...  He hit them.  I guess.

FH:  I've seen twenty-car pileups that looked like less of a mess!  I
think Spectre is moving though...  Yeah...  Yes, he is!  Man, what is
he made of?!?

[Limping slightly Spectre grabs the chair again and slams it down
across the back of Manson's head twice, then drops it.  Grabbing a
powercable to one of the cameras surrounding the ring Spectre gets on
Knight's back, wrapping the cable around Sammy's throat and pulling
him to his feet.  Spectre whips Knight towards the ring with the
cable, but he doesn't let go!]

CL:  DEAR GOD!  SPECTRE HELD ONTO THE CABLE!  KNIGHT COULD BE
SERIOUSLY INJURED!

[Knight is rolling on the ground, choking and gasping for air as
Spectre picks up the chair and slides it back into the ring again,
then drags Knight over to the ring and rolls him in under the bottom
rope.  Sammy is still gasping for air as Spectre sets up the chair and
pulls Knight up by the hair so his throat is suspended a few inches
above the top of the backrest. Looking out at the fans jeering and
booing him he smiles, then drops to his knees, pulling Sammy down
along with him and smashing his throat across the top of the chair's
backrest.]

FH:  Sammy Knight is flopping around like a dying fish!  This is what
you get for messing with some of the most dangerous men in PVW,
hotshot!  This ain't your momma's wrestling ring!  This ring belongs
to The Spectre!

CL:  How can you say that, Fred?  The Spectre has taken this much too
far! There was no call for that kind of brutality.

FH:  Tell that to The Spectre.

CL:  I'd rather not.  I like my major organs where they are right now,
thanks.  Cover by The Spectre...  Oh, and is it really necessary to
put the chair across Sammy's chest before covering him?

FH:  Again, you tell him that.



!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO
 !!!



!!! THR--KICKOUT !!!



CL:  And Sammy Knight escapes by the skin of his teeth!

FH:  He's only prolonging the inevitable.

CL:  He certainly is a fighter, that's for sure.

FH:  That's not what I said.  He's an idiot.  Just take the three-
count, kid.  You can get to the hospital quicker that way.

[Spectre grabs Sammy by the hair and tosses him into the corner, then
rams his shoulder into the other man's gut!  He takes a step back,
then rams another shoulder thrust into Knight's midsection, and then
another and finally a fourth before stepping back, pulling Knight with
him and...]

CL:  Gutwrench Powerbomb on the chair!

FH:  This has got to be it!



!!! ONE !!!



[On the outside Manson has started to stir after his nasty
head-vs-flying-steel-chair incident.]



!!! TWO !!!



!!! THREENO! KICKOUT !!!


CL:  That was about as close as it can get!

FH:  SLOW COUNT!

CL:  It certainly wasn't.  Lou Crowe is one of the most reliable
referees in the sport!

FH:  Reliable referees?  That's a myth, and you know it.

[Spectre seems to be a little annoyed now.  Stepping back he bounces
off the ropes, but just as he comes running back Knight suddenly
surges into action! A burst of adrenaline lets Sammy react quickly
enough to stop Spectre with a drop toehold, toppling the monster face
first into the very chair he has been tormenting Knight with since the
start of the match!  The fans approve. Loudly!]

FH:  I can't even hear myself think!

CL:  I'm sure you're not missing anything of consequence, Fred.  Sammy
Knight has just turned the tide here, but can he capitalize on this
opening after all the punishment he has taken?

FH:  He rolls Spectre over.  Cover!


!!! ONE !!!


!!! TWO !!!


!!! KICKOUT !!!


CL:  Not quite enough, but Sammy has the advantage now.

FH:  Not if he wastes time.  Marcus Manson has just sat up on the
outside. He won't be out of this action for much longer!

CL:  Knight grabbing Spectre by the right leg...  ANKLE LOCK!  He's
really wrenching away on that ankle!  Again Knight has gone back to
his game plan of attacking the feet of his opponents.

FH:  You aren't gonna make The Spectre Submit.  Perry Fontana MIGHT be
able to do it, but I doubt it. Sammy Knight doesn't stand a snowball's
chance in hell.

CL:  Maybe, maybe not. Knight pulls Spectre up by the leg...  AND
SLAMS THE KNEE BACK DOWN INTO THE MAT!  AND BACK TO THE ANKLE LOCK!

FH:  Getting a little vicious there.  About time.

CL:  Again Knight pulls Spectre up by the leg and slams it into the
mat! And again he returns to the ankle lock!

[Knight finally notices Manson getting to his feet on the outside of
the ring and lets go of the leg,]

CL:  It looks like Sammy Knight is realizing time is running out if he
wants to finish this match before he has to deal with Manson again.

FH:  And no sane person wants to deal with Manson.

CL:  Sammy leans down to grab The Spectre...  OH!  That's low!

FH:  Poke to the eye followed by a nutshot.  The Spectre knows his
classic wrestling moves.

CL:  Oh, come on Fred.  That's just cheap.

FH:  If it works then it works.  Whatever it takes to get what you
want, Chip.  That's the winner's way.

[Spectre limps to his feet while Sammy Knight writhes on the mat after
the low blow.  Manson is now fully recovered on the outside, though
The Spectre either hasn't noticed or doesn't care.  He only has eyes
for Sammy Knight. As Knight staggers to his feet Spectre lurks behind
him with evil intent and then...]

CL:  DESTINY'S GRIP! THE SPECTRE HAS DESTINY'S GRIP LOCKED IN ON SAMMY
KNIGHT!

FH:  It's over, Chip!  Knight has no way to get out of that hold! Even
I at my peak would have had trouble with that!

CL:  The crowd is chanting Sammy Knight's name, trying will him into
breaking free, but The Spectre has this deadly move locked in tight,
Fred, and Sammy Knight is fading!  This Might be...  OH MY!

FH:  OUCH!!!

[As Knight slowly but surely fades in the inescapable clutches of The
Spectre suddenly the looming presence of Marcus Manson is there, and
he will NOT be ignored!  Bouncing off the ropes the near-300 pounder
comes charging in like a runaway Mack truck, a BIG boot crunching into
the side of The Spectre's head!]

CL:  And THAT broke Destiny's Grip!

FH:  That might have broken The Spectre's skull!

[Knight collapses out of the Spectre's grasp, painfully dragging
himself towards the nearest corner where he barely manages slump into
a sitting position.  Meanwhile Manson is on a rampage!]

CL:  Marcus Manson is like a man possessed!  He's stomping a mudhole
in The Spectre!

FH:  Toughest S.O.B. in the PVW, Chip!  I told you so!  I told you
all!

[Manson finally pulls Spectre to his feet and then whips him _HARD_
into the nearest corner!]

FH:  I think I saw the ring shift...  No, forget that!  I think I felt
tectonic PLATES shift from that impact!

CL:  And Manson follows Spectre in...  OH MY GOD, ANOTHER BIG BOOT
RIGHT TO SPECTRE'S FACE!

FH:  These guys messed with the wrong behemoth!  Marcus Manson will
not be trifled with!  Just wait until he gets around to Sammy Knight!
There won't even be a red stain left on the mat!

CL:  Short-arm clothesline by Manson!  He picks Spectre back up and...
GUTWRENCH POWERBOMB!  And a cover!


!!! ONE !!!


!!!TW--KICKOUT !!!

CL:  And only a two-count, but the match has definitely turned
Manson's way now!

FH:  If this keeps up it's only a matter of time.

[Manson gets up, pulling Spectre with him.  He whips Spectre to the
ropes, and as the man comes off...]

CL:  FLAPJACK...  NO!  FLAPJACK SPINEBUSTER BY MARCUS MANSON!

[The big man quickly covers Spectre.]


!!! ONE !!!


!!! TWO !!!


!!! KICKOUT !!!


FH:  Oh, almost there!

CL:  Close, but no cigar.  Manson looks like he's about ready to
finish off The Spectre though. He's waiting for the other man to get
to his feet!

FH:  Heart Punch coming up!  If this hits it's over!

[As soon as Spectre is on his feet Manson attacks with the Heart
Punch, but at the last second Spectre dodges aside!]

CL  MISSED! And Spectre quickly grabs Manson in a front facel...

[HUGE "AWESOME MOVE!" POP!]

FH:  THE REBIRTH!  THE REBIRTH!  HE HIT THE REBIRTH OUT OF NOWHERE!

[Indeed The Spectre managed to hit Manson with the deadly Fisherman's
Buster Piledriver called The Rebirth, sending Manson's head crashing
into the mat.]

CL:  Manson is OUT!  He's not moving!  And now Spectre is looking over
at Sammy Knight in the corner with a nasty leer on his face!

FH:  Welcome to the rest of your life, Sammy Knight.  All five seconds
of it.

CL:  Sammy Knight has withstood tremendous punishment here tonight,
Fred! Lesser men would have laid down and let it all end a long time
ago.  Even after being caught in Destiny's Grip by The Spectre he's
back up and leaning against the corner.  This is resilience, Fred!

FH:  The kid is tough, I'll give him that.  Not too bright, but tough,
sure. Won't be back up on his feet for long though, 'cause here comes
The Spectre! like a freight train!  SPEAR--NO!

[The ROAR of approval from the crowd is DEAFENING as Knight dives (or
maybe falls?  It's hard to be certain) out of the corner, leaving
nothing between the onrushing Spectre and the steel cornerpost!]

CL:  MY GOD!  SPECTRE JUST SPEARED THE RINGPOST!  He went face first
into that unyielding steel, and the fans here in the Valley View
Casino Center are all on their feet!

FH:  The Spectre busted himself open on that steel... And look!  He's
trying to get up!  The man is not human!

[The Spectre is indeed trying to get back to his feet after that
horrific collision with the steel post, but it's slow going as he is
obviously dazed, staggering as he lets go of the ropes.  Knight has in
the meantime gotten back to his feet, and with both his opponents
vulnerable he makes a quick decision.]

CL:  Knight has the chair Spectre brought into the ring earlier!  He's
charging Spectre!

[But just as he's about to smash the chair into Spectre's skull Knight
puts on the brakes.  He looks at the chair in his hands then shakes
his head with a determined look on his face and tosses the weapon
aside and out of the ring.]

FH:  The idiot just threw away his best opportunity to survive this
match!

CL:  I think he wants to do this the right way, Fred.  Sammy Knight
bounces off the ropes.  FLYING SHOULDERTACKLE SENDS THE SPECTRE OUT OF
THE RING!

[The impact sends The Spectre toppling over the top rope to fall
heavily down to the ring apron and then bounce off it and all the way
to the ground...

And as soon as he hits the floor he start to slowly struggle back to
his feet leaving the crowd to gasp in awe.]

CL:  This is it for an exhausted Sammy Knight!  Spectre is down on the
outside, and Manson is suffering the effects of that brutal Rebirth
from The Spectre!  He may never have a better opportunity!

FH:  He's practically out on his feet himself!  He won't be able to
capitalize, as punchdrunk as he's gotta be right now!

CL:  I think you may be selling Sammy Knight short here, Fred.  He's
battered, bruised and yes, he will be feeling the consequences of
tonight tomorrow morning and probably all of next week and then some,
but he seems to have cleared the cobwebs for the moment.  Manson is
just now getting up on his knees after suffering from the Rebirth, and
Knight is stalking him! He knows he won't have Manson in such a
vulnerable position very often!

FH:  Or ever again.

CL:  Indeed, Fred! Manson up to one knee and Knight is crouching
behind him,

FH:  Smart move, actually.  Get your breathers where you can while the
other guy is expending energy getting back to his feet.  Speaking of
which! That's Spectre's hand Clawing its way up onto the apron!

CL:  How that man can still be conscious I will never know.  He's not
up though, and Manson is back on his feet!  He turns around...  RIGHT
INTO A PIRU LOVE! SAMMY KNIGHT NAILS THE PIRU LOVE JUMPING IMPLANT DDT
AND PRACTICALLY COLLAPSES ON TOP OF MANSON!

FH:  NO!  COME ON MARCUS!  KICK OUT!

CL:  Knight rolls Manson onto his back and covers him!  Lou Crowe is
right there with the count!


!!! ONE !!!


[The Spectre has clawed his way back up to a vertical position and has
a hold of the bottom rope, trying to climb unto the apron with blood
flowing from the gash in his scalp where he was busted open by the
steel post.]


!!! TWO !!!


[Knight remembers at the last moment to hook Manson's leg when the
Misery Machine moves an arm.  Meanwhile The Spectre has almost climbed
up onto the apron, then drops back down to the floor as he realizes he
won't make it in time, a nasty smile splitting his bloodstained face.]


!!! THREE !!!


CL:  IT'S OVER!  KNIGHT HAS DONE IT!


!!! DING DING DING !!!



[The referee, Lou Crowe, pulls Sammy Knight up off Manson and raises
his hand to the THUNDEROUS ovation of the crowd.  Outside the ring
stands The Spectre like a bloody figure of malevolence, grinning at
the winner,  Knight pulls his hand away from the ref and puts them up
in a boxing guard, looking down at Spectre and mouthing the words
"Come get some!" while still keeping one wary eye on Manson who has
started to stir.]

CL:  Knight is inviting Spectre back into the ring!  He's actually
daring him to get back in and continue the fight!

FH:  The kid has a deathwish!  He's about to learn why getting what
you wish for is a bad thing, because here comes the monster!

[The Spectre lunges at the ring, grabs the ropes and... lets go,
backing away with an evil smile and spreading his arms out wide as if
inviting Knight to come to him.]

FH:  Did you see how Knight flinched when The Spectre looked like he
was gonna get back in the ring?  He's afraid, Chip!  Knight is afraid
of The Spectre!

CL:  He did no such thing!  Sammy Knight stood his ground and i have
no doubt he was willing to take on the maniac even as exhausted as he
must be! Instead Spectre has decided to play mindgames, backing slowly
up the ramp and gesturing for Knight to follow him!  Sammy wisely
remains in the ring, however.  This match has been a war, and all
three men have both earned and are in need of rest and recuperation.
Let's get the official word from Herk Douglas.

HD: Ladies and gentleman, your winner via pinfall... SAMMY ...


!!! KNIIIIIIIGHT !!!

CL:  And the crowd is letting Sammy Knight know they appreciate
never-say-die attitude here tonight!

FH:  If The Spectre gets his way you can pretty much drop the never
part from that, Chip.

CL:  Indeed.  I don't think either of these two men feel they are
finished with each other yet.  What a match though and this is what
Tradition is all about.  Sammy Knight is hungry to become a corner
stone here in the PVW.  And tonight he took a _giant_ step in that
direction.

FH: The war is long, Chip.  Spectre always gets his man.

CL: And we go from one mad man ... to another ... As William Craven is
standing by.

[Standing before a plain PVW backdrop the titanic form of William
Craven looms in stooped posture, a ghoul whose shining vinyl hood
hides his features from a prying world.  This is, however, the true
green man as made evident by the scale tattoos visible on his arms,
neck and chin.  He gives a shark-toothed grin full of false mirth that
then disintegrates into a jowly grimace, a pair of pointed teeth
poking out from under his lower lip.]

WC: Preventing a repetition of failures is the focal point of most any
lesson taught to those who study history.  "Those who fail to learn
from history are destined to repeat it" is a platitude-cum-mantra by
those on the more intellectual side of the political aisle.  Sadly
however, all history has to teach us is that it is chaos that forms
the non-pattern of existence.  Whereas an individual can be counted on
to behave in a consistent manner, the variables are where the
catalysts hide.  The Devil, as they say, is in the details...

[Slowly pulling back his hood Craven reveals his craggy green head as
the grating sound of friction stabs at the viewer's ears like
fingernails on a chalkboard.  The sound, his stubble clinging to the
lining of his sleeveless robe, isn't the only surprise.  Although long
time fans might already know that Bill's hair went white more than ten
years ago, perhaps no one knew that it had formed into a wicked
widow's peak.  Although he's clearly still "bald" in the sense that
this is stubble and not a cultivated hairstyle, Bill nevertheless
looks remarkably scruffy.]

WC: Robert Cole has built in himself a veritable arsenal of courage,
heart and, seemingly, a game plan for true victory ... let's call that
part his brain.  Add to this his wife the lovely Dorothy and their
loving son Toto and you have a wonderful work of colorful fiction that
can lift the heart of moviegoers everywhere from their ever so dreary
black-and-white existences.  Sadly, that is all he has; fiction.

What is not fiction, Robert, is that I have trounced you at every turn
whenever the opportunity has presented itself.  The only good showing
you've had for yourself is our last one-on-one match where, I must
say, I think I saw the best beast you had to offer.

[A rueful smirk mars Craven's already shattered visage.]

WC: In a moment of weakness, when you were winning on points if not in
munitions I took an easy exit and stole victory in a way that will
perhaps haunt me for all my days.  I have accepted losses numbered in
the dozens across the years of my career.  Let's be frank Robert, when
you've fought as many times as I have to claim an unblemished record
is to lie bald-faced to all; even yourself.  Sadly, however, I fear
I've built you up a little too much to accept losing even an inch of
my hard-earned territory.

My career has been a hardscrabble torture test designed to break my
will.  My accolades have been very few, certainly nothing compared to
my victories, while you have excelled.  Oh, assuredly, if you'd
managed to pull me down one last time and pin me I would've survived,
maybe even prevailed!  Perhaps not that night but, well, you know
Robert ... I'm not one to give up so easily.  You liked to tell
Richard in the months leading up to his taking away of the World Title
that you were no William Craven.  You were right, Robert.  William
Craven tortured Richard Marley for over two years, made his life a
living hell in a war of attrition that ended with a gentleman's
agreement.  William Craven took on the world and nearly won a campaign
against a vastly superior force.  Rob Cole was buried, both
figuratively and literally, by that same force in convincing fashion.
In the end I honored my agreement.

Would you have done the same Robert?  Would you have even struck a
bargain in which the loser plays servant to the winner?  Would have
have done what it took to end a war that brought about Zero Tolerance?
That spread out and touched every man on the roster and every fan
watching at home?  Doubtful.  Robert Cole is far too selfish and small
a man to look into the future and do what is necessary.  Robert Cole
reacts with emotion like an animal.  Stimulus, response.  Stimulus,
response.  We all feel that way sometimes, Robert.

I feel it sometimes, myself.

[Inhale sharply; exhale slowly.]

WC: It is, however, the mind of the scholar and the calculating nature
of the violence and it's entropy that keeps me centered, Robert.  What
good friends I have give me good council and the key to the lock that
is Robert Cole.  Before, when you were my victim rather than a
purported equal, you fell before me and were ground beneath my heel.
When you attempted surrender, a false surrender no doubt that would
free you to return at a later date when my defenses were lowered, I
poked at you and, like the wounded animal you are, you struck back
with a vengeance.  The thing about a wounded animal Robert; although
their ferocity redoubles with their bleeding, eventually ... they do
die.

Will this be your dying day, Robert?

[Rasping with laughter, Craven reaches back, slowly pulling his hood
back up.]

WC: It gets worse...

[Cut back to the arena ... And the center of the ring.  Herk Douglas
is ready to keep the night a moving.]

[San Diego's Valley View Casino Center comes alive when Mass
Hysteria's "Failles" reverberates within it's walls, the rowdy crowd
mostly voicing its discontent.]

HD: Introducing first... from Montreal, Quebec, Canada... and weighing
in a two hundred and fifty eight pounds...

     ..."THE EVERLASTING"...

           ...P E R R Y     F O N T A N A !


[The Deathless One appears on the stage, stepping out of the entrance
curtains, cloaked under the hood of his orange, red and gold boxer's
robe, "Le Phenix" inscribed in black sequined script over a flaming
phoenix across his shoulders.]

CL: There's a man who's been in a lot of emotional turmoil, lately,
which only makes him as dangerously unpredictable as ever!

FH: I hope Spectre set him straight, because listening to whatever AsH
has to say can't lead to anything good.

CL: Maybe you'll be forced to sing a different tune later on on
tonight, Fred!

["Il Eterno" stomps down the aisle, up the ring steps and onto the
apron. There, one hand resting on the top rope, he stops and turns
back to look up the aisle. With the other hand, he pulls back the hood
of his robe, revealing his enormous muttonchops, jet black hair, and
intensely dark eyes, still fixated on the entrance.]

CL: Is he expecting HvD? Or Fontana hoping for someone else?

FH: Other than Hartt, you mean?

CL: Speaking of... is Fontana regretting the deal he made with him?

FH: Is he making sure the medics will have a clear path when they need
to roll the Paladin out on a stretcher?

[The King of Armbars bites his lip, disrobes, then steps between the
ropes and into the ring, heading straight for his assigned corner to
perform last minute stretches until... the arena explodes with the
opening riff from Anthrax cues the entrance of The Paladin!!!]

CL: And the arena is on their feet as we hear the music and the arena
lights dim... he has been on a roller coaster ride of emotions as of
late, but Chris Hartt is taking a stand tonight!

FH: Or he's going to fall and fall hard! Both these men have personal
problems, but only one of them is taking the time to whine about it
and blame Nevermind for all his troubles.

['S.S.C./Stand or Fall' by Anthrax plays, as Chris makes his  way out
onto the stage. Red lights shine in a grand display, as Chris holds
his arms out to the sides, then walks to the ring, leaping onto the
apron, climbing in and mounting a turnbuckle, repeating the sign of
the  cross.]

HD: And his opponent... "THE PALADIN" CHRIS... HARTT!!!!

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \                T6: One on One Match:
 / / / /_/ /              Perry Fontana vs. Chris Hartt
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*


CL: And as Hartt steps to the center of the ring, referee Mark Barnett
calls for the bell...

FH: Fontana is staring a hole through Hartt as the two men circle,
looking for an advantage...

[Both men go for the tie up, but Fontana suddenly goes for a quick
kick to the midsection... but finds his kick blocked at the ankle as
Hartt drops to one knee, he quickly back pedals before Hartt can grab
the foot. Fontana stares with a look of interested surprise as Hartt
cautiously rises.]

FH: That exchange was a little odd...

CL: Fontana went for a quick kick to the gut... Hartt saw it coming
and
dropped into a block, which I don't think Fontana was expecting. The
crowd in attendance is also a little confused on how to react...

FH: A decent counter, but no real follow up... just a solid block.

CL: Both men go for the lock up again, this time they meet in the
middle and Fontana quickly transitions into a top wrist lock! Hartt
ducks and twists... counters into a hammerlock and Fontana with a
quick
back elbow, loosens the hold enough for him to roll forward... with a
drop toe hold...

FH: And he goes for an armbar!!!

[The crowd suddenly breaks into applause as Chris Hartt twists under
and suddenly hooks the head, bringing Fontana down and over into a
small package!]

ONE...






TWO....





KICKOUT!!!

CL: Fontana to his feet as is Hartt... and Fontana with a blatant
shove on Hartt! There's another kick to the midsection... this one not
blocked! He drives an elbow down across the back of the shoulder!

FH: And he hooks that arm into a standing straight armbar!

[Perry angrily YANKS the arm out and forces Hartt to one knee! He
begins to speak to Hartt angrily, applying pressure... and then SNAPS
an elbow into the exposed tricep!]

FH: That's the old Perry talking! Putting the shining knight in his
place... on the mat, scowling in pain and humiliation!

CL: That Fontana is a brilliant wrestler is no secret! He continues to
apply pressure and Chris Hartt struggles to make the vertical base and
find some relief... but the Deathless one with another elbow to the
back of that tricep area!

[Fontana drags Hartt to his feet and hefts him up and over the
shoulders.  Fontana tosses Hartt up and over into a Fireman's Carry
armbreaker.]

CL: Fontana damaging the right arm of Chris Hartt!

FH: He's gonna make the altar boy pray for forgiveness!

[Fontana drops a series of knees to Hartt's right shoulder.]

CL:  Adding insult to injury, here!  Fontana is looking to really wear
down Hartt's arm!

FH:  Smart psychology!  Hartt can't lock on that Avenger if his arm's
shot!

[The crowd continues to jeer as Fontana drops down and hooks on a
kneeling straight arm wringer, using his free hand to force Hartt's
face down against the mat. "Ask him!" The referee ducks down and
receives a negative response from Hartt, so Fontana increases the
pressure!]

CL: Chris Hartt struggling to move out from under Fontana! The
"Everlasting" technician continues to punish the Paladin with a severe
lock on that exposed arm... and Hartt finally twists out from under,
but Fontana twists!

FH: Single arm DDT!!!

[As Perry goes down, Hartt suddenly rolls forward and escapes from the
hold!!! The crowd is on their feet as Fontana rolls back to his as
Hartt bounces from the ropes and leaps, nailing Fontana with a
spinning heel kick!]

CL: The crowd is on their feet!

FH: I don't believe it... Chris Hartt knocks the daylights out of
Perry Fontana! The Paladin shakes that arm loose as Fontana tries to
shake the cobwebs out!

[Hartt suddenly hooks the back of the knee and yanks leg out from
under the dazed Fontana! He quickly laces the other leg... hooks his
arms and steps over...

 CL: Fontana's caught in that Cloverleaf! Hartt's got it cinched! The
 pain on Fontana's face is evident as the Paladin leans back and puts
 pressure on the knees and lower back!

FH: Fontana's got that height and strength! He won't be in that hold
for long.

[Fontana scrambles and drags them both toward a rope.  Fontana reaches
out and is a mere inch away from the rope.  As he just manages to tap
it with his finger, Hartt manages to drag Fontana back to the center
of the ring!]

CL: Chris Hartt is defying the pain in his own shoulder... look at him
use both arms to keep the hold locked, to move Fontana back toward the
center of the ring! This must be pure agony!

FH: Agony?!?!! Look at Fontana... he's still fighting back!

[Fontana rises up and starts to use his hands to walk himself back
toward a rope!]

CL: Hartt's doing all he can to keep that hold locked in, but Fontana
is just too strong and determined.

FH: Both of these guys are determined to get at Nevermind! Fontana
just wants to protect von Donkerhardt, but Hartt wants to make
Nevermind pay for all of his shenanigans!

CL: Did you just say "Shenanigans"?

FH: I... shut up.

[Fontana finally grabs the rope, and the referee tells Hartt... Chris
doesn't want to release the hold, but finally drops the legs as the
referee starts his count. And, suddenly, we see a stomp to the back of
the knee that gets a confused reaction from the crowd as Hartt shakes
his head in disgust and finally steps back from Fontana.]

CL: Fontana rising against the ropes, wincing as be bends that knee
and continues to stare at Hartt in confusion. The Paladin motions for
The Deathless One to come and meet him in the ring!

FH: And look at the nod... this thing is about to get heated up!

[Hartt locks up with Fontana! Fontana takes Hartt to a side headlock,
but Hartt shoves him to the ropes. He tries to push Fontana off, but
the larger man suddenly transitions on the rebound and manages to hook
under the arm!]

CL: Fontana goes for the hammerlock... but Hartt with a back elbow
counter, twists under the hold and yanks Fontana back against the
ropes and forces him off again!

FH: He's obsessed with the irish whip tonight!

CL: Hartt on the move!  Hartt takes Fontana down with a Tilt-a-Whirl
backbreaker!

FH: This kid's got solid moves, but it sure ain't like a carnival
ride! Fontana clutching that lower back as Hartt just dumps him off
the knee... and drops a stomp on those mutton chops!

[Hartt climbs to the top turnbuckle. He spreads his arms as he takes
the measure of the dazed Fontana.]

CL:  Hartt's going up high!  What can he be thinking here?

FH:  Maybe he's gonna fly back to Heaven.

CL: Well, he'll never see you there, Fred.

FH: Better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven!

[Hartt gets his footing, then leaps off into a spin.]

CL:  Good lord!! Hartt with a somersault corkscrew legdrop!!  He nails
Fontana hard across the chest!

FH:  Hartt's going for the cover!

[The ref drops and counts...



1..



2..




Kickout!!]

CL: Close count for Hartt and the frustration is evident on his face
as he stares at Mark Barnett... confirming the count with the official
before rising to his feet and pulling the Fontana up... and drops him
with a forearm to the back of the neck! And another!

FH: An unusually cruel streak from Chris Hartt as he hooks both arms,
and snaps a go-behind on Fontana. He's got that cross arm hooked and
snaps his Perry up to the vertical position! He's letting him think
about it a moment before dropping back down with the suplex!

[Hartt soaks in the audience reaction, takes a breath and pulls
Fontana to his feet! He takes Fontana to a corner and whips him to the
opposite corner! Fontana bakes and awaits Hartt, who leaps and springs
off of the ropes, flipping into a springboard moonsault! Hartt comes
down and grabs Fontana's head, driving down into a reverse DDT!!!]

CL: What a move by Hartt! He's driven Fontana down hard to the mat!

FH: Hartt got a good one on Fontana, but can he take the win?

[Hartt gets up and catches his breath for a quick second, then drops
and goes for a hooked leg pin on Fontana.]

 1..



2..




FH: Fontana with his foot on the ropes!  What a great presence of mind
in that ring!! This is why we call him "everlasting", Chip!

CL: I thought it was marketing... Hartt pulling Fontana from the
ropes,
and now the Paladin to the turnbuckles once again! He's up and
measuring the Everlasting one and here he comes!

//// HEEL POP!!!! \\\\\

FH: Nobody home!!!

CL: Perry Fontana with the presence to move out of the moonsaults
path, and Chris Hartt comes crashing down!

[Fontana pulls himself up in the corner, blinking out the cobwebs as
Hartt clutches his stomach! Perry dips in with a front waist lock and
scoops Hartt up... and twists around to RAM him in the corner!]

CL: And Fontana drapes Hartts arm over the top rope and drives an
elbow down across the shoulder! Another! And another! Armwringer pulls
Hartt out and Fontana forces the smaller man down to one knee... and
he
just lifts one foot and plants it on the Paladin's shoulder for
leverage!

FH: Forcing Hartt down to the mat! Fontana is an absolute artist of
the armbar... grinding his heel down in the crook in Hartt's neck,
pulling that arm up with a full extension, twisting for maximum
damage!

CL: But Hartt refuses to surren... GOOD LORD!!! Perry Fontana just
drops
back!!! He could have just popped the shoulder right there!

[Chris rolls away from Fontana, gripping his shoulder as he kicks his
legs in agony... the referee suddenly moves in with concern as Fontana
rises, brows furrowed as he watches Hartt with some confusion in his
eyes.]

FH: We might have to dig another notch in Fontana's belt, Chip... what
will that be, number three? Four? How many men are going to be on the
shelf before Perry Fontana is finally recognized as the most lethal
technical wrestler on the roster today!

CL: I don't know, but whatever humanity might have held Fontana back
is gone... he moves in with a stomp to the shoulder! Another stomp! He
hooks a hammerlock and pulls Hartt to his feet... scoop slam, holding
the hammerlock!

FH: All that pressure on Hartt's arm! And it's elementary now...
Fontana
with a cover!




One...








Two....







KICKOUT?!?!!!

CL: Fontana doesn't waste his time, pulling that arm up with a
chickenwing as he yanks Hartt to his feet and forces him into an
underhook front chancery combo... just cranking the hold.

FH: He's controlling the pace of the match, Chip. Dominating the
Paladin and ... scooping him off his feet right now! And he just
drives
him to the mat with a beautiful text book slam!

[A moment to measure... and Fontana follows up with a high knee drop,
shades of Randy Savage as he drives it right down across the
shoulder.]

CL: And right back to a top wrist lock, forcing Hartt to the seated
position as he cranks the hold! And Hartt refusing to surrender as
Fontana continues to apply pressure... but Hartt twisting beneath the
superior leverage, forcing Fontana to reposition himself!

[Fontana loses his balance as Hartt suddenly kicks his foot out from
underneath him... both men fall to the mat Chris who twists into a
reversal! Fontana is immediately sliding along the mat in a desperate
attempt to avoid the hammerlock from Hartt, he suddenly reverses
directions and forces Hartt back to the mat with an attempted
fujiwara... ]

CL: No one with any clear advantage right now as both men struggle to
find leverage... Hartt avoiding the pressure on that fujiwara, and now
he rolls out of it! Top wrist lock from Hartt, but Fontana drags him
over and tries to lock another armbar... but Hartt steps in and ducks
beneath. Fireman carry takeover... but Fontana rolls through, twists
into a hammerlock... GOOD LORD, HARTT ROLLS OUT OF IT...

[The crowd is suddenly on their feet as Hartt and Fontana wind up on
one knee each, facing one another... their hands clasping one
another's
forearm in an attempt to gain leverage and sudden realization of a
clear match. There's frustration, confusion, anger, and... respect.]

THIS IS AWESOME!!!! THIS IS AWESOME!!!!

[Neither man moves for a moment... no one is playing to the crowd as
they just stare daggers through one another. It's Fontana who moves
first, snarling as he ducks in to roll under for an armbar!!! Hartt
snaps back with the roll and rises to his feet as he counters the
attempt ... he drags Fontana up and the bigger man suddenly lifts a
knee
to the gut!]

CL: Fontana goes for the Armbar driver... but Chris Hartt stands and
hauls Fontana off his feet!

FH: But the Everlasting is a cat! Backflips back to his feet... and
NAILS a European uppercut on Hartt! Another one! Another!!!

[Fontana grabs Hartt and nails him with an armdrag takedown into an
armbar. Fontana turns and applies a crucifix armbar. Hartt throws his
legs under Fontana's and tries to slide under him. Fontana spills
forward as Hartt climbs to his feet.]

CL: Quick escape from Hartt on that one.

FH: Can't keep a good man down. Or Chris Hartt.

[Fontana gets up and runs to the ropes, springing off, nailing Hartt
with a double axe handle.]

CL:  Hard shot by Fontana

[Fontana drags Hartt to a corner and lays in hard shots to the chest.
Fontana drags Hartt out of the corner and lays in a European
uppercut.]

CL: Hartt is taking some severe punishment here! The Paladin may be
off of his game!

FH: Hartt's on dream street!  He's just out on his feet! This could be
the end of it all, here!

[Fontana wraps his arms around opponent's arm and applies a standing
armbar that forces Hartt to bend forward, his head just below Perry's
hips.  Maintaining the armbar, Fontana places one leg over the back of
Hartt's neck and jumps up, using his weight to drive Hartt's face
first into the mat. ]

CL: Here's the cover....





One...








Two...









Thr... KICKOUT!!!!

FH: I don't believe it!

[Fontana rises to his knees, staring down at Hartt with stunned shake
of his head... he immediately rises to his feet and drops a stomp
across the shoulder! Another stomp as Hartt tries to roll to one
knee... Hartt is on his knees as Fontana drills another kick into the
shoulder, knocking the smaller man backward against the bottom rope!]

CL: Hartt tries to pull himself up as Fontana moves in with an
uppercut below the jaw! Another! And now another armwringer pulls
Hartt away from the ropes...

FH: The problem with that hold is that I don't think Hartt has any
nerve endings left in the wing... hah!

CL: And Fontana cranks him down to one knee... NO! Hartt rolling
through and reversing... into an armdrag! Fontana taken over and back
to his feet! But Hartt catches him with a spinning heel kick!

COVER!!!






ONE!!!!







TWO!!!!!




THr... KICKOUT!!!

[Hartt is quick to his feet, clutching his arm as he motions for the
Avenger! The crowd roars and Hartt ducks in to help Fontana up with a
chickenwing from behind, but Fontana suddenly reaches up and grabs
Hartt from around the neck with his free arm... ]

CL: Fontana twisting his body and forces Hartt to the mat... He kips
his body up and over into a bridge...





ONE...









TWO...








THREE?!?!?!!!!

FH: What was that?!?!?!!!

CL: Perry Fontana with a bridging pin attempt on Chris Hartt... and
with Hartt's arm trapped by his own chickenwing attempt, he couldn't
left either shoulder!

FH: I knew it! I knew the King of Armbars would come through!

CL: This one could easily have gone either way. That was one heck of a
showing from Hartt! From both men... I'm stunned. I'm honestly
stunned! We haven't seen such purity of the sport in a long long time,
Fred! This was a technicians' dream bout come true...

[Fatigued and out of breath, the kneeling Fontana looks down on Chris
Hartt, a cryptic look in his eyes. The Deathless One wipes his brow
with his taped wrist, purses his thin lips and nods as he
painstakingly gets to his feet. Not for a single moment does his
intense gaze stray away from the Paladin.]

CL: Oh, no... Remember what Spectre told Fontana?

FH: Remember what the Everlasting One did to Chance McKenzie? We might
be in for a repeat performance!

[As Hartt slowly gets back to his feet, Fontana paces around him,
stalking him like a predator, the crowd buzzing with dread and
anticipation. Once up, Hartt cracks his neck, massages some life back
into his arm, unaware of the danger that awaits him...

... Until he turns around, and the two men stand face to face!]

FH: Here it comes!

[The combatants study each other until the raven-haired Italian-French
Canadian makes his move!]

CL: He's... offering a handshake?

FH: WHAT?

CL: I can't believe it! Fontana is so impressed with Chris Hartt's
showing that he's offering him a handshake!

FH: Can't be! He must be... trying to sucker him in! Yeah, that must
be it! Take the bait, Chris! Do it!

[Hartt looks down at the Deathless One's hand, inscrutable. He takes a
step forward and then stops. Slowly...eyes still locked on Fontana, he
backs up... and roll out of the ring. The crowd reaction is mixed and
confused, to say the least, but one of the camera microphones picks up
the Paladin's words... "No! No more! I don't need you betraying me
too!" words that he utters again as he backs up the aisle, still
keeping eye contact with "Il Eterno" even when he reaches the
entrance. Hartt shakes his head in disgust and continues to rub his
arm, wincing at the pain and the loss.]

CL: Fontana will need more than half-hearted handshakes to redeem
himself, Fred. Still... What is going on with Chris Hartt!? Is this
new attitude truly a result of Nevermind's influence?

FH: Hartt lost the match, so tonight, Nevermind is Fontana's problem,
not Hartt's. That was the deal they struck!

CL: No, Fred. It doesn't matter what deal Hartt and Fontana made.
Tonight, Nevermind is Herscher von Donkerhardt's problem to deal with!

[We cut backstage where the masked "Swingin" Dean Hayes is standing in
front of a PVW banner with Senor Cloak Dos. The luchadore still has
the hood of his cloak pulled over his masked head.]

SDH: With me right now is Senor Cloak Dos, who in a little bit will do
battle against Christopher Black for the Television Championship. But
Dos, first off let me say that all of us here in Phoenix Valley
Wrestling have been devestated by the passing of young fan Josie. Our
condolences, our thoughts and our prayers are with her family. With
all of that though, Dos, I know you were close with Josie so you must
be very affected by her passing. Are you in the right state of mind
for this match tonight? It is for the Television Championship, Dos!
Gibson Hayes, El Outlaw LOCO, Perry Fontana, Masked Maniac, Larry
Gionet, Sinister.. Many of the sport's very best have held this title.
This is the opportunity of a lifetime!

[The luchadore takes a deep breath before answering.]

SCD: Senor Dean, tonight is not about me or prestigious championship
titles.

SDH: Is it about revenge for all the horrible things Christopher Black
said to Josie or about his actions towards you over the past few
months?

[Cloak shakes his head in the negative.]

SCD: Tonight is not about Senor Black or petty revenge. Tonight, Senor
Dean, tonight is about our little amiga, Josie. A child who faced
terrible odds with incredible bravery and strength. She...

[We can not see his face but his body language and his voice tell us
that he is fighting back emotions and composing himself. After a
moment he continues.]

SCD: She only had concern for others in her last days and asked me to
do something for her out of her concerns. Tonight is only about our
little amiga and living up to my word to fulfill what she wanted. I
have said in the past that I am just a man who wears a mask that is
transformed by the power the fans give to me. Tonight I will need
everyone's help more than ever to be transformed into a superhero
because a mere man is not enough to make our little amiga's wishes
happen in her memory. Tonight all of us, Senor Dean, we all give of
our hearts, our energy, our cheers, our fighting, all in memory and
tribute to Josie. That is what tonight is about.

[Both Dean and Cloak stand there silently for a moment, almost hanging
their heads, then Dean looks up. Through the eye openings of his mask
we see Hayes has tears in his eyes. Then he does something completely
out of the blue.. Dean hugs Dos. The luchadore pats Hayes on the back,
both men trying to comfort the other. Hayes pulls away and looks away
while wiping his eyes. Dos nods his head then walks offscreen. Dean
composes himself and looks up at the camera.]

SDH: Apparently what is on the line tonight is bigger than
championships or anything else one can think of. It is about
fulfilling the final wishes of sweet little girl gone too soon. Chip
and Fred.. Back to you.

[We cut back to ring side.]

FH: Okay ... Does anyone else have a problem with Dean's mask and
saying things like he just did?

CL: The real Fred Hoyle is back with us folks.  I knew earlier in the
show was just too good to be true.  Anyways I am not going to let you
tarnish that moment.  Senor Cloak Dos is a true hero ... And he is our
PVW TV CHAMPION!

FH: For now.  Let him have tonight.

CL: Tonight has been a night that will join some of the most memorable
night's in PVW history.  And Herk Douglas stands in the ring to keep
it a going.

Herk Douglas:  Ladies and Gentlemen, our next match is scheduled for
one fall, and is a NO DISQUALIFICATION MATCH WITH NO COUNT OUTS!

[The crowd goes berserk at the prospect of the mindless violence that
awaits them!]

CL:  This next match promises to be a wild one, to say the least,
Fred!

FH:  Wild, brutal, and bloody!  Hopefully all Rob Cole's!!

CL:  Considering the malice Rob Cole and William Craven have for one
another, I'd say the possibility of blood being  spilled by either man
in this match, is a distinct possibility!

FH:  Yeah, but mostly Cole's!

[Cue the drums, cue the guitars, and "Ratamahatta" begins to blare
over the loudspeakers! The audience roars to their feet throughout the
introduction as the strobes begin to go off... and an explosion at the
entrance marks the arrival of Rob Cole! Framed in the smoke, his body
stands in the mock crucifixion pose before he begins to stalk down to
the ring. He slaps hands with the fans and rushes the last few steps
in order to slide beneath the bottom rope.]

HD:  Introducing first, from Hudson Valley, New York,  Weighing in at
268 pounds, ROB COLE!

CL: Dressed in black and red, the former World Champion has entered
the ring for a bloody war tonight!

FH: More like black for the funeral, Chip... this is going to be a
brutal execution and the absolute END of that man in that ring!

[Cole climbs to the second turnbuckle, spreading his arms for the
crowd as "Ratamahatta" continues to blare over the loudspeakers. He
drops down and heads toward another turnbuckle, turning at the last
second to have a seat on the mat... his arms spread to hold on to the
second ropes as he awaits his opponent with a determined smile on his
face.]

CL:  Facing William Craven is a daunting prospect under any
conditions, but in this type of match, it has to be an almost
terrifying notion!  This type of match is what William Craven lives
for.

FH:  Yeah, and Cole will be dying once Craven gets ahold of him!

*WHUMP-ump-ump*

[With the sound of a thunderclap, the lights go out, and the world is
plunged into darkness.  Wind can be heard, chimed in through the PA
system.]

*Thump-thump*

[Red letters knit into existence on PVW's video wall, reading "It Gets
Worse!" then unravel to form a single red line.  The sounding of a
horrible heart is heard, the line reverberating with every noise
played over the PA.]

#I'm over it!#

[Those words, screamed in a-capela by one David Draiman, preceded only
briefly an explosion of sound as "Forsaken" bursts out of the PA
system and into the arena.  The camera angle switches as tension
builds; red spotlights brightly illuminating the entrance portal and
the crowd waits.  Abruptly, an intense shower of blood-red sparks
sprays out from before the entrance portal, threatening to set the
whole arena on fire.  Rising on a platform from beneath this flaming
masterpiece emerges a cloaked figure amidst a billowing cloud of
smoke.  Reptilian blue eyes highlight the shoulders of his black
vinyl robe.  Turning, he seems to, himself, stop the flames from
shooting.  His hooded head stares down at his gnarled hands, bound as
they are in red gauze, clutching a wooden katana in them.]

#You see I cannot be forsaken,#
#because I'm not the only one,#
#We walk amongst you feeding, raping...#
#Must we hide from everyone?#

[As if in reply to the lyrics, the dark figure strides powerfully
towards the ring as the lights die.  Darkness closes back in, broken
only by strobing flashbulbs as fans try to get a picture of what can
only be one man...]

HD: Hailing from Detroit, Michigan!  He weighs in tonight at 320
pounds!  Ladies and Gentlemen, this is William Craven!

[Climbing the ringsteps and coming to rest on the apron, Craven looks
out at the crowd one time before ducking between the ropes.  Thrusting
his arms out before him, William slowly parts them, reaching out to
his sides, the robe falling heavily into a heap on the mat, and
revealing his serpent-tattooed, muscular torso.  He then hands his
bo'ken off to the timekeeper and stands, ready to compete.]

CL:  Look at the intensity on the face of Rob Cole!

FH:  That's not intensity, that's fear!  Cole may not be the sharpest
tool in the shed, but he at least has the good sense to be scared out
of his mind, right now!

CL:  I'm not seeing any fear in the eyes of Rob Cole, Fred.

FH:  Yeah, well I'm _smelling_ something, and I sure hope it's just
fear!

CL:  Classy as always, Fred.  Both men are in the ring and it looks
like this one is about to get underway!

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \                T6: NO DQ's, NO Countouts Match:
 / / / /_/ /                  William Craven vs. Rob Cole
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*

FH: Let the carnage begin!

[And indeed it does as William Craven rushes forward and immediately
overwhelms Rob Cole with a series of devastating blows to the head,
shoulders and upper back.  Craven continues to club Cole, driving him
down to his knees.]

CL:  And William Craven showing that he's determined too as he
immediately dominates Cole!

FH:  Robe Cole may as well get comfortable, because that's where he's
going to be spending the rest of the match!

[A stunned Rob Cole is on his hands and knees, shaking his head in an
attempt to regain his bearings as William Craven rebounds off the
ropes and delivers a stiff running kick to the side of Cole's head.
The crowd groans in unison as Cole falls face first to the mat.]

CL:  William Craven is demonstrating the viciousness that is his
trademark in the first few moments of this match!  He has already
seized control, and after that brain rattling kick, Cole may already
be in a situation he may find difficult to recover from!

FH: Too bad.  I was hoping Craven would drag this thing out a while,
looks like he's going to call this an early night though.  Maybe he
has a hot date, or something?  Nah, Craven would never pass up a
chance to administer a good old fashioned beating to spend time with
some gold digger!

CL:  Not all women are gold diggers, Fred.

FH:  All my ex-wives were.

CL:  I don't know if any amount of money could ever compensate someone
for being married to you, Fred.

FH:  That's what my last ex-wife's lawyer said, too.

[Back in the ring, Craven grins sadistically as he slowly lifts Cole
to his knees by his hair.  Cole attempts to fight back with a weak,
glancing blow to Craven's mid-section, which Craven doesn't even
acknowledge.   Craven manages to get the spaghetti-legged Cole to his
feet, and delivers an open palmed slap to the face of Rob Cole!]

CL:  William Craven now adding insult to injury with a humiliating
slap to the face of Rob Cole!

FH:   He's just trying to wake him up so he can hurt him some more!

[Cole shakes his head and looks at his tormentor for a moment, and
slaps him back!  Craven's eyes grow wide in shock and anger as he
brings his right hand back to slap Cole's face again, but before he
can deliver the blow, Rob Cole gives him another stinging slap to the
already red cheek of William Craven.  Craven's face twists in anger
and he brings back his fist...]

CL: Rob Cole with a stiff forearm to the jaw! Another! Craven
swings...and Cole ducks... Whoah!

[Rob Cole plants his right thumb into the glaring right eye of William
Craven.]

FH: What was that?!?!!!  A thumb to the eye?!?!! This is supposed to
be some sort of role model?!?!

[Craven clutches at his eye and Cole steps in with a kick to the
midsection... and Cole fish hooks the eye!!! Craven is forced back
against the ring corner.  Rob Cole follows Craven to the corner and
hauls Craven off his feet with a fireman's carry! The crowd is roaring
as Cole turns and ... SAMOA DROP!!!! Craven is planted in the center
of the ring as Cole transitions quickly into a dragon sleeper on the
mat! The crowd roars to their feet as Cole cranks the inverted
chancery! He raises up to one knee and adds pressure on the neck.
Craven's leg kick beneath him in an attempt to find some purchase, but
Cole yanks him from side to side to keep the big man off balance. Cole
takes a deep breath, steadying Craven beneath his arm as the big man
struggles against the dragon sleeper!]

FH: He jabbed him in the eye, Chip! How can you call this match
without feeling sick to your stomach? Rob Cole has been a pretender to
the throne for way too long... William Craven has repeatedly pulled
back the wolf's clothing to reveal the scared sheep underneath!

CL: The "scared sheep" is cranking pressure to the neck and spine with
that dragon sleeper, Fred. He's got the advantage right now and we've
both seen him stand up to massive challenges before... and Craven has
broken a great many men in this company with blatant attacks! So get
off your high horse, Fred! Cole is up to his feet... and he just drops
Craven with a reverse DDT!

[Cole immediately stands and spreads both arms in the mock
crucifixion, staring down at Craven!  Craven lands a quick forearm to
the lower midsection of Cole, and scrambles to his feet as Rob Cole
staggers back a step.  Craven rushes forward to deliver a clothesline
but Cole manages to duck and step behind Craven to deliver a  forearm
to the small of the back.  Another forearm and Craven drops to one
knee! Rob Cole runs to the ropes, rebounds off and PLANTS a charging
knee into the back of Will Craven!]

FH: Cole has been targeting the back... nailing shots between those
shoulder blades and looking for some way to counter the superior size
and strength of William Craven! But, Chip... Craven doesn't feel pain
like most men! He's just sucking up all these hits and turning them
back on Cole... a man who admits to pain, admits to weakness, and a
man we've seen beaten time and again by the monster in that ring!

CL: Craven is using the ropes to get to his feet as Cole shakes his
head in disbelief!

[Rob Cole turns as Craven charges... and hooks an arm around the big
mans' neck, tossing him UP and over the top rope! Craven hits the
apron hard and then staggers to the concrete below... catching himself
on the guardrail!]

FH: Up and over the top rope!

CL: Craven tossed to the outside... and Cole with both hands on the
top
rope! Craven is struggling to get to his feet as Cole takes the
measure! Here he goes!!!

[Cole leans WAY back and allows the ropes to drag him up and over,
curling his body at the last moment as he's launched up and then over!
He soars, nearly 300 pounds, over the top rope and easily clears the
apron as Craven turns...]

CL: SLINGSHOT SENTON!!!

[A loud simultaneous OOF!  Echoes ripples through the capacity crowd!]

FH:  YES!!  William Craven ducked!

CL:  Incredible ring awareness by the veteran there as he saw Rob Cole
coming at him and ducked out of the way!  Cole landed hard on the
floor at ring side!

FH:  And now Craven has him right where he wants him!

CL:  And right where Rob Cole does not want to be!  William Craven is
dangerous enough, but outside the ring in a No Disqualification match
will make him even more deadly!

[As if to prove Chip's point, Craven pulls Cole to his feet and whips
him hard into the steel ring steps.  The top step goes flying as Rob
Cole collides with the cold metal.  Cole lays on the ground, wincing
in pain as William Craven slowly walks over and picks up the loose
metal step.  He lifts it up over his head, and brings it down hard
across the left shoulder of Rob Cole.  As Cole holds his shoulder in
agony, Craven once again lifts the metal step, and brings it down
across Cole's left shoulder once more.  Cole is in great pain as
William Craven lifts the heavy steel up over his head a third time and
throws it down hard across Rob Cole's left shoulder.]

FH:  Awesome!  Now Craven is going to totally annihilate Cole!

CL:  I wouldn't be so quick to jump to that conclusion, Fred.
Although right now, I'd say Rob Cole is most definitely in a bad way!

[Craven muscles Cole back up, and drives his left shoulder square into
the metal ring post.  Cole kicks his legs as he rolls on the floor in
agony.  Craven looks down upon his writhing opponent and smiles
wickedly.  Cole slowly manages to sit up, only to have Craven dig the
fingers of his right hand into the already hurt left shoulder of Rob
Cole.]

CL:  The Claw!!  William Craven has dug the fingers of that right hand
deep into the muscles of Rob Cole's left shoulder!  After those
devastating blows Cole's suffered to that shoulder, this has got to be
excruciating!

FH:  You're damn right it is!  Look at Cole's face!

CL:  You have to wonder, is Craven maybe looking for a submission
here, or, is he merely wanting to injure Rob Cole?  Or could he even
be trying to set up Cole for "The Dead Zone?"

FH: Who cares?  Just as long as he keeps on doing it!  Rip his arm off
and beat him with it!

[Craven must have heard Fred Hoyle's request, because he releases the
Claw, and begins savagely snapping the Outcast's left arm, as if
attempting to separate it from his torso.  Cole lets out an ear-
piercing shriek of pain, which causes Craven's grin to grow.  Craven
releases his left arm, and Cole collapses into a heap.  As Rob Cole
grabs his left shoulder in pain, William Craven walks over to the
time-keeper's table, where he picks up the wooden practice sword he
brought to ring side...]

FH: I like where this is going!

CL:  I know this is a no DQ match, but is this really necessary?

FH:  Yes. Yes, it is.

[Holding tightly onto the bokken by either end, William Craven drives
the point directly into the muscle of Rob Cole's left shoulder.
Cole's screams are cut short however, by William Craven choking Cole
with the wooden sword. Rob Cole's eyes bulge outward and his face
turns dark red as he struggles for breath.]

CL:  This is quickly becoming very dangerous for Rob Cole.  Ever since
this match has left the ring, William Craven has been dominating his
opponent.

FH:  And he's using that domination to shut Cole up once and for all!
Not that he can talk with the life being choked out of him!

CL:  William Craven is just toying with Rob Cole now.  He's not made
any effort whatsoever to pin the man.  He's just wanting to dish out
more punishment.

FH:  I know, isn't it great?

[Cole's body begins to go limp, but as the ref comes out to check on
his opponent, Craven releases him. Once again, Rob Cole collapses to
the floor and grabs his throat as he coughs and wheezes loudly trying
to force air back into his lungs.  As he lies there gasping, William
Craven paces slowly at ring side, taking in the boos and jeers washing
over him.  He stalks slowly back to Cole as he manages to rise to his
knees.  He pulls Rob Cole to his feet, and begins to position him...]

CL:  This could be it!  It looks like Craven is setting Cole up for
his Dead Zone finisher!

[William Craven stands behind Rob Cole and grapevines his left arm
under Cole's left arm.  He brings his right forearm across Cole's
face, but before he can lock his hands together, Rob Cole bites down
hard on Craven's arm!  Craven screams out in pain as the Outcast sinks
his teeth into the flesh of his forearm.]

FH:  He's biting him!  Rob Cole is biting Craven!  What in the world
is this animal doing?

CL:  Whatever it takes, Fred!  No disqualification, remember?  It's
perfectly legal!

FH:  Forget legal!  What happened to sportsmanship??

CL:  I am going to forget you just said that, Fred.

[Craven cries out loudly and pushes Cole away.  Cole uses the
opportunity to roll back under the bottom rope into the ring.  Panting
heavily, Rob Cole rises to his feet as a decidedly angry looking
William Craven climbs back into the ring.  Craven charges at Cole like
a rampaging rhino, only to have Cole fall flat to the mat and trip
him, causing him to fall flat on his face.  Craven holds his nose in
pain, as Cole rebounds off the ropes to deliver a leg drop to the back
of William Craven's skull, driving his nose into the mat once more.
Craven rolls over onto his back, his eyes watering and a trickle of
blood coming out of his left nostril.  Both men scramble to their
feet, Craven wipes the blood from his upper lip and blinks the tears
from his eyes as Cole slowly straightens to his full height, still
breathing heavily.]

CL:  That blow to the nose just gave Rob Cole a chance to catch his
breath!

FH:  Craven's bleeding!  Stop the match!  He's hurt!

CL:  You know full well there's no stopping this one, Fred!  You
weren't saying anything about stopping the match when William Craven
was choking the life out of Rob Cole just a moment ago!

FH:  Yeah, but that was different!

CL:  How was that different?

FH:  Because I hate Rob Cole, that's how!

[Rob Cole moves in, hoping to take advantage of Craven's momentary
weakness, he grabs Craven to deliver an Irish Whip, but Craven
reverses, and as Cole rebounds towards the center of the ring, Craven
lifts his leg and nails Cole with a massive Mafia Kick to the face.]

FH:  Yes!  Now quick!  Finish him off!!

[Craven stomps the mat in frustration and warns the referee to step
back and then turns a sick smile to Rob Cole. The other man rolls
over, dragging his knees beneath him as he slowly starts to lift his
head from the mat. Blood flows freely and he shakes the dazed
expression away... a look of hatred flashes across his eyes as he
hauls himself up.]

CL: The Outcast is on his feet!!! He's on his feet after such
devastating punishment and listen to the roar from this crowd!

FH: But look at Craven... his body is trembling from rage! I've never
seen him so livid!!!

[Craven moves in for the kill.... And Cole suddenly drops to both
knees!]

>>>>> HUGE FACE POP!!!!!! <<<<<<<<<

[Craven doubles over, a look of shock on his face after Rob Coles'
fist to the nethers... and the Outcast grabs his head and pulls
himself
up!]

FH: NO!!!! No no no!!!!

CL: HERE IT COMES!!!!!!!

[The crowd roars as Cole underhooks both arms.... And hauls Craven up,
his feet going straight up as the Outcast turns his body for a moment.
He drops down to his knees, driving the back of Cravens head into the
mat with a sickening thud!!!!]

CL: CAST OUT POWERBOMB!!!!!!

FH: NO!!!! Craven will kick out!!! He'll kick out!!!!

CL: Cole staring down at Craven's body....

FH: He's scared! HE's scared to pin Craven... wai... wha? What's he
doing???

[Suddenly, Cole leans down and grabs Craven's legs and drapes them
over the bottom rope, turning the Green Man over so he's facing down!
He straddles the small of the back and hauls back on the arms, draping
them over his knees.... He yanks back on the chin!!!!

CL: CAMEL CLUTCH!!!!!! CAMEL CLUTCH!!!! CAMEL CLUTCH!!!!!

FH: Craven is awake and... and.... Oh, good lord! He's ankles are
across that bottom rope! There's no way for him to get... leverage...
NO!!!! NO NO NO!!!!!

CL: Look at the muscles cording on Coles' arms... cranking back on the
camel clutch!!! William Craven is trapped! Trapped by the bottom rope!
His body is bowed backward... incredible damage to the spine!!!
There's no way out!!!!

[His boots unable to slide over that bottom rope as his body is pulled
from the mat, Craven's eyes are wide, panicked, and his arms continue
to flail. There is hatred in that look... absolute hatred! He lifts
his hand up... and suddenly starts to tap on Coles' knee!!! The
referee launches to his feet and calls for the bell!!!!]


*DING DING DING!!!!!*


FH: No.... NO NO NO!!!! This isn't fair! He used the rope! Craven was
on the ropes.... Wait... he tapped out?!?!!! NO!!!! NO?!?!!! I
don't.... I don't understand... he tapped out!!!!

CL: There was no place to go!!! The camel clutch... his lower legs
trapped over the bottom rope and there was NO disqualification in this
match! There was no place to go, Fred! No way out! Rob Cole could have
snapped the spinal column, he could have caused irreparable harm to
the back, he could have ended William Craven's career!

HD: The winner of the match ... ROB COLE!

[ROARING HECK YEAH POP!]

[Rob Cole stands, breathing deeply as he stares down at William
Craven. He takes a deep breath and lifts one arm, looking out at the
crowd as they roar with approval! He turns to regard the fallen Green
monster as the big man struggles to try and climb to his feet. Cole
shakes his head... and then drops out of the ring! He suddenly pounds
his chest and turns toward the nearest camera, "That was for you two,
hon! Tell the bubbers... I'll be home soon! The dragon is dead!"]

FH: There was no cause for that!

CL: Months of torture, Fred! Rob Cole is going home after months of
torment! He's overcome the green monster... more than that, Fred! He
forced William Craven to tap out... to surrender... he's done the
unthinkable and unimaginable and he has toppled the Beast!

FH: I am speechless ... I never expected this in my life time.  What
just happened here?

[Cole's music continues to play as Craven sits up in the ring, bloody
and bug-eyed at his loss.  Watching Cole leave, he first seems
frustrated before a slow grin creeps across his jagged face.]

CL: What is this all about?

[Scrambling on all fours, seemingly in a race against time, Craven
reaches the apron, half falling out of the ring and calling for a
microphone.  Baring his sharpened teeth at Herk Douglas he gets his
wish.]

WC: COLE!

[Cole continues to stand with his back to the ring.. and the man
inside. He stops midway up the ramp and takes a deep breath, but he
does NOT turn.]


WC: Oh, what a burden you must endure ... to be a myth in your own
time.  So many times you have felt my fury but only now do I feel
yours.  'Though I hate to give an inch to one so despised the
bitterness is nevertheless tinged with a grain of sugar.  So many
times you have felt my fury and weathered my onslaught; withering
before your time.  So many times and NEVER have I had your best.  This
is true.  You were afraid.  Incapable of bringing to bear your full
arsenal for, however unintentional, I ever had the advantage in the
mind games we play.

But you erased that, didn't you?  Bravo...

[Cole lowers his head, and turns slowly. He stares at the man in the
ring and shakes his head in disgust.   Somewhat wobbly, but
recovering, Craven stands to his full height as a manic fervor clearly
overtakes him.]


WC: All cannons fire and you faltered time and time again.  Now, I've
shattered the shell of fear that held you back and you've laid my
broadside, sinking in the proverbial waters.  BRAVO!  Sadly for you,
however, I too have weathered ... but I have not withered.  You think
the battle is fought and won when the war is not even yet begun.
COLE!

[He shakes his head on the ramp, licking his lips to take a step
forward and then pausing as he looks at the camera, then back at the
man in the ring. He sucks his lips and rolls his neck. Craven leans
out over the top rope, grasping at the air as if to pull Cole back to
him.]

WC: Ours is a war of escalation and I brought to bear the nuclear arms
far too soon!  I see that now.  Our story came to a head too soon, a
warhead ... too soon, but believe me when I say we can not be done
until you have either proven to me that you deserve all you have taken
... or you lay all but dead at my green hands!  This is the ultimate
call to GLORY, Cole!  A call you must accept.  For if you don't...

[Edging back towards the ring Cole scowls, seeming to anticipate
Craven's words.  Frowning, seemingly unhappy with the steps he's now
willing to take.  Sweeping a morass of blood and sweat away from his
eyes he actually looks like he may cry.]

WC: I am actually far gentler than you think I am, Robert.  In truth I
meant no harm to the foundling waif I coddled and told a story.  Your
wife?  Nothing but a messenger.  But no man will deny me my glory, the
glory of the violence, to stand above all others as avatar of
brutality.  Say no now...

...and I will erase them from the earth ... then you ... in any
way I can ... even if it means my own _death_.

[Standing, stunned, unbelieving at the extremity of William's words
and the emotion in his cracking voice, Cole seems unable to absorb
them for a moment. He finally takes a breath, and sneers in disgust.
He stares at Craven... and then turns his back on the man once more.
He walks up the aisle as Craven stares... and Cole turns at the top of
the ramp and stares at Craven for a moment longer. He finally points
off to the side... and the camera pans back, revealing the sign for
the next PVW PPV.

... Boiling Point.]

CL: Rob Cole has over came the beast and he has done another first in
the PVW.  And he just accepted a third and final match for BOILING
PONT!

FH: Rob Cole isn't all that smart is he?  I mean you just did the
unthinkable ... And then you get yourself right back into hot water by
accepting another match with William Craven?

CL: Rob Cole isn't the type to back down from a challenge.  And
outside of Rick Marley he has faired well at PVW PPV's.  His
confidence is at an all time high.

FH: It's ... William Craven though.

CL: The man he just made tap.  Let's go backstage where the PVW World
Champion is standing by.

FH: GIBSON!

[Arms crossed, leaning against the PVW backdrop and with Dean Hayes
holding a microphone, the PVW world champion, Gibson Hayes, has his
eyes hidden from the world thanks to his deep red cloak.]

DH: Gibson, tonight you defend your championship for the third time -
this time against long time veteran AsH.

GH: Get on with your questions, Dean.

[Dean coughs.]

DH: AsH is quite accomplished; a former world champion and one of the
best cruiserweights in the world today...

GH: And I barely outweigh him, isn't that right, Dean?

DH: Well, depending on the latest weigh ins...

GH: And I'm not some scary, giant monster who drools and wails about
what ever it is that crawled up his ass this week, am I, Dean?

[Dean stares through his mask - it is almost as ugly as his Hawaiian
shirt.]

DH: What are you saying, Gibson?

GH: I'm saying AsH isn't used to having to actually fight. Ash, I saw
your little tete-a-tete with that imbecile Fontana. I'm sure your
fatherhood warms the cockles of the easily impressed's heart but just
because someone can knock up some lady doesn't mean they actually can
get the job done.

[Dean is about to say something when Hayes cuts him off.]

GH: Shut up, Dean. Just because you didn't use protection doesn't mean
a world shattering change occurs. Your anecdotal evidence means
nothing, Ash, just like your career before PVW means nothing in the
context of that ring out there. Everything is different now, Ash. You
have to be the hungry one. You have to look past what your loin spawn
means to you. Why? Because this is your shot and it is not on your
terms. I know your past and I know how your kind of "hero" fights.

[Gibson tilts his head back. Hayes's face is mostly covered by shadows
but his fierce brown eyes shine.]

GH: You can't sit back and hope to rope-a-dope me. You can't hope to
catch me off guard or weather my storm. You have to be the hunter and
being the underdog, and being a father, has made you defensive. You no
longer look at everything as something to fight, fuck or forget - no,
you think about what is precious to you. The fire that once burned
inside you has twisted and bent into something useless: fear. Fear of
what will become of your family. Fear of being the aggressor. Fear of
taking what you want for yourself and not others.

[Dean looks at Gibson and seems to want to say something but instead
keeps his mouth shut. Gibson lowers his hood and holds the PVW belt up
in front of the camera.]

GH: Look at this belt, Ash, look at your youth, your potential, your
hopes, shine in the light of possibilities. Now, realize that is all
gone. Those brats you fight for, your loinspawn and those oh so easily
duped hellspawn of the audience, have taken that fire you once had and
pissed on it, killing any hope you have of being able to bring enough
to defeat me. You will give it everything you have left in your gas
tank but, Ash, we both know it isn't enough. It'll never be enough,
now. You have too much to lose to expend everything in the hunt for
this belt. You'll have your convenient excuses to fall back on, your
family to ease your suffering and you'll have your coy little games to
help ease the pain; nice cold comfort for you, Ashland.

[Hayes lowers the belt.]

GH: And me? I'll have my championship and my next victim to comfort
me.

[After the words from the PVW World Champion, we cut back to the
center of the ring where Herk Douglas stands by.]

HD: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one
fall and is for... THE PVW AMERICAN CHAMPIONSHIP!

[BIG POP]

[A familiar guitar riff blasts across the PA as Nirvana's "Smells Like
Teen Spirit" begins to play. A loud mixture of cheers, boos, and
catcalls echo throughout the Valley View Casino Center as the crowd
waits for the man they know will soon be coming through the curtains.
A large, dark figure steps out onto the platform, arriving quicker
than usual for this particular man. The large, disheveled figure is
clad in a faded black "Nirvana" t-shirt over which is a ragged looking
flannel shirt with the sleeves torn off. He wears what appears to be
home-made kilt of black and grey cloth and on his feet are a pair of
very worn black combat boots which are seemingly held together by
thick strips of duct tape wrapped around them. Long, stringy unwashed
black hair falls forward over his face, which is covered by an unruly
dark beard which hangs down to his chest. His mostly obscured face
usually devoid of emotion, tonight with a more focused and determined
look upon it. As he makes his way to the ring he ignores the yelling
fans on either side of him and once he approaches the ring he rolls
under the bottom rope and into the ring. He gets to his feet and heads
to a corner where he remains standing, watching the entrance way for
his opponent.]

HD: Introducing first the challenger, hailing from Seattle,
Washington.. Weighing 270 pounds and standing six feet five inches..
He is the King of Nothing.. NEVERMIND!

[MIXED REACTION]

CL: There is no doubt this match has high stakes because I can not
recall a time recently that Nevermind has appeared this focused!

FH: The American Championship is on the line, Chip! Also, he probably
just wants to punch the Dutch bumble really hard in the face like all
good hearted people this country over want to!

CL: I have a feeling this crowd will not agree with you, Fred.

FH: They're not good hearted people, Chip!

[The crowd soon proves Chip right because when "I Remember" by Low
starts playing over the PA the crowd leap to their feet, cheering
loudly! From the entrance way emerges the man known as Herscher von
Donkerhardt clad in his trademark brown trunks with black leather
lining on the inner thigh, black boots, and the PVW American
Championship belt around his waist. The audience starts to cheer even
louder as the Dutchman comes down the entrance way!]

#I remember very number #

[Herscher's eyes are icy blue and heh as a stone faced look of
determination on his face. People along the aisle way reach for his
hand, and Herscher slaps a few of them on the way to the ring.]

#I remember graduation #

HD: And his opponent coming down the aisle. He is originally
from Utrecht in the The Netherlands, but now calls Phoenix, Arizona
home. He is the "The Netherlands Submission Machine", and reigning PVW
American Champion Herscher von Donkerhardt!

[FACE POP]

[Herscher walks up the ring steps.]

#I remember painted faces#

[Herscher climbs into the ring and begins to bend and stretch in his
corner, Nevermind never taking his eyes off of the American Champion.]

#No they couldn't believe #

#It was you I knew #

CL: The PVW American Champion, Herscher von Do-

FH: Spare us his complicated name, Chip! This clown has been ducking
everyone lately and does not deserve to be called a champion!

CL: Ducking?! Perry Fontana was the one responsible for this man being
out of in ring action recently! Herscher has been going out of his way
to find ways to get back in the ring to fight and finally we get to
see him in action again!

FH: You delude yourself all you want, Chip. Tell yourself Dutch apple
pie here hasn't been cowardly avoiding fights and that your wife
hasn't been getting extra heaping's of Hoyle loving every chance she
can!

[Chip sighs loudly while we watch referee Lou Crowe check both men for
weapons. Once satisfied he walks to the middle of the ring, motions to
the timekeeper and..]

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \             T6: PVW American Title Match:
 / / / /_/ /          Nevermind -vs- Hersher von Donkerhardt
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*


[BIG POP]

CL: This American Title match is officially underway!

FH: Is it ever! Look out!

[As soon as the bell rings Nevermind rushes out of his corner straight
at HVD, swinging rights and lefts at the American Champion! HVD tries
to block the blows and fires back shots of his own and soon both men
are just laying into one another with hard punches back and forth!]

CL: They are just pounding each other in the opening moments of this
match!

FH: I TOLD you Nevermind was wanting to punch Donkey in the face!

CL: His name is..

FH: Focus on the match, Chip! Do your job!

CL: ...

[HVD spins out of the punch fest and tries to set up for a kick but
Nevermind spins with the American Champion, apparently intent not to
let up for a moment! A lunging punch from the King of Nothing is
avoided though and Herscher hooks the big man from Seattle from
behind, attempting a belly to back suplex but a big elbow from
Nevermind sends the man from the Netherlands staggering away. The
challenger stalks after the champion but Herscher avoids Nevermind's
grasp and dives onto his opponent's legs and trips the challenger down
to the canvas by taking his legs out from under him.]

CL: Good wrestling take down by the American Champion.

FH: I think he is just trying to steal change from Nevermind which is
a futile effort since the man lives on the streets. I doubt he has
change on him.

[HVD immediately goes on the attack, kicking away at Nevermind's leg
before going into a spinning toe hold! Referee Lou Crowe asks
Nevermind if he wants to give up but the challenger ignores the
referee and is CLAWING at HVD's hands, trying to scratch at the
champion's fingers! Herscher breaks the hold and shakes out his hands
while Nevermind gets to his feet, perhaps too slowly, as HVD kicks at
the back of the challenger's leg sending him back down onto his
stomach. The Dutchman hits a knee drop on the back of Nevermind's leg
then transitions quickly into a half crab hold! Nevermind tries to
reach back and grab his opponent but misses grasping the American
champion. Loue Crowe asks the challenger if he wants to give up but
the King of Nothing manages to pull himself to the ropes and force the
hold to be broken.]

CL: Herscher is trying to stop the intense start of this match by
slowing things down with his incredible technical ability.

FH: He's chicken! Just say it, Chip!

CL: He is not chicken!

FH: He's too scared to get punched in the face!

[Both men get to their feet but Nevermind wastes no time in launching
at the American champion with a hard right hand, stunning the
Dutchman. The King of Nothing follows up with a kneelift, doubling the
champion over, and then goes for a Gutwrench yanking HVD up in the air
but the Netherlands' grappler struggles free behind the challenger,
hooks him and goes for a Bulldog.. But Nevermind pushes the champion
off him and into the ropes. HVD stops himself and spins around as
Nevermind launches onto him with a hard elbow smash across the face!
Herscher rolls with the impact but spins around and fires back with a
kick to the legs and a hard punch to the challenger's face!]

CL: These two are going tooth and nail here early on!

FH: Everyone wants to punch everyone in the face, Chip! As a matter of
fact..

CL: Don't even think about it!

[HVD grabs Nevermind and pulls him into a side headlock but the
challenger quickly bites down on the champions' arm! HVD lets go
quickly while Nevermind spins towards the Dutchman and tackles him
down onto the canvas! Nevermind wastes no time in raining hard punches
down onto the champion but HVD catches one of the punches and shoots
his legs up and goes for the Cross Armbreaker! Nevermind scrambles to
his knees and grabs Lou Crowe and pulls him towards him! Crowe
desperately reprimands Nevermind but he does not let go of the
official. Herscher lets go of the hold and pulls the referee from
Nevermind's grasp.]

CL: This is getting to a hectic and chaotic start!

FH: Even the referee is attacking competitors in this match!

CL: Nevermind grabbed Lou Crowe, Fred!

FH: No, I don't think that's how good hearted people saw that.

[HVD checks to see if the referee is alright only to take a kneelift
to his back from the challenger who then follows up with clubbing
blows across the upperback of the champion! Nevermind goes to scoop
the champion up in his arms but HVD struggles free and counters into a
headlock that he keeps tight around Nevermind's jaw, trying to avoid
the bite counter! He then takes the challenger down to the canvas and
applies pressure on the headlock.]

CL: Smart move by the American Champion. Slowing things down and
stopping this non-stop pace!

FH: You are saying he is a coward then?

CL: No, I am not saying that, Fred!

[Herscher keeps Nevermind on bended knee while grinding on the
headlock, wrenching the King of Nothing's neck while tightening the
hold's grip. Nevermind reaches with his foot towards the ropes but
they are too far away. Unable to break the hold, the King of Nothing
uses his free hands to pound away on HVD's right leg. The American
champion is forced to bend his knee due to the pounding, at which
Nevermind grabs HVD's lower leg, bends his knee, and releases the
hold, crashing Herrscher's knee into the canvas!]

FH: That will break the hold!

[HVD indeed does release the hold while clutching his knee. Nevermind
slowly stands up and delivers a hard kick to the ribs of HVD! The
American champion doubles over, holding his ribs. Nevermind grabs his
opponent by his hair and pulls him up onto his knees and then delivers
a boot to the back of Herscher's neck, sending the champ down onto the
canvas! Nevermind yanks HVD up and lifts him up over his head with an
impressive Gorilla Press.. Only to drop the Dutchman onto a raised
knee from the King of Nothing! Herscher clutchess his ribs and
abdominal area while writhing in obvious pain on the mat!]

[HEEL POP]

CL: Nevermind has just targeted a known weakspot of von Donkerhardt's
and appears to be trying to create a few new weakspots in the process!

FH: I'll bet Herscher is really glad he got himself cleared to return
to action! Heh! Really glad right about now! HEH HEH!

[Nevermind drops down onto the champion and begins firing punches
aimed squarely at the ribs! HVD tries to cover up which draws the
challenger to his feet where he unleashes BRUTAL stomps onto the rib
area of his opponent!]

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

*THUD*

CL: Nevermind is trying to obliterate the ribs of the champion!

FH: You make it sound like he is using dynamite or something on him,
Chip! This is a fight, don't be a wuss!

[Crowe gets on Nevermind's case about the stomping but the King of
Nothing breaks off the stomping attack, not because he is paying
attention to the referee, but so he can step away towards the ropes,
lightly bounce off them and jog forward and then leap into the air
and.. BIG BODY SPLASH across HVD's ribs!]

[OUCH POP]

CL: Brutal!

FH: Your commentary is on the brutal side, yes, Chip.

CL: ...

[Nevermind gets to his knees, grabs a handful of HVD's hair, and pulls
himself and the American Champion up to their feet. The challenger
puts a double underhook on the champion and lets loose a HARD kneelift
into the ribs! Nevermind then transitions into an abdominal stretch
which does not remain a simple abdominal stretch for long as it does
not take long for the King of Nothing to unload with his free arm,
unloading hard elbows to Herscher's ribs!]

CL: Nevermind is not going at his usual slower, more methodical style!
He is relentless so far, not giving HVD a chance to breathe!

FH: No one should give that Dutch Apple Pie a break, Chip!

[HVD grimaces from the pain being unleashed on him and then tries to
punch at Nevermind. The challenger gets in one more vicious elbow shot
on the champion's ribs and then tosses the Dutchman to the canvas. The
American champion rolls around holding his ribs until his opponent
drops a big kneedrop across his ribs! The challenger leans forward,
applying his weight and pressure on the champ's ribs. Lou Crowe puts
the count on Nevermind. The King of Nothing breaks the attack and
yanks the champion up to his feet and then slaps on a bear hug and
begins squeezing the life out of the American Champion!]

FH: Now THIS is smart, Chip! He's working the ribs with the pressure
of the bear hug while also making it hard for Donkey to breathe!

CL: It can be an effective hold, yes.

[HVD is not enjoying the bear hug, this is for certain, as his face is
a mask of pain and discomfort. He begins to fire off punches at
Nevermind but the challenger does not release the hold. The American
Champion rears back and.. BIG HEADBUTT! This breaks the bear hug! HVD
clutches his ribs but then grits his teeth and grabs the stunned King
of Nothing and.. BELLY TO BELLY SUPLEX!]

[BIG POP]

CL: What a Belly to Belly Suplex by the American Champion!

FH: He grabbed tights! That was illegal!

[The American Champion rubs his ribs then gets to his feet and unloads
a series of kicks on the downed challenger! With the fans cheering him
on, HVD grabs Nevermind's leg and goes for an ankle lock.. But the
challenger yanks his foot away and rolls up to his feet. HVD knocks
Nevermind backwards into a corner with a hard kneelift and then
launches at the challenger with hard open fisted punches followed by
stiff elbow shots! Nevermind tries to fight back and counters by
shoving HVD off him and away but the champion jumps forward with a
leaping knee that sends the challenger chest forward into the corner.
HVD pulls Nevermind out of the corner and hooks him from behind.]

CL: Herscher is setting up for a German Suplex..

FH: I doubt he can hit that with all the abuse his ribs have taken!

[Herscher grits his teeth then throws the King of Nothing over with a
German suplex! HVD keeps his grip on Nevermind and rolls himself and
his opponent to their feet and he grits his teeth again, fighting
through the pain in his ribs, and tries for another German.. But
Nevermind blocks it! The man from Seattle reaches for the ropes but it
is just out of reach so the American champion tries for the German
suplex again but Nevermind continues to block it! The stalemate comes
to a conclusion though when Lou Crowe accidentally slips, losing his
balance and taking his eyes off the action. Just the opening Nevermind
needs to hit a backwards lowblow kick on HVD! The Dutchman releases
his opponent while grabbing his nether regions. Nevermind spins
around, grabs HVD by his waist, lifts his opponent up into the air and
slams him down HARD with a nasty Spinebuster! Herscher lays on the mat
grimacing from the pain while Nevermind gets to his feet, grabs both
of HVD's legs and then drops a knee onto.. Herscher's lower abdomen..
Yeah. Lou Crowe gives Nevermind a warning which the King of Nothing
doesn't even acknowledge. Instead he climbs up the turnbuckles and
leaps off with a VICIOUS Double Foot Stomp on.. Somewhere around the
lower abdomen/groin area!]

[MALE SYMPATHY DOUBLING OVER IN PHANTOM PAIN POP]

CL: Things are not looking good for the PVW American Champion! A few
more shots like that and HVD won't be champion for much longer!

FH: A few more shots like that and he won't be technically a man much
longer!

[Referee Lou Crowe is all over the challenger about the placement of
his blows but the man from Seattle, of course, ignores the official
while he pulls the champion up to his feet. Nevermind whips HvD into
the ropes. The champion bounces off the ropes only to be SPEARED
nearly in half by the King of Nothing!]

CL: My goodness!

FH: It was pretty good to see Hershey broken in two, I agree with you
Chip!

CL: That is not what I meant!

FH: Sure.

[Nevermind tosses HVD over his shoulder and then drops the American
Champion throat first across the top rope! Herscher rolls around
clutching his throat, gasping and coughing! The King of Nothing
reaches down and grabs a handful of hair and pulls HVD to his feet
then simply TOSSES the American Champion through the ropes and out of
the ring. Lou Crowe motions for the challenger to back away from the
ropes and then begins a count on the champion.]

CL: Referee Crowe is starting a count on the champion who seems to be
struggling to get to his feet.

FH: Well Nevermind needs to drag Donkey's butt back in the ring so we
can get that belt off of him!

CL: Who is we?

FH: The good hearted people across America!

[Nevermind smiles as he watches the champion struggle to his feet but
then the challenger takes off running to the ropes, bounces off and
charges across the ring and then LAUNCHES himself over the ropes,
wiping out HVD with a massive big man Suicide Dive plancha!]

[HOLY MOLY RAVIOLI POP]

CL: What a suicide dive! Herscher had to struggle against all the
injuries to his ribs in this match just to get to his feet outside the
ring only to be wiped out by this beast!

FH: I think he is fixing to do worse things here in a second!

[Nevermind pulls himself up then stalks over to his opponent. He yanks
the downed American champion, while Lou Crowe protests from the ring,
and then throws HVD onto his shoulders and...]

[YIKES! GASP!]

[..Drops HVD on his head on the hard floor outside with a BRUTAL Death
Valley Driver! HVD looks OUT! Nevermind stands over his opponent and
smiles.]

[BOOS]

CL: I do not know if Nevermind is trying to defeat the American
champion or simply destroy him!

FH: He can do both, just as long as there is anything left of Hershey
that resembles shoulders that can be pinned and Nevermind can win the
title!

[Lou Crowe begins a count on both men outside the ring. Nevermind
ignores the official and pulls the out of it looking champion and
leans him against the guard railing and begins laying into him with
hard punches!]

CL: The punishment he is unleashing here on HVD is almost inhuman!

FH: You treat a dog like a dog, Chip!

CL: Fred!

FH: What?!

[Nevermind pulls HVD away from the guard railing then whips the
champion into the ring steps! Herscher rolls to a seated position
against the steps, holding his ribs only to have Nevermind come
barreling in crushing his knees against the ribs of the downed
American champion!]

CL: This is just brutal!

[Crowe continues his count inside the ring which Nevermind makes sure
to interrupt by rolling into the ring and then back out, drawing
protests from the official again! The King of Nothing pulls up his
opponent and whips him towards a ring post.. But HVD reverses it
sending Nevermind towards the ring post.. But the challenger stops
himself, preventing the collision with the ring post. Nevermind turns
around.. RIGHT INTO A LEAPING SAVATE KICK PLOWING INTO HIS CHEST! HVD
stumbles down to the floor from the force of his kick while on the
other end the kick sends Nevermind crashing backfirst into the ring
post sending the former UEW American Champion slumping down to the
floor!]

[BIG POP]

CL: That leaping savate kick by Herscher may be just what the champion
was needing!

FH: That was a DeJong kick, Chip! Though I bet his countrymen is angry
because now he is tied up with this loser using his moves!

CL: "DeJong kick"?

FH: Youtube Nigel DeJong vs Xabi Alonso! I can't do all the
investigative work for you, Chip!

[HVD pulls himself up, still clutching at his ribs, and then he rolls
inside the ring and then back out to break up Crowe's count. Soon Lou
Crowe has more to worry about than his count outs being broken up
because Herscher pulls the challenger up and wraps his arms around
both the neck of Nevermind and the ringpost, choking the challenger
with the ring post while also firing off kneethrusts into Nevermind's
ribs! Loue Crowe scrambles out of the ring and puts a count on the
champion. HVD breaks off his attack at 4 then stumbles backwards
holdingh is ribs while Nevermind slumps down coughing and rubbing his
throat.]

CL: HVD is giving Nevermind some of his own brutality back!

FH: He wishes he could be as brutal as the King of Nothing!

[Lou Crowe tells the American champion to bring it back into the ring.
HVD nods his head, sending Crowe back into the ring, but then he pulls
the challenger up by his hair, grabs ahold of his head and hits a
BULLDOG on the floor outside!]

[BIG POP]

CL: This match has been back and forth and very intense and they seem
to be settled on duking it out of the ring for a while now!

FH: It is going to backfire on him, Chip!

[Crowe shakes his head and then begins yet another count on the two
combatants. HVD pulls Nevermind up only to catch a punch to the ribs,
doubling the Dutchman over. The King of Nothing gets to his feet and
grabs the champion by his head and.. HOMEWRECKER swinging neckbreaker
on the floor outside!]

FH: I told you!

CL: What a nasty impact that move had!

[HVD rolls around holding his neck and his ribs while Nevermind rolls
into the ring, taps on Crowe's leg, causing Crowe to stop the count
and see what the challenger wants, only to get the challenger rolling
back outside of the ring, of course disrupting the count again.]

FH: I think they are just enjoying messing with Crowe's counting
tonight. I can't blame them, I'd like to mess with his head too and
make him lose his temper.

CL: That is not nice, Fred.

FH: It may not be nice but it is fun!

[Nevermind stomps at HVD before reaching down and picking the champion
up to his feet. He hooks his opponent's head and lifts him up in the
air as if for a vertical suplex..]

CL: He's going for the Space Needle DDT! A drop like that on the floor
could be too dangerous!

FH: All the more reason to hit him with it!

[But the Dutchman struggles back down in front of Nevermind and pulls
away and fires off a STIFF elbow to the face of the challenger! The
King of Nothing staggers back but stops himself and launches forward
and nails a STIFF elbow of his own on the chin of the champion!
Meanwhile Lou Crowe is steadily counting..]

CL: Both of these men need to pay attention to the count! Lou Crowe is
up to five! They could both be counted out!

FH: That would mean HVD keeps the title! Throw him back in and kill
him, Nevermind!

[The American Champion does seem to notice the count and he holds his
chin and then spins towards the ring and tries to jump onto the ring
apron but Nevermind catches him and tosses him back first onto the
guard railing!]

CL: Crowe is up to Seven!

[Nevermind lunges for Herscher but the champion ducks and BACK
BODYDROPS NEVERMIND OVER THE GUARD RAILING AND INTO THE CROWD!]

[HOLY MOLY SPAGHETTIOS POP]

CL: He just sent Nevermind over the guard railing and into the crowd
and Crowe is up to Eight on his count!

FH: No! Pop back up Nevermind!

[Nevermind tries to scramble up amidst the mess of empty chairs he
fell into when fans ran for their lives seeing this massive beast
flying towards them. Meanwhile HVD lunges onto the ring apron and
rolls under the ropes in the ring as Crowe gets to the count of
Nine..]

CL: Herscher has beaten the count! Nevermind isn't going to make it!

FH: No! NOOO!

[Lou Crowe counts to ten and motions to the timekeeper.]

*DING DING DING*

[HUGE POP]

FH: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

[Nevermind gets to his feet and starts climbing over the guard railing
when Herk Douglas grabs the microphone.]

CL: Let's hear the official decision!

HD: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner due to a countout... and STILL..
PVW AMERICAN CHAMPION! HERSCHER VON DONKERHARDT!

[GIANT POP]

FH: *sobs*

CL: The American Champion has retained his title via countout and.. Uh
Oh!

[Nevermind is really unhappy with how this plays out and he grabs the
American Title belt out of the time keeper's hand, scrambles into the
ring and CLOCKS HVD over the head with the belt!]

[BIG BOOS]

FH: YES!

CL: This is uncalled for!

FH: It is totally called for, Chip!

[Nevermind looks down on HVD and seems poised to strike again when the
crowd begins making noise!]

CL: Perry Fontana!

[The Deathless One comes stomping out from the back and towards the
ring. The crowd is unsure of what to quite make of this, unsure of his
intentions. Nevermind watches as Fontana stomps to ringside, rolls
under the ropes and into the ring.]

FH: Well I guess he won the rights to deal with this earlier so we
should not be too surprised.

[Nevermind and Fontana stare at one another, both men sizing the other
up. Neither show any signs of backing down. Then Perry cocks his head
and gives Nevermind a deliberate wag of the finger. The King of
Nothing almost rolls his eyes at Fontana's message not to touch HVD
and then he shrugs his shoulders as if to tell Fontana, he does
whatever he wants.]

CL: The tension is unbelievable here! Anything could happen right now!

[No one seems willing to back down, an impasse, until the crowd starts
going wild!]

FH: What is he doing out here?! He lost earlier! Doesn't he remember
the rules of the deal he had with Fontana!

[Chris Hartt comes walking down towards the ring, the fans going wild
for him! Nevermind watches then he rolls out of the ring and starts up
the ramp towards the Paladin!]

CL: These two are going to go at it right now!

[Maybe not. Nevermind stops, smirks at Hartt, then climbs over the
railing and walks off through the crowd! Hartt stands there fuming!
Angry and frustrated that the mindgames continue. Meanwhile in the
ring HVD pulls himself up and yells at Fontana.]

FH: What an ungrateful Euro-snob!

CL: Herscher is letting Fontana know that he does not need him to
bodyguard him or nurse him back to health.

FH: Nigel DeJong most certainly is not proud of his fellow country
men! He should sue Donkey for using his patented kick!

[Officials have now swarmed the ring.  They don't want things to get
out of hand here even though they aren't suppose to.  Fontana is
backing away yelling something about Donkerhardt being ungrateful.
Donkerhardt just grabs his PVW American Championship and shakes his
head.]

CL: Things are starting to get close to boiling over between these
two.  I'm not sure if we will be able to wait until Boiling Point.

FH: Perry Fontana just wants to keep him healthy then he will break
him as easy as he did Chance McKenzie.

CL: That may be so.  But while the ring gets cleared.  Let's go
backstage for one of the last times here tonight.

[We cut backstage where Senor Cloak Dos, now with a new mask on his
head and the towel over his shoulder, sits on a bench, the Television
Championship belt sitting next to him and staring at the mask with
Josie's daisy sticker on it in his other hand.]

SCD: ...

VO:  You fought well...

[Though the words are spoken with neither malice nor mockery, the new
Television Champion turns around, body language ready for a fight just
in case. But even though he has the size advantage over Senor Cloak
Dos, it's Jacob Rose who takes a step back.  The well-dressed
financial advisor raises his arms slightly, keeping his palms
outstretched and open.]

JR:  Please.  I don't want you to think this is one of those tedious
ambushes that always seems to happen.  I assure you that my client is
not going to suddenly come out and attempt to assault you right now.
[Jacob frowns a little, though more internal.]  Actually, Mister Black
stormed off after we returned backstage and I don't know where he is.
I've learned it's best not to approach him when he's in more of a foul
temper than usual.  No doubt, something is probably going to get
broken and I'm going to get a call for another fine to pay.  I'm
suspecting camera equipment with my luck...

[He sighs, then shakes his head.]

JR:  But all things considering, I felt you earned the
congratulations.  I cannot begin to imagine the pressure you were
under.  [Jacob's voice grows quieter, showing genuine concern.]  How
is her family coping?

[Cloak studies Rose for a few moments and then his body language eases
and he relaxes.]

SCD: Gracias, Senor Rose. I actually have not heard from Josie's
parents since the last time...

[The luchadore pauses to compose himself then continues.]

SCD: Since the last time I saw her at the hospital.

[Rose nods his head.]

JR:  I see...  [He pauses]  And you...what about you?

[Before the luchadore can answer a staffer in a PVW shirt walks in.]

Staffer: Excuse me but there is a call for you, Mister Dos.

SCD: Oh? From who?

Staffer: From that little girl's parents..

[Dos nods his head and turns to Rose.]

SCD: Excuse me, I have to take this call.

[Rose nods his head and actually follows the luchadore and the staffer
out of the room. We focus on the bench where the title belt and the
mask sit.  The shot hovers there for a moment, then turns towards the
doorway SCD and Rose exited, no doubt wanting to follow the call and
conversation...

...and then suddenly the camera is violently knocked to the ground!
There's a muffled yelp of "HELP!" from the hapless cameraman, then the
slam of a door, perhaps from a nearby supply closet, but of his
assailant, there's no sign.  Now on the floor and tilted on its side,
the camera dutifully films the bench where the PVW TV belt and SCD's
former mask still sit, though now it's only a partial, fuzzy shot.
Movement.  A figure steps into the frame, but the face can't be seen.
Just the torso, showing only what appears to be a black t-shirt and
jeans.  A hand, Caucasian,  reaches out for the golden belt, but
suddenly stops.

And grabs Senor Cloak Dos' old mask instead.  We cut back to ring side
where the fans are now near riot screaming and booing.]

CL: What the ... NO!  That had to be Christopher Black ... That was a
SET UP!

FH: Don't blame Christopher Black ... We never saw the face of who
just stole that mask.  Christopher Black would of taken _both_ the
belt and the mask!

CL: No ... I am sure of it.  The only man who would have dreamed of
taking that sacred mask is the Bad Wolf.   This is a disgrace ... I am
just SICK!

FH: Calm down Chip.  Don't get your blood pressure out of whack again.

CL: He is a disgrace to this company and somebody has to do something
about it.

FH: Calm down Chip!

CL: I AM LIVID!

FH: Oh boy ...  Chip is about to burst a vein in his forehead.  We
better have EMT's standing by.

CL: I have a half a mind to storm to the back right now and confront
him.

FH: Don't do that.  Not that I need you.  But you I promised your wife
last night I would get you home safe to pay the  bills.

[Chip not even paying attention to wife jokes continues.]

CL: That man is just sick ... On tonight ... After everything ...

FH: Ummm ... Chip they are telling us to move on in our head set.

CL: I don't care.

FH: Well we are on a time limit.

CL: When did you start caring about time limits?

FH: Since our boss just got on the headset.

[Awkward pause.]

CL: Fine ...  Next up is the PVW debate...

[And Hoyle doesn't miss a beat.]

FH:  What debate?  Johnny Detson is our President, now and forever.
And if he's not, he _should_ be.

CL:  Moderating the debate is our own Dean Hayes.

FH:  *sighs*

[Entering the ring, Dean Hayes, still under the mask, stands in
between two podiums.  He waits for the crowd noise to die down before
speaking.]

DH:  Ladies and Gentlemen... we are here to present a debate on the
issues of PVW.  Introducing our first debater, hailing from San
Francisco, California, he is the former SUPREME Champion... here is
"YOUR HERO", DANNY DANIELS!

[The lights go down again, and someone steps from the back.  It is...
a trumpeter? The trumpeter blasts a bombastic little fanfare on his
trumpet, and a banner unfurls from the top  of the entranceway.  It
reads: WELCOME YOUR SUPREME CHAMPION... and NEXT PVW PRESIDENT!!!  And
yes, it does have three exclamation points.

Following the fanfare, "Believe It Or Not", the theme song from the
Greatest American Hero, starts up.  The fans give a loud face pop for
the over-the-top introduction of the self-professed SUPREME Champion,
"Your Hero" Danny Daniels.  Daniels bursts from behind the welcome
banner, arms spread to soak in all of the glory of his imaginary
legions of fans.  The bulky young man with the straggly blond hair
wears a red sequined jacket with 'Your Hero' written on the back in
black, red trunks, and black boots.  Around his waist is a belt with
the words SUPREME CHAMPION and an embossed picture of Daniels on the
faceplate.

A pair of wraparound shades inhabit his clean-shaven face, as does a
big goofy smile representing his joy at being so exulted by the fans.

Daniels sweeps down to the ring, shaking hands with fans on both sides
of the aisle, and handing out 'DD for PRESIDENT!"  balloons.   As
Danny walks to the ring, he hands out flyers, encouraging people to
vote for him.  Finally, he enters the ring and stands behind the left
podium.]

DH:  And now, the other debater- he is the President of PVW the owner
of the Called Shot, and the current holder of the SUPREME title.  Here
is JOHNNY DETSON!!!

A long drum roll starts playing throughout the arena before going
immediately into "Hail to Chief."  Out from the back saunters
President and CEO Johnny Detson in a designer three piece suit.  The
Supreme Title around his waist and a huge politician smile plastered
across his face.  Not noticing the negative crowd reaction he simply
walks down to the ring waving to the crowd and shaking hands with them
as well.  As he walks up the ring steps and into the ring, he unhooks
his title and holds it up to the crowd making sure Danny Daniels can
see it as well; before throwing the title over his shoulder and taking
his place at his podium.

DH:  These questions have been sent in by the fans and employees of
the PVW, and will be asked to both wrestlers.  We begin with the first
question- What is YOUR vision for the future of PVW, and how do you
intend to bring that to pass?

D"YH"D:  I have a vision ... a vision where the men of PVW compete,
and best 'wrestler' wins.  Where managers, valets, bodyguards, and
entourages walk their wrestler down to ringside- then turn around and
walk right back to the dressing room where they stay while the
wrestlers wrestle.  Where Chip and Fred join hand-in-hand in announcer
harmony.  Where any man can work his way up from the opening match to
the main event, just by dint of hard work.  That's my vision of PVW.
Elect me, and I'll work hard to make this vision come to pass.

Detson:  It is funny that Mr. Daniels and I share the same opinion.
Possessing supreme technical skill like I do, I am a firm believer of
letting the best wrestler win.  Much like our match last week where I,
Johnny Detson, President and CEO, became your new and greatest Supreme
Champion, I believe that it is in the best interest of everyone when
the best wrestler wins.  And seeing how the best wrestler is usually
me, I find this philosophy personally gratifying as well.

FH: What a smart man our President is.

CL: Oh brother ...

[Dean nods like he is intrigued by both men's response and continues
on with the next.]

DH:  How do you plan on solving the debt crisis that is effective
PVW's popcorn vendors?

D"YH"D:  It's a little known fact that PVW is using Fijian Coconut oil
for their buttered popcorn.  Now, Indonesia coconut oil is much
cheaper, and switching would reduce the price of popcorn by 20 cents a
box.  However, the Fiji union, in bed with a certain current PVW
President [Danny nods his head towards Detson], have an ironclad
contract.  The costs has been passed onto the consumer- just one more
way that the corruption of the Detson regime has hurt the PVW fanbase.

Detson:  This question is as ridiculous as Mr. Daniels' stance on it.
Why focus on the negatives when you can focus on the positives?  Costs
of running the Company with me as your President and CEO are down,
attendance is at an all time high, I have implemented not only new
shows but also infused new talent for all of you, the little people,
out there.  It simply rings true of my SUPREME (Detson pats his title
and smirks at Daniels) success as President and CEO if all you can
dredge up is the cost of popcorn; which by the way is simply delicious
and I recommend everyone out here tonight to buy a box, and then a
Johnny Detson tee shirt, as well as a program, a soda, and everything
else you can afford!

FH: He speaks the truth!  What would Danny Daniels know of running
such a multimillion dollar company like the PVW?

CL: About as much as Johnny Detson?

[Dean Hayes looks around as the fans begin chanting - DOUBLE DANNY!]

DH:  A question has been sent in by a "Ted Royle" ...

CL: Ted Royle?

FH: Shhh ...  Let's hear what Mr. Royle has to say!

[Dean looks back at the announcers table then continues.]

DH: He wants to know what perks your office is willing to offer to a
certain "Announcer of the Year"?

[The fans boo ...]

FH: Will these fans hush!  This was a great question.

CL: Mr. Royle cares so much about you Fred.

Detson:  I am honored to have won many Mid-year awards and so many in
my employ have followed suit.  I am pleased to say that Mr. Hoyle, who
we all know and love, will continue to have a place to demonstrate his
awe inspiring verbal skills here in the greatest federation in all the
world, which I am the President and CEO, for as long as he wants.

D"YH"D:  I'm confused- When did we sign Slush to PVW?

[The fans laugh and go nuts for Daniels response as Dean Hayes looks
back towards the announcers table where Fred Hoyle isn't too pleased.]

FH: What a terrible answer.  I wont name my competition like some
hacks
do in this industry ... But I am the greatest voice in our industry!
I won announcer of the year ... And I will continue to do so as long
as I have a podium to do so!

CL: Who's vein is popping out of their forehead now?

[Dean continues on.]

DH:  With Spectre back on the roster and other signs of unsafe work
conditions. Do you ever see Zero Tolerance returning or some sort of
plan for safer working conditions?

Detson:  Positions and stances such as Zero Tolerance and others like
Marshall Law were a failure.  Why?  Because the individual behind the
idea put themselves and their own ideals before all else.  Jason
Keening stuffed his personal beliefs down everyone's throats and the
wrestling industry suffered as a result.  He, among others, is the
reason the PVW failed you before I, your President and CEO, took over.

Johnny Detson's administration does not need, nor does it want, a
clever name to describe it.  Why?  Because this administration is not
just a passing fad or rules that are laid down to suit my own personal
needs.  I have the Called Shot, which I won using my SUPREME technical
skill, if I desire to change the rules in my favor.  No your lifetime
President and CEO cares about you, the little people, and all who fall
under my employ and therefore would never set the Company up again for
such a dismal failure.

[Detson turns with a smile towards the crowd as Danny Daniels is up.]

D"YH"D:  As we all saw, Zero Tolerance was an extreme position that
did not work out.  Plus, we are all wrestlers- we understand the risks
of going into that ring.  However, I've always believed that a
wrestler should get his own hands dirty.  While I am not opposed to
wrestlers stretching or breaking the rules, I believe in a DIY policy-
under the Daniels regime, any person outside the men who are in the
match who interfere or attack the wrestlers should be suspended.  This
will prevent the gargantuan entourages that seem to infest PVW from
interfering in matches.  Therefore, if you to break the rules, you
must "Do It Yourself"- The DIY plan, which will be enacted under the
Daniels Presidency!

CL: The DIY plan?  I would like to see this enacted!

FH: You would!

[D I Y ... D I Y ... chant breaks out.]

DH:  There have been many inspirational quotes through the years such
as "I have a dream..", "Give me liberty or give me death" and now..
"Masked bros before hos". Which quote inspires you the most and why?

D"YH"D:  My quote would have to be "Not just a hero, YOUR Hero".  To
be a wrestler is an honored occupation.  The fans look up to you.
Adults see you fighting for what you believe in.  Children see you as
a hero.  It's a privilege and an honor, and one far too easily abused

[another glare at Detson]

Detson:  My quote is simple and easy to follow:  "Whatever you want to
do if life, make sure you do it SUPREMELY well!" (Detson again smirks
as he pats his title.)   It is a quote I live by as you can see
because as your President and CEO, the PVW has flourished to new
heights!  In fact...

[Suddenly, the debate is interrupted as the spotlight focuses on the
front row, where two men and two women, all dressed in monochromatic
polo shirts, stand up and begin singing to the tune of Journey...]

GYC:  #Just the President, with all the power in the world
He took PVW and drove it anywhere
Just a small town hero, born and raised in San Francisco
Fighting the powers that be and he doesn't care

They fight it out in smoke filled rooms
And in the ring until their doom
For you votes they will fight it out
It goes on and on and on and on #

[They sit down and the spotlight goes back to the Presidential debate]

FH: What the ...

[Dean Hayes looks back at the crowd and shrugs.]

DH:  What is your stance on both monochromatic nicknames and random,
90's style capitalization?

D"YH"D:  When I was yOunG and sTuPiD... I wAs yOuNg and StUpId, and
fell into some of fads of the 90's.  I THiNK it's best to leave the
PAst in the paST.

Detson:  I agree, I think, instead of looking in the past, like when
this Company was bankrupt and corrupt and nobody wanted to run it,
let us look to the present and the future where I, Johnny Detson,
President and CEO, have turned this once bloated, dead corporation
into the beautiful uptopia that now everyone wants to take credit
for.  So let's give credit where it's due and let us all thank me for
being the sole person that saved this Company.

FH: AsH better take note!

CL: ...

[Dean Hayes laughs out loud in the microphone.]

DH: Fred is going to love this.

[He then continues.]

DH:  From "Slush"...

"what do you intend to do about the Tom Landis problem?"

D"YH"D:  What problem?  I LOVE Tom Landis!  He's fantastic- "Blues
Brothers".  "Animal House".  And "Oscar" is an underrated classic!
Why would I say anything bad about such a fantastic director?

Detson:  Is Tom Landis still here?  I had not noticed that.  I believe
it's only a problem if it's relevant

FH: He who will not be named hates Tom Landis?  Wait ... I love Tom
Landis!

CL: Oh brother ...

FH: Oh man that was tough to say.  I think I am going to be sick now
too.

[Small Landis chant breaks out in a pro-Landis supportive section, but
quickly dies down when Dean motions for them to be quiet so he can
continue.]

DH:  Will either of you ever support PVW getting a proper Women's
Division? Arvelle in a dress doesn't count.

D"YH"D:  I believe that the champions of PVW should be prepared to
face any opponent in the league.  I have no problem whatsoever with a
woman entering PVW and competing on her own terms.  However, I think a
separate division would lead to a segregation of the league between
the men's and women's division.  I believe in ONE PVW, ONE league, ONE
champion.

Detson:  As President and CEO I care about all who fall under my
employ.  I would have to research the fiscal structure of any proposal
carefully before I burden this fine organization, which I run, with
any added costs.  But as a highly paid executive, I can see the pros
and cons of such a resolution and I assure you my dedicated staff will
look into the matter.

FH: *Groans* Unless it's a mud wrestling division get lost!

CL: Women have very capable skills to compete here in the PVW, Fred.

FH: Do they?  Let's ask Pizzazz shall we?

DH:  What do you plan on doing about the federal decifict and the debt
ceiling?

D"YH"D:  I am a big believer of the circumcision principle- we can cut
ten percent off ANYTHING.  Let's start by slashing every single budget
by ten percent and see how things look a year after that.

Detson:  The federal government is a mess.  Why?  Because Johnny
Detson is NOT the President and CEO of the federal government, he is
the President and CEO of this fine, outstanding Company.  In saying
that, I have no concerns for the federal government no matter how much
they beg me to save it, like I saved this Company.  No, my primary
concern is and has always been the continued financial and overall
success of this Company.  And I do not take this task lightly nor do I
do it for personal gain, I do it for you, the little people; and for
people like Mr. Daniels so that he can continue to receive that pay
check that he has become accustom to receiving.  That is what the
Johnny Detson, President and CEO, administration is all about.

FH: My head hurts after that ...

[Dean turns towards the former Supreme Champion.]

DH:  This is for Danny Daniels ... Is it hard for you to stand there
and look at the Supreme title that you have defended for such a long
time under the control of Johnny Detson?

D"YH"D:  Of course it's hard.  I am a proud man to have held that
belt, and seeing Detson wearing the SUPREME title is painful.  The
SUPREME title has a long and vast history.  The Supreme Title started
back in 1870, in Chicago.  Several bars had toughmen contests, and
each bar selected on champion to compete in a giant brawl involving a
rodeo arena, four kegs of beer, and seventeen salmon.  The winner, in
the end, was "Gentlemen" Jimmy James, from Arlington Heights.  He was
portrayed as the toughest man in Chicago, and indeed, of the world.
Now,

[In the middle of Danny's speech, he's interrupted by the Greek Yuppie
Chorus, who begin again...]

GYC:  #Well the Phoenix Valley Wrestling
Is the baddest part of the world
And if you go down there
You better just beware
Of a man named Johnny D

Now Detson's more than trouble
You see he stand 'bout six foot three

All the wrestlers call him Mr. President
And you should just let him be

And it's bad, bad Johnny D
The baddest man in the whole damned league
Madder than old King Kong
And meaner than a junkyard dog #

[As they sit down, Danny gets a flash of annoyance to cross his face
before Dean continues]

DH:  And Johnny Detson ... Since you now hold the Supreme Championship
title will you fight to make this a sanctioned championship title
under the PVW banner and rules?

Detson:  Being the new and greatest Supreme Champion is quite an
honor... for the Supreme Title.  I will have you know that since
winning the title against an opponent I can no longer remember... I
have successfully defended the title on 87 non consecutive occasions.
As far as your President and CEO sanctioning the Supreme Title as a
PVW championship, which I, of course, have the authority to do... I
will simply state that I will weigh the decision with the best
interests of the PVW in mind and make a highly educated decision.

D"YH"D:  And of those 87, a fully 83 have been disqualification
losses!  Johnny Detson has proven to be an EMBARASSMENT of a SUPREME
Champion!  In fact...

[Just as Danny and Johnny Detson start arguing, the spotlight hits the
front row again...]

GYC:  #On a dark Phoenix night, at the wrestling ring
Warm smell of colitas, rising up through ... #

[Both Johnny Detson and Danny Daniels suddenly turn towards the front
row, their microphones picking up their word.]



JD/DD:  QUIET!



GYC:  ...



GYC:  ...



[The Greek Yuppie Chorus seems mortified and sit down quietly.  Dean
turns towards the chorus.]

DH: Thank you for your support.

[Mr. Called Shot continues.]

Detson:  As long as all proposals are run back me, I have no problem
with constructive criticism or suggestions from my employees.  As you
know, as your President and CEO I care about all who fall under my
employ, and their concerns are my concerns.  That being said, as one
of the only superstars that is undefeated in Rebirth Rules match I
fully support this initiative and will have my dedicated staff look
into this measure.

[Dean nods.]

DH:  For both candidates: Would you be willing to stake your entire
campaign on a guarantee that this debate WON'T end in an attack of
some sort?

CL: Now there is a great question.

[D"YH"D and Johnny Detson both pause for a brief moment, then speak
simultaneously]

D"YH"D/Detson:  No.

[Detson swings at Daniels, who ducks and tackles Detson.  Both men
start swinging at each other as the ring crew rush onto the scene to
separate the men, as the crowd raise to the feet in support of the
fight!]

CL: As everyone expected the PVW Presidential Debate has turned into a
brawl and both men are pulled apart rather quickly.

FH: It was like PVW had men on hand just for this reason.


LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!


LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!


LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!   LET THEM FIGHT!!!


[Daniels and Detson try to get passed the mobs of PVW employees but
they are quite unsuccessful.  The crowd continues to chant as Danny
Daniels joins in with them.]

CL: The crowd wants to see a rematch between these two men, but it
doesn't appear like it's going to happen tonight.

FH: That time limit issue we have and all.

CL: Folks ... What a night it's been thus far.  It's been emotional
... It's been exciting ... And we only have one match left.

FH: It's almost Mr. Tradition time!

CL: Let's go backstage with our Challenger who is almost ready to
embark in the biggest match of his career as things get under control
here at ring side.

[Camera opens on AsH prepping for his match. "Panic Switch" by the
Silversun Pickups is playing out of his iPod speakers in the corner of
the room. He's leaning over, grabbing his calves and pulling his head
into his knees. Surprisingly flexible for a man in his late thirties,
but for his style, it makes sense. He takes a few deep breaths and
arches back up, bouncing on the balls of his feet before pulling his
thigh up and leaning over again. He releases, switches legs and
finally bounces back and forth on the balls of his feet, eyes on the
ceiling]

AsH: AsH-pocolypse. AsH-mageddon. R-AsH-pture.

[AsH stops in place, still looking up and gives a simple blink]

AsH: Definitely reaching on that one.

[He starts bouncing again and throws a few shadow punches and then
shakes his head]

AsH: Who am I kidding? Not gonna strike with this kid.

[AsH bounces around the room, now. Spinning and changing direction
quickly. He begins doing a few tuck jumps, showing off surprising
height in his old, repeatedly repaired legs]

AsH: End of D-AsH's...

[He stops bouncing again]

AsH: Even more of a reach...

[AsH finally stops bouncing and just begins to look in the mirror,
finally acknowledging the camera]

AsH: Just trying to come up with what we'll call it if I actually BEAT
Hayes, tonight. Because it will surely mean the end of the damn world
if this kid loses, let alone loses on Tradition, and let's not even
TALK about losing the title.

Because he's the future.

And I'm the past.

And that's that. No questions asked. No second thoughts. A universally
accepted truth. The way things are. Like wind blowing, water crashing,
and the sun rising. AsH is here to lose to Phoenix Valley Wrestling's
greatest champion in it's history.

[AsH turns around and faces the camera, rubbing his hands together]

AsH: I'm fine with those universal truths. But here's the problem with
that, folks. Sometimes the wind blows too hard, tearing up houses and
throwing trees through concrete slabs. The oceans pull back for a full
day before slamming into land and wiping out anything near it. And the
sun gives off flares that can fry planets at a moment's notice.

Things go wrong, and the status quo changes at a moment's notice.

[AsH puts both hands behind his neck and pulls his elbows forward,
clearly vexed]

AsH: I won't deny for a second that Gibson Hayes is an amazing talent.
Everything people have been gushing about this kid is one hundred
percent accurate. He's got more talent in his old shoes than I've
managed to pour out over my entire career. His arsenal is deep. His
faction has an iron grip on his reign.

He's a champion. And he worked like hell to get there...

But he sure as shit didn't earn it.

[AsH smiles at the camera. That charming, irritating smile is both
refreshing and annoying, depending on your point of view]

AsH: All the talent in the world. Would have been champion in his own
time, sure as hell. Could easily scrape and pull and claw his way into
holding that title. He'd treasure it. He'd wear it with pride and take
every opponent seriously, go into every match like it's his last and
defend his title with gallons of blood and tons of sweat.

But he took shortcuts. Weaseled, manipulated, schemed, and cheated his
way into the title.

And I think he's worse for it. He's treating the title as a decoration
and simultaneously his validation that he actually EARNED it.

So all the talent in the world, all the belief that he can beat me
without breaking a sweat. He took the shortcut and that means he
doesn't have that one thing that would make this match a forgone
conclusion.

He doesn't have the knowledge to KNOW that he can beat me. He hasn't
faced someone who's pushed him to the depths of his soul, broken his
previous conceptions of how far he could go. He doesn't know that at
that point in the match when I'm bleeding and he's sucking in wind and
his body aches and cries for a break... he has more, and he can still
win it.

He doesn't know that after I've hit him with my coup de grace, he can
still muster up the ability to jerk up that shoulder one last time.

[AsH's neck and forehead veins bulge and his whole body flexes]

HE DOESN'T KNOW THAT HE'S THE CHAMPION AND I'M JUST SOME IDIOT!

[AsH relaxes]

But me? I've been there. I've seen it, I've done it, and I know who I
am.

I'm the man who's made a career out of shattering universal truths.

[AsH walks to his door and opens it, but stops halfway through]

AsH: It may not be the end of the world, but I guarantee it rocks you
to your core. When you taste the words slipping from your mouth like
bile: "YOUR WINNER.......ASHHHHH!"

[As the camera fades and the Cruiserweight Icon walks down the aisle
towards the match, his future, and the chance to prove he's got it one
last time]

AsH: [barely audible as his music kicks in] ...try not to choke.

[We cut back to ring side ... Music still going on.  Ring Crew trying
to finish getting the ring ready for our Main Event.  The music dies
down to a very low pitch as the fans await the ring to finish getting
ready.]

CL: Fans let me thank you all for the years of loyalty.  You've given
us a chance to build something pretty special.  While it's taken a lot
of hard work from everyone apart of PVW ... It's been your patience,
energy, and loyalty each and every show that has allowed us to now
deliver our_SIXTH_ Tradition.  We have come a long way ... From the
Armory in Phoenix ... to holding shows across the United States and
even across the sea in England.  So let me take this time out to
simply say ...

Thanks ...

Thanks from all of us apart for the PVW banner.  We know without you
... There would not be an us.

FH: You wearing your wife's panties under those pants, Chip?  Since
when did you go so soft?

CL: Tonight ... It's just put a lot of things in perspective.  And
deep down you know what I said was true.

FH: Yeah, but you wont hear me go all Caleb Foley on you on live TV!

CL: Well it's time for our Main Event.  Gibson Hayes has become, Mr.
Tradition ... And tonight he has a chance to _build_ on that as he
defends the PVW World Heavyweight Championship title.

FH: He has defeated Doc Holliday twice on Tradition.  From one midget
to another ... As AsH is going to find out why Gibson Hayes owns this
joint.

CL: AsH has been on an amazing role rapidly climbing up the ranks of
the PVW ladder.  While it's still debatable if you could call him the
number one contender ... There is no question that he is a top
contender for the PVW World Championship.

FH: I never thought I would see the day we call AsH a contender to the
PVW title.  Maybe SSN wasn't so bad for this company after all.

CL: It's about what you are doing _today_ in the PVW.  And there
aren't many guys as hot as AsH right now.

FH: Did you just call AsH ... hot?

CL: ...

FH: I think you did.

CL: What?  You know ... He is on a role ... a streak.  A hot streak!
Let's just go to the Voice inside the ring!

[The fans give the Voice a nice warm reaction as he stands in the
middle of the ring ready to announce the main event of the night.]

HD: And welcome to your TRADITION VI MAIN EVENT! The following contest
is one fall with a 60 minute time limit! Introducing first, the
challenger...

[AsH-Hole chant begins near the front of the arena.]

HD: Wrestling out of Las Vegas, Nevada ...  He is known around the
wrestling world as The Cruiserweight Icon, The Living Kickout, The
Small Package ...

Here is, AsH!

V/O: THERE'S NO PROMISE OF SAFETY!!!!!

[Smoke begins to fill the entrance of the PVW walkway as "The Melting
Point of Wax" by Thrice that has been playing at a low beat begins to
blast through the arena at the maximum possible volume]

"I've waited for this moment
All my life and more
And now I see so clearly
What I could not see before.
The time is now or never
This chance won't come again
Throw caution and myself into the wind"

[The tron begins to flash 'C R U I S E R W E I G H T I C O N' over and
over as the smoke coming up from the entrance ramp becomes heavier and
heavier, making it unable to see any sort of figure at all.]

*FLASH FLASH FLASH FLASH*

[The strobe lights go off on the stage until AsH stands in the smoke,
hands to the air with a MASSIVE smile on his face]

"There's no promise of safety
With these secondhand wings
But I'm willing to find out
What impossible means"

[AsH walks to the ring slapping hands of fans as he smiles and mugs to
the crowd]

"A leap of faith"

[AsH laughs as he steps up the ringsteps and leaps to the top
turnbuckle
in a single bound. He sails off in a fully spread backflip, landing
gently in the ring]

"There's no promise of safety
With these secondhand wings
But I'm willing to find out
What impossible means"

[AsH raises his hand to the sky screaming "PVW!" along with the fans]

CL: AsH looks to be ready for a war tonight.

FH: He better be.  This isn't your dance card with Tyson Cain ...  no
disrespect meant, but this is Gibson F'N Hayes!

HD: AND THE CHAMPION...

[As the crowd whips itself into a frenzy of anti-Gibson sentiment, the
opening electronic tones and drum beat of Eliot Lipp's "Rap Tight"
begins to play over the PA system.]

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

[As the beat goes on, several spotlights come to life, illuminating
the entrance way.]

HD: Hailing from Tuscaloosa, Alabama and weighing in at 221 pounds; he
is the first and only Triple Crown winner in PVW; he has the most
successful title defenses in PVW history; he is the man some call the
"Standard of Professional Wrestling"; he is also known as "Mr.
Tradition" but he is always "The Last, Best Hope for a Bright Future
and Better Tomorrow"; ladies and gentleman, you're PVW WORLD
HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION - GIBSON HAYES!

[A torrent of jeers and snarls from the audience climb the decibel
ladder as, from behind the curtain, emerge Gibson Hayes. As always,
Hayes is flanked by Todd Johnstone, Big Bubba Hayes and Evelyn
Prosser. The band of thieves are in their usual attire (horrible suit
for Todd, brown suit with the sleeves torn, and Saint Etienne kit for
Evie) while Gibson is in a dark crimson cloak with the hood obscuring
his face. Gibson's ring attire is red with baby blue piping and white
kick pads with white knee savers and elbow pads. Hayes ignores the
crowd and walks purposefully to the ring, calm as ever.]

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

CL: And listen to this ruckus!

FH: There may be folks who've done more reprehensible things outside
of the ring to justify what they do in the ring but the reason why
Gibson Hayes is the most hated man in PVW is because of everything he
does inside those ropes. The man keeps on winning and has run everyone
who's opposed him out of his sight.

CL: What about von Donkerhardt?

FH: Why do you think Herscher sucks so much now? Gibson may have
"lost", and I believe that result is still under review, but look at
how the two have risen to the occasion after their cage match. I said
it then and I'll repeat it now: the cage is the most brutual match in
our sport and those who survive it either thrive or wither. HvD has
the withering down, but look at Gibson. Hayes is thriving. Hayes is
untouchable. Hayes became tempered in between those four walls of
steel. Right now, I don't think there's a single person in wrestling
who can come close to Gibson Hayes and anyone who argues against that
fact is just fooling themselves.

CL: That's a stretching of the truth and you know it. Hayes has shown
some ability but he takes every short cut he can and has run from a
fight more than once.

FH: And he has the paychecks to show how lucative it is to do so.
Chip, why do you think Gibson can defend his title so often and so
well? He knows how this business works and he knows the angles. He
knows how to wait and he knows how to capitalize on mistakes. Pound
for pound, there is no one in PVW more cunning than Gibson. He has
Todd in his corner for an extra set of eyes and a brain. Bubba has his
back, Prosser runs interference and that's not even counting have
'stock and Glutch as the artillery... and then there's the nuclear
option.

CL: Frank Knight.

FH: ...yeah, I think we should just leave that alone.

[Gibson climbs the ring steps, with Todd Johnstone continually
jabbering in his ear. Hayes nods, unstrapping his PVW World
Heavyweight Championship belt. Hayes half listens to Johnstone while
he holds his belt a little higher, for AsH to look at, before handing
it to the referee, who hoists it aloft to show the world the prize
both men are fighting for tonight.]

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS - GIBSON SUCKS

FH: Say what you will about Gibby - love him or hate him he does
illicit a response.

CL: While I am nowhere near a fan of Gibson, his group of miscreants
or his actions I will say this: at each and every twist and turn there
has been in his PVW career Gibson Hayes has managed to find a way to
come out on top. The man seemingly has a 1,000 lives, enough skill to
survive and enough luck to make Las Vegas wary.

[The chants of Gibson sucks finally die down much to AsH's enjoyment.
You can almost hear a pin drop in the arena as PVW head official, Duke
Martin lowers the belt and ... The Champion charges and attacks AsH.
The referee quickly hands off the belt to the ring crew and orders the
bell to be rung.]

 __________________________________________________________________
 /_  __/ ___/
  / / / __ \         T6: PVW World Heavyweight Match:
 / / / /_/ /                AsH -vs- Gibson Hayes
/_/  \____/________________________________________________________


*DING*DING*DING*

[We have ourselves a World Heavyweight Championship match cheer as
Hayes backs the challenger into the corner with right hands. The
smaller, AsH starts covering up, trying to save himself from some of
the shots but Hayes switches over to boots to the ribs. Once AsH puts
his guard down, Hayes switches back over to right hands to the face.]

CL: The Champion isn't wasting any time out there.  He is like a rabid
wolverene who has attacked his pray here tonight at Tradition Six!

FH: Hayes has the size advantage and he is using it to gain the
upperhand.  The longer he lets this match go on ... The more of a
knockout chance AsH has.

[Hayes back AsH up and whips him out of the corner, then tries to pull
him back into a short arm clothesline but AsH ducks it and leaps up
onto the second rope in the corner.]

CL: AsH using his sixth sense right there to duck that clothesline and
Gibson Hayes turns around!

[... to see AsH leaping from the second rope up to the top, then dive
off for with a picture perfect moonsault, but Hayes gets out of dodge
and AsH lands on his feet.]

FH: Hayes has scouted AsH well.  He knew exactly what AsH was going to
do right there.

CL: And Hayes turns his focus from getting out of the way back to
attacking the challenger but is hit with a series of jabs to the face!

[Fans enjoyed the quick snapping jabs by the lighting fast, AsH ...
And he ends the combination with a devastating discus clothesline.]

CL: And the fans are loving the challenger taking it to Gibson Hayes!

FH: Don't get used to it.  Tradition is Gibson Hayes playground.  It's
only a matter of time until he destroys the hopes and dreams of this
mosquito, AsH.

[AsH now has the champion back on his feet and sends him across and
into the ropes.  AsH catches Hayes and goes for an arm drag, but Hayes
counters with an arm drag of his own.  The champion then charges AsH
with blind ambition but runs right into a dropkick to the face.]

CL: And both men dishing it out with counters of their own!

FH: Hayes needs to take a few steps back and calm down.  He is twice
the wrestler that AsH is.  There is no reason to allow AsH to have
hope that he can even compete in the same ring as you.

CL: And Todd Johnstone isn't happy on the outside.  He is giving AsH
an earful.

[AsH goes to follow up his attack but the Champion rolls out of the
ring under the bottom rope and takes a break on the outside, trying to
catch his breath and recover.]

FH: Smart move by Gibson Hayes.  Make AsH beat you.  Play your game
and slow things back down to Gibson Hayes wrestling.

CL: The Champion is now looking around a little befuddled.  I don't
think he expected that AsH could keep up with his aggressive game plan
tonight.  And the fans are giving him an earful.

FH: Don't let them get in your head, Gibson.

[Todd Johnstone is quickly over to calm the champion down.  After
talking with Gibson for a few seconds and the referee shouts out,
SEVEN ...  Hayes reenters the ring and challenges AsH to lock up
cleanly which occurs, and leads to Hayes locking AsH in a side
headlock.]

FH: Now were talking ... Time to watch the wrestling wizard, Gibson
Hayes put on a clinic.

CL: I don't think I've ever seen, Gibson put on a wrestling clinic
before.

FH: What matches have you been watching, Chip?

[AsH throws Hayes off the ropes but the Champion floors AsH with a
shoulder block. While down, Hayes talks some smack to the fallen
opponent and bounces off the ropes, jumping over AsH and bouncing off
the opposing set. AsH jumps up to his feet and leap-frogs over the
champion, allowing him to bounce off the original set of ropes. AsH
catches Hayes with an inverted atomic drop, then goes for another
discus clothesline but Hayes ducks it and hooks AsH up for a German
suplex, only for AsH to block it. AsH goes for a back elbow to the
face of Hayes to break the rear waistlock but Hayes ducks it and AsH
spins around from the momentum, getting locked in a front waistlock.]

CL: Look at these two go!  Both men have brought their "A" game here
tonight.  They know what is on the line and they are putting it out
there here tonight.

FH: Gibson Hayes does in every match that he wrestles.  AsH on the
other hand knows this is his one chance to be relevant here in the
PVW.  Desperation goes a long way.

[AsH scores with some right hands to the temple of his opponent,
breaking the waistlock, then dishes out some knees to the ribs and
face.  AsH hoists Gibson Hayes up on his shoulders for a death valley
driver but the Champion slips out the back door and shoves the
challenger into the corner. Gibson Hayes charges the short distance to
his opponent but runs into a raised boot to the face, that gets a nice
reaction from the California crowd.]

CL: Quick thinking by AsH!

FH: That wont keep the champion down.

CL: AsH now the one charging and takes Gibson down with a clothesline!
And Hayes right back up and gets floored with a running LEG LARIAT!

FH: And Todd Johnstone isn't happy and I don't blame him.  That is a
loaded boot if I have ever seen one.

CL: Loaded Boot!?!  Give me a break, Fred!

[AsH right there to grab Hayes as he tries to pull himself up but
Hayes thinking like a champion rolls to the outside again and kicks
the steel steps out of frustration.  And the fans love seeing the
Champion frustrated as they begin chanting, GIBSON SUCKS again!]

CL: And Todd Johnstone quickly over to calm down the Champion.

FH: Ignore the fans Gibson.  They wouldn't know a superstar if it
stared at them right in the face.  I mean just look at the stars they
support in Hollywood around here.

[Gibson Hayes begins to slowly climb up onto the ring apron, baiting
AsH into trying to grab him but when AsH does, Hayes slaps him in the
face and drops back down to the floor.]

"___TWAAAAP___"


CL: What a cheap shot by Gibson Hayes!  And he is now taking a stroll
on the outside .... AND HERE COMES ASH!

[The fans erupt with support as AsH jumps through the ropes and
starts chasing him around the ring side area. AsH in hot pursuit
charges behind the champion who slides into the ring and waits for AsH
to follow ...  AsH fakes sliding in, causing Hayes stomp to miss, and
allowing AsH to grab his foot, trip him, and pull him under the bottom
rope to the outside.]

CL: Listen to these fans, Fred!  And AsH begins to dish out a barrage
of forearm shots right to the face!  AsH has Hayes by the back of the
head and BOUCES IT OFF THE RING APRON!

FH: You can't mess up a true American hero like Gibson Hayes face!  He
needs that for good PVW PR!

[AsH turns and fires up the crowd, getting a big pop, then rolls Hayes
back into the ring. AsH climbs up onto the ring apron and leaps over
the top hitting a slingshot elbow drop landing right on target across
Gibson Hayes.]

CL: ASH CONNECTS AND HOOKS A LEG ... COULD WE HAVE A NEW CHAMPION?




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




NO!  Not this time as Hayes fires out with a kick out.

FH: Darn right he did.  You have to come with more then that if you
are going to beat Gibson Hayes.  Especially on his show, Tradition!

[AsH now in full control locks the champion in an arm wrench that's so
tight that Hayes actually starts to plead for a time out.]

FH: AsH must of found some new kind of Red Bull that gives you super
strength!

CL: AsH showing mercy for a moment and releases Hayes arm.

FH: What a kind heart.


"___CRAAAAAACK___"


[... but then cracks him upside the head with an Emigre and the fans
go wild.]

FH: Scratch that!  What an Ash-hole!

CL: And that's what the fans are chanting, but in support for AsH!
AsH with another cover.




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!



... And Hayes with another strong kick out!

FH: A kickout for America!

[The fans disappointment groans tell a different story. AsH pulls
Gibson Hayes to his feet and whips him into the corner. He follows up
charging and blasts the champion with a high knee to the face. AsH
doesn't let up as he unloads in the corner on the champion.  Todd
Johnstone is right there pointing at Hayes who is now slumped into the
ropes.]

FH: Break it up, Duke.  Do your job!

CL: Duke Martin is counting down, AsH.  Who finally backs away.

[Hayes holds onto the top rope with both hands while AsH tries
to pull Hayes out of the ropes via a rear waistlock. The referee tries
to get AsH to back off once more and as the referee is scolding
AsH, Hayes swings his leg backwards catching his opponent with a
low blow. AsH drops to his knees holding his crotch leading to Hayes
booting the challenger in the side of the head to put him on the
mat.]

FH: Check out that Taekwando kick, Chip!  Even, Mister Miyagi would
have been impressed with that kick.

CL: Looked liked a desperation kick to me.

[Hayes now sits AsH back up and presses his knee against the
challenger's face, then falls forward driving AsH's head into the mat
with a knee drop. It's the Champion that hooks a leg this time.]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




CL: And AsH fires out with a kick out!  And Gibson Hayes apparently
doesn't agree with the referee waving off the cover and hooks the leg
again.




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




[The crowd roars as AsH kicks out again.  Gibson Hayes leaps up
glaring at the California crowd and they begin to remind him what they
think of him with another - GIBSON SUCKS chant.]

CL: The crowd is starting to get into Gibson Hayes head.

FH: It's disrespect for Gibson Hayes ... It's disrespect for America!

CL: These people _ARE_ American!

FH: They must be Democrat!

[Gibson Hayes mounts his opponent and starts beating away at him with
right hands. The Champion pulls AsH to his feet and gives him an old
school rib breaker, then floats it into his slingshot suplex.]


"___THUUUUUD___"


FH: Bounced Check!

CL: Hayes hooks another leg!




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THREE !!!




[The fans roar as AsH kicks out at the very last second.  And Todd
Johnstone loses it.  He starts shouting at the referee and kicking the
side of the ring apron on the outside in a fit of rage.  Gibson Hayes
pulls AsH back up and whips him off the ropes but AsH counters a back
body drop with a kick to the chops.]

"___TWAAAAP___"

CL: Hayes stumbles ... AsH charges the short-distance and drills the
Champion into the mat with an STO!  And Gibson Hayes rolls under the
bottom ropes onto the ring apron.

FH: Duke needs to remove that loaded boot that AsH has been using all
match long.  This isn't right!

[Both men start pulling themselves up but Hayes grabs AsH and hangs
him out. The Champion walks over and swipes a water bottle out of a
fan's hand and chugs it, then throws the plastic cup at the
challenger's head in the ring.]

FH: HAHA ...

CL: Complete disrespect for the fans and AsH by our Champion.

FH: That's what he gets for disrespecting America!

[Hayes still on the outside ring apron spits the water he had stored
in his mouth from that water bottle then ducks a desperation right
hand by AsH and punches the challenger right in the throat.  AsH
stumbles backwards as Gibson Hayes steps back between the ropes and
grabs a hold of the challenger into his former finishing move, a snap
fisherman suplex.]


"___THUUUUUD___"




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THREE !!!




[The fans leap to their seat as the challenger breaks out of the pin
at the _very_ last mil-second. The Champion begins to pound on the
mat out of frustration, then pulls AsH up roughly.]

CL: Gibson Hayes thought he had it right there.

FH: I'm not sure that he didn't.  And the look on Todd the Rod's face
would agree with me.

CL: Oh there is a guy who would give you the honest truth.

[Hayes arches his opponent backwards for the reverse DDT but AsH
throws his feet into the air, flipping over and landing on his feet
behind Hayes, arching him backwards for a reverse DDT instead. AsH
then changes his positioning and nails his cutter instead dropping the
Champion with the, Icon Cutter!]

CL: Icon Cutter ... ASH HOOKS A LEG!




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THR !!!




... NO, The Champion digs down deep and kicks out!

FH: You can't take Gibson's title from him ... And you can't beat him
on a Tradition, Chip!

CL: AsH is giving it his all here tonight.  And that was so close
right there.  We almost had a new Champion!

[The fans let out a disappointment sigh as they thought AsH was about
to win the PVW World Heavyweight Championship.  AsH pulls Gibson Hayes
up and gives him a scoop slam over by the ropes. "The Cruiserweight
Icon" leaps into the air, throwing his legs over the top rope and
nailing the Champion with a slingshot split-legged moonsault. And AsH
makes the cover once more, as the fans are on their feet!]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THREE !!!




CL: TODD JOHNSTONE PLACED THE CHAMPION'S FOOT ON THE ROPES!

FH: What? No that was all Gibson Hayes.  He dug down deep ... And he
raised that leg at the last second.

CL: Give me a break!

[AsH not letting Johnstone get to him, bounces off the ropes, charging
at the Champion as he struggles to get up but Hayes hits a drop toe
hold onto the second rope.]

CL: Head's up awareness by Gibson Hayes right there.  And he now
begins to press down on the shoulders of the challenger, choking him
on the second rope.

FH: AsH has been known to choke a time or two.

CL: And Duke Martin is counting the Champion down.

[Hayes bounces off the ropes and throws his leg through the ropes,
hitting a legdrop across the back of his foe, ricocheting him back
into the ring. The Champion pulls AsH to his feet and sets him up for
the, The Tuscaloosa Tumble.]

CL: If Hayes hits this it could be over.

FH: Another win for America!

[Hayes struggles to keep AsH in place as he tries to wriggle free. AsH
gets one arm free, spins Hayes around and hoists the Champion into the
air with all his strength for a pancake flop, only to leap up and hit
them with a dropkick to the stomach.]

CL: Straight to the Top!  And Hayes stumbles back up swinging blindly
... ASH WITH A KIP-UP DROPKICK AND HAYES DOWN AGAIN!

FH: And there is that loaded boot in action again.  You doubted the
Rod, Chip?

[The fans are loving the flashy beating on Gibson Hayes and AsH
obviously feeling the excitement charges across the ropes and leaps
bouncing off the top ropes with a springboard perfect leaping
backwards moonsault landing right across the chest of the PVW World
Heavyweight Champion, and another cover!]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




CL: Hayes shoots a shoulder up!  And AsH points to the top ropes and
the fans love it.

FH: There is no way that AsH can defeat, Gibson Hayes ... What is
going on around here?  Did somebody poison our Champion?  Get the FBI
... Get the CIA ... Get SECRET SERVICE!

[AsH makes his way to the top ropes.  He points down on the limp
Champion who lays there breathing hard.  The fans cheer loudly as  The
Cruiserweight Icon...  The Living Kickout ... The Small Package ...
leaps into the air with a Shooting Star Press.]


"___THUUUUUUUUD___"


[... And those cheers turn silent as Gibson Hayes rolls out of the way
at the very last second and the challenger crashed onto the PVW
wrestling mat, empty handed.]

FH: Hayes played him like a puppet, Chip!

CL: AsH missed and Gibson Hayes is now crawling over to the corner and
using the ropes to push himself to his feet again.

[Hayes is now on his feet and turns around and sets him up for
another The Tuscaloosa Tumble, but AsH refuses to be turned in either
direction. The crowd goes crazy as the Champion improvises, hitting a
bridging Tiger suplex.]


"___THUUUUUD___"




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




CL: NO ASH KICKS OUT!

FH: It's gotta be that Red Bull ...  No man kicks out of this much
Gibson punishment!

[Hayes tries to wear his opponent down by rolling him onto his
stomach, placing a knee in his spine and arching his head backwards
with a rear chinlock.]

CL: Classic old school wrestling right here by the Champion.

FH: It's genius, Chip ... AsH does his most damage when he is free to
jump around and stick-and-move.  Gibson is keeping him grounded and
slamming that final nail in the coffin.

[AsH starts opening and closing his hand, attempting to keep the
adrenaline flowing, then starts kicking the mat rhythmically to get
the crowd clapping along with him to cheer him on. Thanks to the
encouragement of the audience, AsH slips out from underneath
Hayes knee and starts pulling himself up. AsH grabs the hands of
Hayes underneath his chin and slowly, using nothing but his sheer
will-power and strength, separates the Champion's hands and continues
to pull his arms away from him.]

CL: ASH FINDING THE WILL TO BREAK OUT!

FH: BAN THE RED BULL!

[AsH floats from this method of defense right to offense as he slips
to the side of Hayes and plants him with a Blue Thunder Bomb.]


"___THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD___"


CL: AsH is feeling it!  This is his time in the PVW!  He is crawling
on his hands and knees with everything he has left in the tank over to
the corner and he starts to pull himself up with the ropes.

[AsH uses every bit of energy in him to jump up to the second rope,
then up to the top and dive off with a Moonsault, only to kiss the mat
via Hayes rolling out of the way.  The crowd gives a deflated groan as
Hayes rolls AsH over and hooks the leg.]




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THREE !!!




CL: No! AsH refuses to give up his chance at the title!  And Hayes
looks a little shocked ... almost a loss of words.

FH: Don't worry America ... Gibson Hayes has this!

[Todd Johnstone shouts something through the ropes.  Hayes pulls AsH
up and bounces the challenger's face off of the top turnbuckle. Gibson
Hayes starts delivering shoulder thrust after shoulder thrust to the
ribs of AsH. Gibson then whips AsH into the opposing corner and
charges after him, leaping into the air and hitting an Avalanche
Splash.]

CL: Hayes crushes AsH into the corner!

FH: Even a loaded boot and super strength laced Red Bull can't save
you now, AsH!

[Gibson pulls AsH out of the corner and gives him a gives him a
Falling Powerbomb.]

CL: Hayes isn't making the cover ... He is calling for AsH to get up.
This could be a major mistake.

FH: AsH isn't getting up that fast this time.

[And Hayes drops him again with a spinning round house kick showing
off as the fans boo.  The Champion then unwraps the tape on his right
wrist and begins to choke the challenger with it.]

CL: Gibson Hayes resorting right back to underhanded tactics.

FH: Teaching AsH a lesson that he isn't even in the same league as
Gibson Hayes.

[The Referee finally forces Gibson Hayes off.  And He struts towards
the ropes and fires the crowd up.  As AsH pushes himself up ... The
Champion spins with another spinning roundhouse kick, but this time
AsH was ready and ducked under it, only Duke Martin wasn't as prepared
and it drilled the PVW official right across the chest.]

CL: That roundhouse kick just took the referee down!

FH: AsH had that planned the whole time so Gibson couldn't pin him!

[Hayes goes for a punch, but it's blocked!  The crowd roars as AsH
unloads on the PVW World Heavyweight Champion.   He hits the ropes and
baseball slides underneath the open leagues of the PVW Champion.  He
bounces up from behind and grips behind the champion's head
with the full nelson and comes down as hard as possible slamming, face
first into the mat.]


"___THUUUUUUUUUUD___"


CL: ASH KISSER!  AND LISTEN TO THESE FANS AS WE ARE ABOUT TO HAVE A
NEW PVW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION.

[... Except the referee is still out and not counting as AsH makes the
cover.]

FH: AsH's plan backfired!

CL: And Todd Johnstone is in the ring ...

[The fans are booing the loud mouthed manager as he steps on the back
of AsH ...  The Cruiserweight Icon, slowly gets off the PVW Champion
and turns and the fans begin to go ape-shit cheering for AsH to lay
out one of the most hated men in the PVW.]

CL: Todd Johnstone could be in some trouble.  Gibson Hayes is down on
the mat ...  AsH grabs the manager!

FH: He can't touch Todd!

[... And Big Bubba Hayes is in the ring and behind AsH.	 He charges,
but AsH heard him coming and ducked under the big clothesline.  Bubba
turned only for AsH to charge up the corner turnbuckles and plant the
unexpecting, Bubba with a Tornado DDT!]


"___THUUUUUD___"


CL: AsH isn't going to be bullied ... Not tonight, not on _HIS_ night!

FH: This isn't good.

CL: The Duke is now coming too ... And AsH is headed to the top.  The
fans are on their feet!  He is calling for Air Rage!

[... And the cheers were quickly drowned to roaring bull jeers,
as Evelyn Prosser pushes AsH enough to where he loses his balance, and
Gibson Hayes leaps up and grabs a hold of the dazed challenger, with a
snap fisherman's suplex ...]


"___THUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUD___"


CL: _SUPER_ REDLINE!




!!! ONE !!!




!!! TWO !!!




!!! THREE !!!




FH: He did it!  Gibson Hayes keeps his Tradition streak alive ... And
this is a win for us all ... A win for America, Chip!

CL: It took Gibson Hayes and his whole entourage to win here tonight.
And these fans are letting the Champion hear it.

HD: The winner of the match, and STILL PVW World Heavyweight Champion.
GIBSON HAYES!

[The fans begin to throw trash into the PVW ring as Gibson Hayes yanks
the PVW World Heavyweight Championship away from the referee, Duke
Martin.  He hands it to Todd Johnstone who wraps it around the
Champion's waist.  Bubba and Evelyn stand attempting to block any
trash that comes near the Champion.]

CL: The fans are letting the PVW know what they think of this
injustice.  AsH looked to be on the verge of winning and becoming the
new PVW World Heavyweight Champion.

FH: Not once did I think he was going to win, Chip.

CL: You were the only one then.

[Gibson Hayes and his entourage head out of the ring and start to head
back up the aisle way.  AsH finally comes to as he pulls himself to
his feet.  The Hayes gang turn back towards the ring ... And Hayes is
full of smiles and gloating as AsH looks on.]

CL: I get the feeling this isn't the last we have seen of these two
men.

FH: Sure it is, Chip.  Hayes defeated AsH.  It's time to roll out the
new challenger.

CL: It took four people to make that happen.  But the referee's
decision stands and Gibson Hayes continues his streak.  Folks we thank
you for tuning in for Tradition Six tonight.  We would once again wish
Josie's family the best as all of our hearts in PVW are with you.

FH: This Gibson Hayes defense was for you sweet angel.

CL: We will see you again ... On Heatwave.