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##                           ##
## Phoenix Valley Wrestling  ##
##       Burning Effect      ##
##           01.30.08        ##
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Presenting....

-> The Spectre
-> Rob Cole
-> 'Black' Jack Baldwin
-> 'Showtime' Rick Marley
-> Thrillers
-> 'The Golden One' Christopher Michaelson
-> 'Paladin' Chris Hartt
-> 'Bad Karma' RJ Souza
-> Chase Williams
-> Prophets of Rage
-> 'The Fighting Irishman' Caleb Foley
-> 'Wild Fire' Shawn Covell
-> U.F.O.'s, Unrivaled Funky Ones
-> Highway 44
-> 'Rolemodel' Paul Styles
-> Livestock and the Gutch
-> Outlaw
-> Charles Lassiter



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
The Spectre
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera opens on darkness.  Suffocating, inky blackness so thick
that it seems to muffle sound.  The kind that pushes at your nostrils,
plies are your lips and probes are your flesh to find an entrance.
The sort of darkness that can penetrate a person's soul...suffocate
them...snuff out any thought of feeling the sun on your face.

From somewhere within the dark, a rhythmic noise becomes more apparent
after a moment: the unmistakable sound of slow, steady breathing.
Filling the lack of competing sensory input, the breathing sound seems
to fill the entire world for a full minute until a light flares to
life with the faintest of clicks.

Hanging from a single wire, the bare bulb dangles precariously from a
pipe-crossed ceiling, straining mightily to hold back the suffocating,
hungry obsidian darkness, casting eerie shadows out into the bare
cinder block and concrete room.

A large, black-sleeved arm extends down from the bulb, leading to the
trench-coated form of The Spectre.  The ghoulish wrestler stands
(dreadlocks cascading in front of his pale, stubble strewn face) with
his eyes closed as the camera comes to rest on him, drawing closer and
closer moment by moment...

Until his eyes snap open.]

"Did you miss us?"

[His voice echoes off of the bare walls.  A closer examination shows
puddles of standing water and trash thrown about the room.  Snack food
wrappers, dirt, broken bottles and torn cardboard lie in clumps around
the room, adding an apocalyptic look to the scene.]

"We are certain that friend Lassiter does not.  He'll be seeing us
very soon, after all.  Very soon indeed.  You see, friend Lassiter, we
bear you no ill will, and BORE you no ill will during our tag team
match.  In fact, we were attempting to help you...to allow you to
understand.

You, unlike most of the rest of the people in this organization, stand
at a crossroads.  You stand on the brink of greatness...greatness that
you willingly attempt to turn your back on.  Your memory loss...the
supposed "loss" that you rail against...the gift that the Darkness
within your soul has given you...you act as if your life was taken
from you.

Lies.

Nonsense.

All that was taken from you was a life of quiet desperation: a love-
less marriage and a screaming brat who would have sucked all of your
potential out of you like a pair of oversized leeches.  THIS is what
you want to come back to?  Mediocrity at best...THAT was your
destiny...that was what you had to look forward to.

Now you stand as a modern day gladiator, carried to the brink of
greatness by your anger...by your rage...by your hatred for what's
been done to you.

Embrace it.  Cocoon yourself in it.  Make it a part of you and allow
yourself to become the whole man you deserve to be.

You'll scream about injustice.  You'll rail against the disloyalty you
think we've shown.

It doesn't matter.  We serve the Darkness...the Beast.

And it does not cater to weakness.

Blood Bowl shall be a crucible.  Not just for you, friend
Lassiter...but for each and every person in that ring with us.  Gold
belts and titles mean not a whit to us...but our victory in the ring
assures that our message has a platform and that paper heroes of the
masses will suffer in our victory.

So it is not to gain the title that we will gain victory, but to
ensure their defeat.

And then, PVW, you will all learn to fear the dark."

[Spectre's hand quickly envelops the lightbulb and squeezes.  With a
faint pop and glass tinkle, the scene is plunged once more into
darkness.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Rob Cole
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[In the back stairwell of the arena, Rob Cole sits on the bottom steps
with his head buried in his hands.  He's covered in sweat, wearing
most of his ring gear... his shirt's been discarded, revealing the
roadmap of scar tissue across his back and chest.  He finally looks
up, taking a deep breath as he stands and turns a hateful gaze toward
the camera.]


COLE: It’s not about come-backs, or swan-songs, or belts, or glory…
this is something personal. This is something deep inside me… it
starts with hatred, but it runs a hell of a lot deeper.  It’s about
‘respect’, Paul… it’s about respect for this business, respect for
what each of us can do, and it’s about ten years worth of animosity
between us.  It’s about you being some dumb punk who couldn’t handle
real competition… so you whined about it, you complained about it, you
turned what I did and you mocked it at every turn… you spit on my
work, my legacy, and everything I was worth because you couldn’t stand
the competition.


I’m every bit as good, and sometimes better… sometimes greater… and I
beat you time and time again.  And I never begged for rematches when
you beat me, never groveled for new opportunities, never cried for
lost moments in time… I just picked myself back up and I went to
goddamn war!  WAR!!!!  I wiped off the blood, stitched up the cuts,
splinted the bones, and marched myself down that aisle week after week
after week.


We traded the AWMC Heavyweight Championship back and forth.  And we
/hated/ one another... pure and venomous and filled with black bile
and filth, we used that hatred and we became the spotlight feature for
that company.  It's a hatred I've been carrying for a long time, Paul.
And I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not, not going to
manipulate the situation to get some sort of secret advantage... I'm
going to gouge you open, make you bleed, and toss you out of that
ring.  I'm going to be the reason you don't walk out of Blood Bowl
with another championship over your shoulder.



[Cole grins sadistically, his thoughts coming into focus... ]


COLE: The rest of you... well, you're all just meat sacks for me.  I
know this isn't about barbed wire, this isn't about flaming tables,
and it sure as hell ain't about how many chairshots a man can take...
but old habits are hard to kill.  This is the same thing it's always
been... this is blood for the beast!  This is meat for the feast!  Am
I making you laugh?  Am I 'entertaining' you?!??!!


I'm not here for comedy, not here for the jokes or the pranks or any
of that crap!  I am here for the GORE!!!!  Phantom thinks a little
mood music and fancy lighting makes him scary?  I WILL SHOW YOU
SCARY!!!! Chris Hartt wants to play the hero?  The monster will TEAR
the brave shining knight into shreds!!! List them up, list them down,
there are fifteen men between me and another title... fifteen men
between me and the chance to plunge this company into the violence it
deserves!  Fifteen men between me and the horded gold that will draw
the monster slayers out in droves... I'm not the best!  I'm not the
greatest!  I AM THE WORST!!!!! I am the nightmare, the monster, the
fearful dragon waiting for the brave and feeding on the bold!


[Cole smiles coldly, licking his chops as he stares into the camera.]


COLE: And yes... I am /still/ the monster beneath your bed.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Black' Jack Baldwin
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

Black Jack Baldwin

In association with

Presented by Wild Cards Productions

presents

"Jack Baldwin, International Man of Mystery"

[The scene opens on a helicopter shot of a volcano with a man's face
carved into the side.  Sapphire-blue water washes up on a white sandy
beach with lush tropical vegetation segueing into the craggy volcanic
slope afterwards.  If you don't look too closely, you won't see the
seams in the model, either.

The camera cuts into a control room, presumably inside of the volcano
itself.  In the midst of a high tech appearing room (complete with
over-polished shiney black floor), sits an elongated raised metallic
table with six chairs.  At the foot of the table sits an older Italian
man with slicked back steel gray hair a black pin striped suit and an
eye-patch.  The sign in front of him reads #2 (played by Vito
Scapelli).  Between the foot and head of the table, the chairs are
occupied by individuals with the name cards Osama Bin Laden (with a
turban and a really bad fake beard), Kim Jong Il (a small Korean child
with an Elvis wig and over-sized sunglasses on), Frau Blucher (a
gigantic German woman...maybe?  She appears to have  goatee), and
Mitch Bainwol - RIAA CEO (a beefy man with dollar bills stuffed into
his shirt collar, his pockets and a dark, receding hair line).

At the head of the table sits Black Jack Baldwin, dressed in a gray
shirt, matching gray pants and white shoes.  A fake scar has been
added running above and below his right eye.  A shaved (or at least
bald) chihuahua shivers in his lap and randomly nips at his hand as he
attempts to pet it...]

JB: Good evening, gentlemen and...

[Baldwin looks at Frau Blucher]

JB: Riiiight.  Gentlemen.  To business.  Last week during a match
against overmatched opponents, an idiotic partner viciously struck me,
causing my team to fail to advance into the Battle Royal portion of
the event.  This [Baldwin adds air quotes] "wrestler" goes by the name
of Andrew Stevens, part of the peculiarly named Tag Team known as
Sexual Energy.  I have assembled you five as the most evil people in
the world...now, what do suggest we do?

[Kim Jong Il raises his hand]

JB: Yes?

KJI: I hafta go da potty.

JB: (looks at the camera and nods) Riiiight.  Second door on the
right. Remember to jiggle the handle when you're done...anyone NOT
having to go to the potty?

[Bainwol raises his hand]

MB: If we can prove that he heard music that was downloaded while he
was in college, we can sue him for...

[Bainwol raises his right pinky to the side of his mouth and stares at
teh camera]

MB: ONE MILLLLION DOLLARS!

[Baldwin glares at Bainwol and pushes a red button on the table in
front of him, sending Bainwol's chair tumbling back into the wall ,
out of which you can hear power tools and the roar of what sounds like
a pride of lions.]

JB: THAT'S GIMMICK INFRINGEMENT!  I just wont' stand for it.
Now...any other ideas...and no flying airplanes into him, Osama.  No
one would buy getting hit with an airplane at a wrestling event
anyway.

OBL: Sorry...but I'm sort of a one trick pony.

JB: Did you get the sharks with the friggin' laser beams on their
heads like I asked?

[Frau Blucher raises his (her?) hand and replies in a deep bass voice]

FB: We tried, but it was tough to fix...we ordered from the sushi bar
instead.

JB: Sushi bar?

FB: (nods)

JB: So they're dead.

FB: Ya.

JB: Do they have laser beams strapped to their friggin heads?

FB: No, but we could microwave them.  Then it'd be similar.

JB: Microwave...sushi?

FB: Da.

[Baldwin shakes his head, sighs loudly and pushes the button on the
table again.  Frau Blucher goes by by...but horrible noises come from
hole [s]he goes down...like maybe the lions are afraid.]

JB: Anyone else have anything?  No?

Fine, I'll just challenge him to a Jacques Coustea Death match!  What
is that, you ask?

The Jacques Coustea Death match involves two tag teams in a cage
suspended over a pool filled with sharks with...

..laser...

...beams on...

dammit.

[Baldwin rubs his bald scalp for a moment as Kim Jon Il toddles back]

KJI: I hadda accident.

JB: Number one or Number 2?

KJI: Uh huh.

JB: ohgod.  You guys have been no help at all.  But I guarantee that
my second shot at that moron is gonna get Wild.

[Fade out as Baldwin grabs a bunch of paper towels and a gallon of
bleach and heads towards the bathroom].


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Showtime' Rick Marley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens on "Showtime" Rick Marley of the Wild Cards (and
newly of PVW) sitting alone in a hotel room.  The cruiserweight is
wearing a pair of jeans and a plain black t shirt as he sits on the
bed with a cell phone held to his right ear.  After a moment in which
he's presumably waiting for the other person to pick up, he sighs.]

"Hey Tami.  I was hoping you'd be there to pick up.  Me, Judd and Jack
are here in Phoenix and setting up shop.  I got through my first match
with a 'mystery' partner...guy named Johnny Oakes.  He seems like a
good enough guy too, which I've got to admit had me confused.  Most of
the folks in this biz are one shade of dick or another."

[Pausing, Marley runs his left hand from his forehead down his face.]

"But I've got a problem...see, Jack had a match too...his partner WAS
the kinda dick you'd expect, and one of his opponents....well...it was
Bill Craven.

Well, not the REGULAR William Craven...more the Major Damage William
Craven that ran roughshod over the WWO a few years ago.  Put some
folks in the hospital and ended a few careers."

[Marley pauses again, closing his eyes.]

"Tam, the guy is just not right in the head...and not the kind of 'not
right' that some of the other guys on the roster are.  I mean, that
Spectre dude is bat-shit nuts.  And he ain't the only one by a long
shot...but Craven...or Major Damage...or whoever is a different kind
of crazy entirely.  He wants to HURT people...the kind of hurt that
doesn't go away.  The kind that has people coming to visit you in the
hospital kind of hurt...

You know...the kind of hurt that made me promise you that I'd never
take a match against him after Detroit.

The problem is: because Jack lost that damned match, I'm in a Battle
Royal with Major Damage...or Craven...or whoever's under that gas
mask, and I've got no choice about going in there.  And not just
because I stand a chance at winning the title...and not just because I
normally do really well in Battle Royals whether they're in UEW, WWO,
or anyplace else.  It's more than that...

It's that Craven TERRIFIES me...to the point that just the thought of
it being HIM under that mask leaves my insides shuddering like they're
made of jell-o.

I know it doesn't make any sense.  I've wrestled guys bigger than
Craven.  I've wrestled creepy guys.  I was in the ring against some of
the most unbalanced guys ever to lace 'em up.  I've been in the ring
with people that purposely tried to end my career before.  Hell, there
were times that I deserved what they were trying to do to me...but now
it's different.  I've got 2 nieces that look up to me...and if I run
from Craven...or Major Damage...or whoever it is...how can I look
those kids in the eye and tell them that they don't need to be afraid
of the monster under the bed...or the witch in the closet...

Or the scary man behind the mask?

So I've got no choice...you understand, right?

No choice at all..."

[fade to black]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Thrillers
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"So he can't wrestle this week?  That's just too bad.  Well it looks
like it's Shawn Covell's   unlucky day."

[We open to a small office as Samuel Cunningham sits leaned back in
his leather office chair.    He is on the phone as he cracks a smile.]

"Darius Walker thinks he something special.  I showed him who the
mastermind around Phoenix is.    While his boy, Gideon Frost nurses a
concussion.  The Thrillers have been preparing  themselves  to finish
of Shawn Covell."

[Cunningham nods eagerly then hangs up the phone.]

"Darius it looks like you have yourself a small problem.  While Shawn
Covell cost, Jimmy Lane a   chance at the PVW Heavyweight Championship
we decided to teach you a lesson.  Don't mess with   the Thrillers!
My boys are have twice the talent and three times the looks.  We have
not only   proved it inside the ring, but we outsmarted you outside
too.  Gideon Frost spent his entire   match laid up on the trainers
bed looking at stars."

[Cunningham lets out a laugh that sounds more like a cackle.]

"Let me give you a little bit of advice Gideon.  Get rid of that no
good manager as quickly as   possible.  He isn't helping your career.
Instead he is leading you to a career of head   aches... Literally."

[Another laugh or should I say cackle.]

"Let's move onto more important things.  Shawn Covell come Heatwave
you won't be so lucky.   Gideon was strike one....  You will be strike
two.  Once we are done slapping you around there  will only be one
thing left to do."

[nods.]

"Send Darius Walker packing.   Walker you failed before.  Your beast
left you at the alter and  now you are sitting as a scorn bride.
However I have to ask... What in gods green earth was  running through
your mind when you teamed these two jokers up together?  Gideon Frost
is about  as entertaining as watching paint dry.  Shawn Covell is
about as charismatic as Hilary Clinton  in a sports bar."

[A knock on the door is heard after a slight pause, Samuel Cunningham
hollers "Come In".   Thriller member, "Greek God" Jimmy Lane steps
through the door.]

"Sit down Jimmy let's go over the game plan for Heatwave.  It's time
we teach these punks what the consequences are when you mess with
sophisticated well respected gentlemen such as ourselves."

[Jimmy Lane sits down in front of the desk and the two men begin
discussion a game plan that will introduce Shawn Covell to the
hospital bed just like his partner the week before.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'The Golden One' Christopher Michaelson
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Slowly the camera fades in from black and a man can be seen receiving
a massage. The camera focuses in upon the figure of the man, who is
covered up from the waist down with a white towel. The figure of that
is Christopher Michaelson, he smiles at the camera for a moment before
speaking.]

Michaelson: I know that you think she is here just to touch the 24
karat shaft of the gold ... but Gia Lui is here to actually prepare me
for the months to come. You see she is helping me relax my muscles for
the additional 25 pounds of gold that I will be carrying around as the
inaugural PVW Heavyweight Champion.

[Michaelson smirks as he waves Gia Lui away with a quick flick of the
wrist. Slowly he sits up and looks towards the camera with a smug
smile on his face.]

Michaelson: PVW’s inaugural Heatwave is now in the history books and
Christopher Michaelson delivered just as I said that I would. I will
admit I was a little shocked with my partner Robert Cole, a self
proclaimed legend at tearing his opponents and himself up in the
squared circle. So I figured that like any of the other 31 men that I
would have to carry the match squarely on my shoulders … but I
discovered that miracles can occur, as Robert carried his end
adequately enough.

[The camera continues to focus on the face of Michaelson as he grabs a
pair of black dress slacks that were resting on the table next to
him.]

Michaelson: Robert I have to say even though your wrestling style was
a bit on the ugly side your fortitude made up for it.  So I offer you
this,  any time you want to stand in my corner and be The Golden One's
brick wall I would be happy to have you.

[Christopher slides off of the table and grabs a light grey dress
shirt. He slowly pulls it over his shoulders and begins to speak as he
slowly buttons it up.]

Michaelson: But enough about The Golden One's fifteen minute workout.
I would like to thank Mr. Parker and Mr. Hayes for showing up and
allowing me to stretch my legs before the prestigious Blood Bowl.
However that was yesterday’s news – today’s headline reads

The fans are tired of seeing the same run downed pieces of crap like
Rob Cole, Paul Styles, and Tyrone Parker.

[The smug smile disappears as a look of disgust falls upon
Michaelson’s face.]

Michaelson: If you don’t believe me I will show you exactly why.
Everybody talked glowingly about the experience of Tyrone Parker and
the time he spent in some of the largest promotions around the world.
Now just a few days after he is an after thought...  Why?  I stepped
in that ring and wrestled circles around him.  I humiliated him, made
his fans shake their heads in disgust wondering how they could have
ever supported him.

[He pauses for a brief moment as if he is building suspense for the
answer.]

Michaelson: The answer to that question is easy. Each and every Tyrone
Parker fan is stupid.

[Michaelson shakes his head side to side.]

Michaelson: Then there is Paul Styles … near as I can tell Robert Cole
hates the man and I can say it appears with good reason. The man just
babbles and babbles. Mr. Styles wants the wrestling business to
remember him for the man that he was ten years ago. There is only one
problem with that Mr. Styles, no one cared about you then; how can you
possibly think they will care about you today?

[Christopher shrugs his shoulder with a smug look on his face.]

Michaelson: The answer to that question is they won’t and because of
that from this point on you will never hear the name Paul Styles come
from my mouth again until he proves that he is more than just the
remnants of a dead bug on the sole of my boots.

[Michaelson smiles as he continues speaking.]

Michaelson: Now there is this man by the Charles Lassiter, a man who
seems to have a problem remembering his past.

[Michaelson pauses for a moment and seems to be thinking.]
Michaelson: I almost envy you Charles for that problem of yours. I
mean there are times in my life that I wish I could forget about … but
then I think about it and I realize that I have too many moments and
too many accolades that I hate to forget. Charles, I have a question
for you though. Is this memory loss is it just for your past or does
it affect your short term memory as well?

[Christopher pauses and looks at the camera for a brief moment.]

Michaelson: Mr. Lassiter, I am not mocking your situation as memory
loss is a difficult problem to deal with and is not something to be
made light of. But for my own knowledge I need to know if you are
going to remember to show up for the blood bowl event. Is the event
going to be 15 men and the future PVW Champion Christopher Michaelson
or just 14 other men and the future champion?

[Michaelson smirks.]

Michaelson: Now I know what you all are saying...  Does this guy hate
everyone?

[Michaelson shakes his head no.]

Michaelson: I only hate the clowns masquerading as wrestlers in a
business I bust my ass for every single day of my life.  There are a
_select_ few who have my respect, Tyler Rose being a prime example.
Throughout my dominance here in the PVW I will offer the golden hand
in respect and friendship to an elite few.

[Christopher Michaelson opens the door and motions for the cameraman
to make his way out of the room.]

Michaelson: Now if you'll excuse me I have Mr. Wilson of Wilson's
Tailoring coming in to measure me for my custom designed leather strap
for the PVW Championship Belt. You see when you are as classy as me
everything right down to that final stitch needs to be perfect.

[As the cameraman makes his way from the room Michaelson grabs him by
the shoulder and spins him around.]

Michaelson: One last thing you can love me or hate me I don't really
give a , but come Blood Bowl I _will_ be your PVW Heavyweight
Champion and this waist ...

[Michaelson points down motioning the title belt sign around his
waist.]

Michaelson:  … will be gold... Solid Gold.

[All fades to black.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Paladin' Chris Hartt
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cut to backstage of the 52nd Street Armory.  In a dimly lit locker
room, 'Swingin' Dean Hayes.]

Hayes: Ladies and gentlemen, I'm back here just after our first
broadcast of Heatwave and I'm looking to get some reactions from our
talented performers. Right now, I have 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt, who,
along with Major Damage, managed to gain a superb win over 'Black'
Jack Baldwin & Andrew Stevens to proceed onto the next event, Blood
Bowl.

Chris, how are you feeling after your victory and now on the precipice
of your next match amongst the other participants in the Blood Bowl?

[Hartt, who was sitting on a bench with a towel slung across his
shoulders, stands and whips the towel away, tossing it down onto the
bench.]

Hartt:  Dean, it's a funny thing.  This is a new day.  Another dawn on
a new time of greatness.  Tonight, the first step was taken in a long
path to the ultimate goal.  The PVW Heavyweight Title.  But the path
isn't clean and simple.  There's a lot of twists and turns to it.
Nobody just waltzes down the path, free and clear.  All of us break,
bend, rip, tear and bleed to make it as far as we can.  I went into
the match with Major Damage knowing *absolutely nothing* about who he
is.  Luckily, the Major was a man of his word and stayed true to the
match.  There could have been a swerve; a twist; a sneaky deception
that would have put me in a match against 3 men.  But, that was not
the case.  Now, however, there is nobody at my back.  There's only me
vs. everyone else.  Sixteen men in one ring, all fighting to be one of
the remaining two, who will throw everything they have at each other
just to reach for that gold belt; that sacred artifact that will make
them great.

That is a sweet dream.  And for many of us , a dream is all it will
be.  Some of us are gonna fall along the way and only one will be on
top after it's all over.

As I've been hearing lately, some people think I will be one of the
first to fall.

Chase WIlliams.

You call ME a disgrace?  Funny how the one finger you point at me aims
3 more right back at you, hypocrite.  You'd said you spoke to Jericho
Hill, who filled you in on me.  Great idea taking the advice of that
washed out never-was!  Last I saw that flaccid ape, he was flailing
along behind a trashed motorcycle after I took him off of it.  You got
problems with me because you presume I'm some sort of altar boy, who's
just gonna be a doormat in your way to the top.

Bad idea, underestimating me, Chase.  You see no challenge here, but
you've never faced me in the ring.  Until you do, look for yourself
and see with your own eyes what you so easily assume will not
challenge you.  There's no way in the world I'm letting you by without
a fight that the Gods themselves will pay to watch!  You can swagger
and posture all you like, but the truth of all the talk is found
between those ropes.  Not a minute goes by that someone doesn't remind
me of the things you said.

You wanna come take me out and prove to the rest that I'm a pandering
preening little metro fan ass kissing ponce?  Bring it on, you fat,
bloated sack of crap with delusions of adequacy.  Put down the Ding-
Dongs and the Yoo-Hoo and bring whatever sad excuse for an A-Game you
have in you.  I got 10 minutes to waste!

You wanna go farther in the Blood Bowl, you gotta get past me!  I'm
setting my sights on you and plan to make sure you regret every stupid
word your mouth spewed forth, douchebag!  If I go out, I'm damn sure
taking a chunk of you with me!  Good thing you're a pathetic excuse of
a human being.  Maybe removing some of the crappier elements of your
sparkling personality will shine through.  Or maybe a dog can piss on
the sidewalk and turn it to gold.

Make no mistake.  I am ready for the Blood Bowl and will be ready to
go through Hell's back door to take you out, Chase Williams.  Count on
it!

[Hartt storms away, leaving Hayes in a flustered state.]

Hayes:  Well, uh, 'The Paladin' Chris Hartt is full of righteous
vengeance and furious anger and will no doubt be a formidable force in
the Blood Bowl.

[cut to next promo]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Bad Karma' RJ Souza
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

"That was NOT THE PLAN!!!"

(The PVW's Man in Black is in the middle of a fit in his dressing
room, throwing a chair into the mirror. His Mega-Agent, Paul Sandler
covers his face as the glass shatters off the wall. RJ is looking for
anything else to grab before Sandler gets a bit brave. He gets in
front of RJ
and pushes him back onto a bench sitting in the middle of the room.)

Paul Sandler: (Yelling) Look, I got a bit desperate, okay? I did what
I thought YOU would have wanted. This was a shot at the gold, champ!

(Paul stops yelling, pulls RJ close by the shirt)

Paul Sandler: Isn't that more important than HOW you win?

(Paul shoves RJ back and starts to walk away.)

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza:  Look, Paul. I hate to say this, but you are the
only person I feel I have in my corner. I know the fans are not happy.
The rulebreakers are not convinced I am on their side. I'm a (bleep)
ing ALONE!!!

Paul Sandler: I'm not going to be the one to answer to these tantrums.
I will not be treated like that. You pull that crap again, I'm DONE!!
You can get your woman to come back here and try to guide you. You
remember what happen the last time she was at your side right?
Constant trips to the ER, defending her from the scum of the earth.
You could not get your head in the game. Well, guess what?? I can. I
can take care of myself. I know you can focus in the ring. I am going
to be the reason you come back to glory.

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: So, Paul, how do we handle next week's match?
"Black" Jack Baldwin and The Prophets of Rage against me and those
sorry sack called Sexual Energy?

Paul Sandler: We are in the match. There's no way out of it. I say let
those two guys work the match and don't tag in. But then your stock
plummets. What male tag team would want to be known as "Sexual Energy"
anyway? Sounds a little gay to me. But forget that. What You do need
to
do is put on a show. Prophets of Rage?? Isn't that an old Public Enemy
song?? and how many "BlackJacks" are there? The industry is flooded
with them. I think you should be okay. You are RJ Souza, The Doctor of
the DDT, The Keeper of Karma, The Man in Black......PVW's next MEGA
STAR!!!

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: I have to beat up on the good guys to keep my
stock up, but you will make sure I'm on the side of angels when it's
all over??

Paul Sandler: Trust me, RJ. That's why I get 10%. When the show is
over, the crowd will be eating out of you hands. Remember it's about
keeping your cool out there. We can't have a meltdown like tonight.
Are we clear??

"Bad Karma" RJ Souza: As glass, Paul. Now, how are you going to fix
it?

Paul Sandler: This is the plan.......

(RJ listen as the sound fades and then Fade to Black)


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Chase Williams
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[We open, to an elaborate banner bordered in blue, with "Pheonix
Valley Wrestling" splashed across in bold white type. As cool as the
banner tries to be though, all the cool in the ring is sucked into the
nexus that stands before you, a stunning redhead on one arm, a buxom
brunette on the other.]

"Phoenix Valley... Welcome to a "Chase for the gold!" True greatness
comes along maybe once or twice in your life and you are looking at
him!

[The epitome of cool straightens the charcoal lapels of his pinstriped
suite and adjusts the black collar of the open dress shirt beneath.
Eyes hidden behind large bronze tinted sunglasses, his blonde hair is
pulled into a tight ponytail. He smirks to his left, then to his
right, and then one for the camera. He is one Concieted Bastard! But
I'll let him tell 'ya.]

"Its good to be the champ. I stand before you between two of the most
beautiful women you people will probably ever see, fresh out of a
limousine that would cost more than most of you boys make in a month,
and I'll be damned if I didn't give these here girls a champagne bath
with a bottle of Don P that cost more than you miscreants make in a
week. I'm so far beyond the rest of you in this thing, its laughable.
My talent, my presence, my very _existence_ has transcended Phoenix
Valley Wrestling and only the heavyweight championship would do
justice to the immense supernova that is Chase Williams!"

[He smirks behind the sunglasses. If confidence were a cologne, this
guy would reak of awesomeness!]

"Who else but the god standing before you is worthy of such a hefty
task? Paul Styles? Please. That guys is a dollar store Chase Williams
clone! Rob Cole? Again... yesterdays news. This is 2008 not 1998. How
about Caleb Foley, Major Damage or Charles Lassiter?"

[A dramatic pause.]

"I know I know... Who the [beep] are the last three guys, I must be
making those names up right?"

[He shakes his head, answering his own question.]

"I'm sorry ladies and gentlemen, but Caleb Foley, Major Damage, and
Charles Lassiter are all indeed slated for the blood bowl finale. As
is A Paladin, a Shark, a japanese midget and a Spectre. Color me
unimpressed. So again I pose the query..."

[Beat]

"Who amongst the filth and rabble could even begin to fathom the
responsibility of being the inaugural Phoenix Valley heavyweight
champion, other than I?"

[He turns his nose up to the camera in an arrogant pose. he notes the
Rolex on his wrist before his confident gaze returns to the camera.]

'My 10,000 dollar Rolex tells me its about time for my appointment
with destiny. To the rest of you bit players in my little coronation.
don't get out of line, and I may not have to humiliate you too badly.
Its a simple matter of accepting that there is zero chance of anyone
but me walking out of the 52nd street Armory with a new oversized belt
buckle. It would be irresponsible of me to allow anyone else to wear
it. It would be catastrophic for any of the ponces walking around
backstage to stain the title with their grubby little paws. Can you
imagine if Phoenix Valley's first champion were Chris Hartt? or
Outlaw?"

[He begins making gagging noises for the benefit fit of the camera.]

"This thing would be over before it even got off the ground. So you
can imagine the kind of pressure I'm under. From the alligator shoes,
to the fifteen thousand dollar suits, the biggest diamonds and the
hottest women. I Will _AM_ the face of Phoenix Valley"[He twirls for
the camera.]

"Can I get a moment of silence for the best looking man on the
planet?"

[More posturing. The ladies look on in admiration. I'm sure you are as
well. Come one, you know you're impressed...]

"When your name is Chase Williams every day is like winning the
lottery. I hear a lot of names being thrown around backstage, Styles,
Hartt, Marley, Cole, it simply doesn't matter. The road to the
championship goes through Williamsville. Whether you like it, or you
don't like it, you're looking at the first Phoenix Valley Heavyweight
Champ."

[He does a cocky little half strut for the camera.]

"The only difference between me and the guy with the "S" on his chest?
I don't need a phone booth to do my thing daddy. Arizona get ready,
we're about to party all the way to the armory. Dex my man, shine that
title up real nice, I'm on my way to pick it up right."

"Ladies?"

[Your soon to be crowned heavyweight champion offers and arm to each
women as he smiles at the camera one last time.]

"Phoenix Valley... Welcome to assholeville...

[The trio shares a laugh as Chase leads them off camera. Fade out.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Prophets of Rage
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Fade in:

Swingin' Dean Hayes is backstage in the interview area.  He seems very
excited.]

SDH: Ladies and gentlemen, Phoenix Valley Wrestling is the place to be
these days.  Some people say this sport has forgotten its history.
Especially when it comes to tag-team wrestling.  But it is my pleasure
to be standing here today and to welcome to our fold one of the
greatest tag-team duos ever in the history of our sport ... the
Prophets of Rage.

[Shadoe Rage enters stage right in his inimitable way.  He seems to be
sliding along the floor as he moves.  He's got a coffee mug in his
hand.  He wears a sleeveless black sequined T-shirt and a Castro-
styled black hat.  He wears gold-framed aviator glasses with smoked
amber lenses.  He finishes the outfit with designer jeans and square-
toed brogue boots.]

SDH: Shadoe Rage, how are you doing?  What's the cup for?

[Rage smiles, his tongue flickers across his lips as he hands Dean the
mug.]

SR: Smile, this is for you.  A gift from the Prophets of Rage.

Hayes smiles.]

SDH: Thank you.

SR: (coldly) This is your cup of coffee in the big time.  Imagine it,
a small time radio announcer talking to the Prophets of Rage!  [He
frames the air between his hands.]  What do they say?  "Only in
America!  Yeahhh!!!!!"

[Hayes' expression changes as he realises he's been insulted.  He
looks upset and takes a step towards Rage but stops as a shadow falls
across him.  His eyes goggle as he looks up and then swallows hard.
Enter Derek Rage, stepping past the hard camera.  His back completely
dominates the frame and we get a shot of a beautiful looking chocolate
brown coat.  The giant holds for a beat before he steps past his older
brother and stands right next to and slightly behind Hayes.  The
camera is forced to tilt up to capture his handsome, chiseled
features.]

DR: You have a problem?  [He places a big palm on Hayes' shoulder and
gives just enough pressure for Hayes to feel the strength and squirm.]

SDH: (swallowing hard) No.

DR: (quietly) Then let the man talk.

[Shadoe Rage looks at the Dean Hayes and waits before he continues.]

SR: As I was saying, the Prophets of Rage are big time.  They are big
time and PVW just became big time.  And what do they do for our first
match?  They give us somebody named Black Jack Baldwin.  I hear he's a
real big guy.  Not as big as the big nasty giant right here (waving
wildly at Derek) but big enough.  And they put us against a cripple in
RJ Souza and Sexual Energy?  I don't like their chances.

SDH: Why not?

DR: I'll handle that.  Because they put too much talent on one side.
They're too small and Souza's got a bad knee.  He's recovering from
ACL surgery and he's missing his wife.  He isn't focused.  He's not
ready to deal with us.  On one side you have experience, intelligence,
hunger, technique, speed, power and teamwork.  On the other side.  You
have none of that.  What kind of equation is that to you?

SDH: Well, I don't think it's as lopsided as you think.

[Derek's eyebrow arches in surprise.]

DR: Really, I would love to sit down and have a discussion with you
about how you think they're going to be able to beat us.  But not
right now.  Do you trust me?

SDH: What?

SR: He asked if you trusted him.

SDH: I guess.

DR: Don't guess.  Know.  Either you do or you don't.

SDH: Okay, I trust you.

SR: That was easy.

DR: Then trust me when I tell you that all the plans that they are
coming up with are wrong.  Trust me when I tell you that they don't
know what they're in for.  Trust me when I tell you that Sexual Energy
and RJ Souza are in for a loss.

SR: And let me add one more thing.

SDH: What's that?

SR: Trust me when I say this.  Every tag-team in the PVW has mentally
and visually put the Prophets of Rage on a pedestal.  They think about
us day and night.  Yeah they do.  And for that they will fall!

DR: (jerking his chin towards the camera) Tell 'em, fade to black.

SDH: Fade to black.

[Fade to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'The Fighting Irishman' Caleb Foley
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The scene opens up to Celtic themed instrumentals.The camera shows
the back of a figure hanging from a steel bar, in a well equipped gym.
This persons back is glistening with sweat as they pull their chin
over the bar; this action repeats a few times as the person grunts. A
different angle shows the painted intense face of “The Fighting
Irishman” Caleb Foley, you can
here his voice through the rifts of the instrumentals.]

"I will work for my Destiny..."

"No Attacks.."

"No Travesty.."

"I will fight with Dignity and Honor..."

[Our view is now outside, Caleb has a machine strapped to him. His
uncovered chest is again glistening with sweat, he begins to run
pulling the machine behind him. Trainers stand to the side urging him
on, the camera adjusts back to Caleb once more. His face is racked
with pain and determination as he continues to pull the machine with
all energy remaining in his body. You again here his voice over the
instrumentals.]

"No Promises..."

"No Mind Games..."

"My Determination Will Bring Me Victory!"

[Our view changes to inside a ring, Caleb is wearing a sleeveless
shirt with white and light blue shorts. He's side stepping through the
outside skirts of the ring, moving side to side as fast as he can.
Cones are placed along the edges, as he reaches the last cone on the
edge, he begins shuffling his feet towards the center of the ring. He
attempts to keep each move
precise and with precision. His voice is heard once more.]

"Victory Is Earned..."

"As Is Failure..."

"I Shall Earn One Or The Other.."

[A quick guitar solo is heard.]

"I _Will_ Strive To Be The Best!"

"The Blood Bowl Draws Near..."

"My Opponents Become More Eager.."

"Who shall take the PVW World Championship?"

[After a drum solo the song ends, the scene changes showing Caleb
Foley standing in front of the ring shown in the video. He is
sweating, only moments after from finishing a strenuous work out. He
leans back against the ring before addressing the camera.]

Caleb Foley: Chase Williams...

[Caleb shakes his head, a small grin creeps up on his face. Would it
be a grin of respect? A grin of empathy? Or one of pure disdain? Caleb
shakes his head once more, the grin slowly subsiding.]

Caleb Foley: You attack a few people from behind, hardly do anything
but being a conceited bastard in our lottery tag match, and you are
suddenly the most dangerous man on the planet? Allow me to _Enlighten_
you...

Only cowards unsure of their own abilities gloat about attacking
others from behind. Even the weakest of wrestlers can look like a
World Champion when facing their opponents back. You have proven that
you are nothing, simply relying on everything but your talent to
advance your career. It's quite pathetic...

[Caleb walks forward a few steps, the camera man takes a few steps
back accordingly. A white table comes into view, Caleb pulls out a
chair, adjusting it in the direction of the camera. He sits down, his
focus completely on the camera.]

Caleb Foley: Speaking of the Blood Bowl...

[A look of determination comes across the young Irishman face...]

Caleb Foley: Sixteen men in one ring...The best talent Phoenix Valley
Wrestling has to offer and who ever thought I would advance into the
Blood Bowl...I guess maybe I do have some LUCK on my side. But of
those sixteen men only one man will be victorious and that man will be
crowned the first ever PVW World Heavyweight Champion. You see just
like the lethal lottery tag team matches this match is all about luck.
Sixteen men will be standing in the ring and at any
given time if you turn the wrong way you can be thrown over the top
rope. It is all about how LUCKY you are. We all enter the ring at the
same time...Everyone wants to be the first ever PVW World Heavyweight
Champion to show that they are the best of the best. But hey I am just
glad to be here and if I do get that honor of being the first ever
World Champion well then
I guess you can say LUCK WAS ON MY SIDE...

[Foley then sighs...]

Caleb Foley: "So to everyone in the Blood Bowl I wish you the best of
LUCK and whoever is the first man to win the World Title I wanna be
the first one to congradulate you and best of LUCK in your title run.
Blood Bowl is coming and I have just one question to ask all of the
participants...DO YOU HAVE THE LUCK OF THE IRISH ON YOUR SIDE..."

[The camera fades to black as you can see Caleb just sitting there.
One has to wonder what is going on in this young competitor mind. Can
the Rookie do the impossible and defeat the best of the best of the
PVW to become the first PVW World Heavyweight Champion. Well there is
only one way to find out and that is to tune into Heatwave and you
will find out if LUCK is on his side...]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Wild Fire' Shawn Covell
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[The camera fades in from blackness into the office of Darius Walker,
who is sitting behind his cherry desk reading a series of papers.
Suddenly Shawn Covell bursts through the French doors of Darius
Walker’s office.]

Covell: Hey Fros ….

[Shawn looks around the room and only sees Darius sitting behind his
cherry oak desk. A quizzical look appears upon Shawn’s face as he
looks at Darius.]

Covell: I thought Gideon was going to be here for an interview.

Walker: Shawn, as I told you on the phone with the events from the
inaugural PVW Heatwave I thought it was in Gideon’s best interests to
remain home and rest.

Covell: You mean he’s not hiding cause of the stitches? Well then what
am I suppose to do with this.

[Shawn holds up a black top hat.]

Covell: I was going to give it to him to cover the stitches …

[Shawn looks around the room quickly.]

Covell: … and just between you and me I figured he would look more
like a wizard in it.

[Darius Walker looks at Shawn Covell for a brief moment and motions
for him to sit upon the black leather chair before the cherry oak
desk. Shawn smiles as he sits upon the chair and places the top hat on
the desk.]

Walker: Now Shawn this coming Heatwave is an important week for
Extreme Conditions for a few reasons. The first being the crowd will
once again get to see the one man highlight reel ‘Wildfire’ Shawn
Covell …

[Shawn smiles, nodding his head as he does so.]

Walker: … but more importantly it is the chance for you to gain a
measure of redemption for Gideon the Thrillers actions.

Covell: Thriller, thriller night …

Walker: Shawn, this is important …

Covell: And that song is a classic.

Walker: It’s time to be serious Shawn.

[Shawn nods his head in acknowledgment.]

Walker: It’s time for Shawn Covell to step it up a notch and show the
Thrillers that Extreme Conditions is not a team that’s going to roll
over and die, just because they decide it is time to make  a name for
themselves. You see Shawn, the Thrillers believed that Extreme
Conditions is just a make shift team, a team of two individuals tossed
together at random … as if it was the whim of a madman.  But I’m not a
madman Shawn, far from it; I am a genius; a man who knows talent when
he sees it, a man who turns great athletes into superstars.

And that’s what you and Gideon are. Two great athletes who both needed
a chance to become superstars and the PVW is your opportunity … no it
is the league where you shall fulfill your destiny and become
superstars.

[Darius Walker pauses.]

Walker: Samuel Cunningham, you and your Thrillers elected to blindside
Gideon Frost and cost him his opportunity at becoming the first ever
PVW Heavyweight Champion.

[Darius Walker takes his glasses off and places them upon his desk as
he shuffles through a pile of papers upon his desk.]

Walker: While it would have been nice for me to have one half of
Extreme Conditions as the inaugural PVW Heavyweight Champion, I can
understand why you instructed your men to try and take out Gideon. You
know that Mr. Hayes and Mr. Lane do not have the talent necessary to
make an impact in the PVW in the ring. So ambushing Gideon was the
perfect way to make them seem formidable all the while allowing them
to remain the cowards that they truly are.

It would not surprise me one bit Mr. Cunningham if you used your
childhood memories of you having your ass handed to you in the school
yard that lead to the Thrillers’ attack on Gideon. For what Mr. Hayes
and Mr. Lane did to Gideon was nothing more than a school yard
mugging.

[Darius shakes his head to the side as he continues to once again flip
through a copy of pages of paper.]

Walker: A school yard mugging … that’s the sign of a real genius Mr.
Cunningham.

Covell: A genius? Come on Darius my nephew could have done the same
thing with a few of his buddies.

[Walker smirks.]

Walker: And that my dear Shawn is my point. Mr. Cunningham you talked
a good game about being the greatest manager the PVW has even seen,
the manager of the tag team of the future. But all I have seen so far
Mr. Cunningham is two puppets who jump the second the old man pulls
the string. That my friend …

Covell: Friend, come on Darius how can you be friends him? He’s
nothing more than an old wind bag …

Walker: I know Shawn, but I was always taught to deal with people with
respect even if they do not deserve it.

Covell: Well the Thrillers don’t deserve respect from me and Lane is
not going to get any from me at Heatwave. Darius you know he wants
people to call him Greek God …

[Darius Walker nods.]

Covell: Well I’ve seen road kill that looks better than him.

[Darius Walker smirks.]

Walker: Mr. Cunningham you need to tell Mr. Hayes and Mr. Lane that
the PVW is a wrestling federation and not some form of a beauty
pageant, so please stop calling yourselves Handsome and a Greek God.

Covell: Cause you have to remember people can demand their money back
for the bait and switch.

[Darius Walker replaces his glasses before speaking again.]

Walker: Mr. Lane, this coming Heatwave you face off against Shawn
Covell , a man who has more talent in his pinkie than you and Mr.
Hayes have combined.

Covell: Prepared to be engulfed in wildfire.

[Slowly the camera fades to black.]

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
U.F.O.'s, Unrivaled Funky Ones
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[PVW... get funky.



There's a 'Heatwave' banner, nothing too fancy.  We're keeping it old
school here for this one.  In front of the banner stands the true tag
team of PVW, loved by the ladies and put the rest to shame with their
dance moves, the Unrivaled Funky Ones.  Apollo Jones and Bones Ellis -
Jones is rocking his full on afro, while Ellis wears a black do-rag on
his head.  Jones seems to be rather, well less than his funky self,
tonight.]



APOLLO: There are fo'teen of us left, but ya know what bro?



DOC: What's that?



APOLLO: I'm only lookin' at one.



DOC: Damn right.



[Apollo shakes his head.]



APOLLO: Paul Styles.  That was my mistake fo' extending out my hand to
ya boy, Carl or whatever his name is.  I paid fo' my mistake over the
past week, I ain't been able to get out on the dance flo' and drop
down some of my most funky moves in all the west. My mistake and I
ain't 'bout to do that again, bro. Ya feel me?



DOC: I feel ya.



APOLLO: Check it, ya just entered into war with one half of the
Unrivaled Funky Ones.  There's a reason why we're called unrivaled,
'cause we're simply the best at what we do.



DOC: Droppin' funk bombs.



[They both nod.]



APOLLO: Ya might of thought it was cute or some [bleep] to cut me down
like that.  Hell, I bet ya and yer boy celebrated that night trading
off who was gonna play the rusty trombone over what ya did.



DOC: Probably even high fived each other when they were done.



APOLLO: But enough of all of that, I'm gonna get my hands on Styles in
this match, no doubt 'bout it.  But let's not fo'get what the real
point of this match is...



...Apollo "Mutha Funkin" Jones will be your heavyweight champion of
the world!



[Pause.]



DOC: Of Phoenix, actually.



APOLLO: No matter, we gonna start with Phoenix and then move onto the
world!



DOC: Ya should start with the Southwest after Phoenix.



APOLLO: Man, ya bringin' me down.



DOC: Damn right.



[The two turn to face one another.]



APOLLO: And why is that?



DOC: I shoulda thrown down the funk, bro. Paper, Rock, Funk... what
the hell was you thinkin'?  Ya callin' up some bad voodoo by throwin'
down with me on that game and I shoulda called ya on it.



Pissed me off.



That should be me in the main event, that should be me gettin' my shot
at the heavyweight title, and that should be me takin' the
Southwest... Mexico... America...



[Apollo shrugs his shoulders.]



APOLLO: Bro, ya worried?  Think 'bout it like this... when I get my
heavyweight title, I'm going to be holding that one up here on my
shoulders.  Which is gonna leave plenty of room around this here funky
waist of mine for the tag team belt.



Always room fo' mo' gold!



[Doc thinks about it for a second or two.  And then nods, the two make
up with a quick very funky handshake that is too cool for description
right now.  Doc walks away which leaves Apollo on his own.]



APOLLO: Come to think of it.  Right hand heavyweight title, waist fo'
the tag team belt and the left... Heritage title?



I like the look of that.



[Apollo poses with the imaginary belts and gives a big old smile for
the camera as we fade to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Highway 44
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[A plain PVW banner; the PVW logo stenciled in the center of a black
canvas.  Standing in front of the banner, nearly obscuring the entire
logo, is Greg Embrey and his tag team partner Montana Bishop.  The
Long Hauler is dressed as he generally is for these sort of things; a
pair of jeans, heavy work boots and a grey tee shirt.  Bishop is
standing to his left.  Montana is dressed in an unbuttoned flannel
shirt over white t-shirt, a pair of dark blue denim jeans, black
fingerless truck driver's gloves, and black boots on his feet.  A
cowboy hat sits atop his head.

Embrey is chomping heavily on a piece of chewing gum.  He runs a hand
over his beard and then wipes the underside of his nose with his
thumb.  Swingin' Dean Hayes steps in from the side, a microphone in
his hand.  Although he is barely visible with the two Highway 44
members taking up most of the shot.]

SDH: Hello wrestling fans.  Swingin' Dean Hayes here with the only PVW
tag team that successfully qualified for the Blood Bowl as a whole.  I
speak of course, of Highway 44.  First of all, I want to congratulate
you both for making it into the Blood Bowl.

MB: [laughs] Don't congratulate us yet, bud.  We ain't--

[But before he can finish his sentence, his partner cuts in.]

GE:  -- Hold a second hoss.  I guess, from a certain point of view,
you could say we accomplished somethin’, that we earned some
congratulations but neither me nor my partner are takin’ that view of
things.  See, Dean, there’s no award for qualifyin’ for this here
battle royal, no belt, no trophy, no nothin’...

[He chomps heavily on his gum for a moment, as Montana nods his head
in agreement at what he's said.]

... ‘cept maybe a pat on the back.  An’ that an’ a five dollar bill
will get you a gourmet cup of coffee at the local Starbucks.  But I
drink my coffee straight an’ black so that’s useless.

SDH: My next question is for you, Mr. Bishop--

[And now it's Montana's turn to cut in.]

MB: Just Montana, bud.  We're all friends here, right?

[Swingin' Dean nods his own head.]

SDH: Very well.  How are you feeling after only the second match of
your career?  And are you nervous going into such a high profile match
this soon?

[Montana glances at Embrey, then returns his gaze to Dean, and sheakes
his head no.]

MB: Nah, Ah'm not nervous.  The sooner Ah get involved in matches like
this, the better down the road.  Sure Ah haven't fought this many
people at once before, but Ah've got the "Long Haul" here watchin' my
back.  Just like Ah'm watchin' his.  And together, Highway 44's gonna'
show 'em what we're made of.

[He then cracks the knuckles on both his hands, simply by clenching
them into tight fists, before opening them again.]

MB: Only thing is Ah'm still not used to punchin' someone in the face
just for a paycheck.

[Before Hayes can ask a question or change the subject Embrey cuts in
with a chuckle.]

GE:  Not sure you _ever_ get used to that, hoss.  We...

[The Long Hauler gestures to Bishop and then back to himself]

... know just how important this opportunity is an’ there’s nothin’
that anyone can say that’ll make us look at this differently.  I’m
sure there’s someone out there who’s gonna try an’ downplay this,
someone out there who’s gonna try an’ make this seem like just another
match _despite_ the fact that PVW’s world title is on the line.  An’
this isn’t a chance I’ve had before.  My buddy here...

[He gestures to Bishop]

... he’s a young gun.  An’ a guy who’s whole future in this business
is out there in front of him.  An’ I’m more than happy to get to be
the guy who guides him through the early stages of that career.  An’
as young as I feel, when I look in the mirror in the mornin’ I get a
stark reminder that this isn’t the beginnin’ for me.  These chances
aren’t just gonna come along in spades for me anymore, not like they
are for him.  An’ that means I _have_ to take advantage when I get
‘em.

[Embrey hooks a thumb, gesturing to himself]

An’ I intend to do just that.

[Montana now folds his rather large arms across his chest.]

MB: Ah think that's true for the both of us.  Ah may only be a rookie
in this business, but ain't no young buck, either.  That's for damn
sure.  From what the "Long Hauler" here told me, most guys start their
wrestlin' careers before they even make twenty.  Truth is, Ah'm
pushin' thirty-five.  So far as I can see, we both need to make the
best of our opportunities.

[Rubbing his five o'clock shadow, Montana turns to face his partner.]

MB: You've got loads more experience in that ring than me, but a few
more years, too.  So Ah know that Highway 44 won't be around as long
as some people might expect.  But PVW is our one big chance to show
the world what we've got; same as the Blood Bowl is the chance for one
of us to win that World Title.  Don't matter much to me who, long as
it's one of us.

[He then turns back to face the camera.]

MB: Ah don't know much of anythin' about our opponents... 'cept Ah
gotta' hurt 'em.

[He then chuckles.]

MB: Sorry, boys.

[Hayes perks up, ready with another question]

SDH:  On that note, how much scouting of your opponents have you done?

[Embrey smiles and shakes his head a bit, still chomping heavily on
his gum]

GE:  Hoss this match, there’s no real preparation you can do.  It’s
damn near a mess in there, everyone throwin’ punches an’ kicks,
lookin’ to get whomever over the top rope however they can...

[The Long Hauler wipes the side of his nose with his thumb]

... ‘bout the only thing you can do to prepare is make sure your ass
kickin’ shoes are laced up real tight.  It’s a fight, an out an’ out
brawl, not some mamby pamby technical affair.  I promise you come
lookin’ to wrestle an’ your ass will be headed back up the ramp just
‘bout as fast as all get out.  An’ quite frankly it’s not like you
really have opponents to begin with.  The object is to make it to the
last two, don’t have to eliminate nobody to do that, just have to keep
your backside inside that ring.

[Embrey turns and pokes his partner in the chest with his right index
finger]

Just make sure you get ‘em all the way to the floor.  I’ve been
through a few of these messes an’ I promise some little sneaky
bastard’ll fake like you’ve thrown him over an’ as soon as your back
is turned he’ll slither back in the ring an’ take advantage.

[The Long Hauler turns back to the camera]

MB: Ah will do there.

SDH: And what about you, Montana?  How are you preparing?

MB: My partner put it best, Ah think.  But beyond that, Ah've just
been liftin' weights a lot, and trainin' with him some.  Ah've got to
give this 110%.  Same as Greg, and same as everybody else.

SDH: Is there anyone in particular you'd like to face off with during
the match?

[Montana shrugs his shoulders.]

MB: Wouldn't mind goin' toe-to-toe with my partner from last week,
Outlaw.  That man just wouldn't stop flappin' his gums, so Ah'm
curious to see how well my fist would fit in his mouth.

[The Long Hauler cracks his knuckles]

SDH:  What about you Greg?  Anyone specific you’re looking out for?

[Embrey shakes his head]

GE:  Nah.  There’ll come plenty of time _after_ this match is all over
for me to settle scores an’ right wrongs.  For now, I’m just lookin’
forward to takin’ full an’ complete advantage of this opportunity.
I’m lookin’ forward to helpin’ my partner here establish himself in
this business an’ I’m lookin’ forward to bein’ one of the last two
guys standin’ in the ring.  An’ I’d like to think my partner here’ll
be the guy across the ring from me.

[He cracks his knuckles again, very serious like]

The fact is an’ I don’t say this for any reason other then the fact
that it’s true.  I think, right now, you’re lookin’ at the two guys
best suited to takin’ care of business in this match.  We may not be
flyin’ all over or nothin’ but in a situation like this it don’t much
matter.  Without gettin’ all Joe Willie on ya, hoss, I think your
eyeballin’ the new champ right now.

[Montana now turns to him at that remark.]

MB: Maybe, maybe not.  Maybe it'll be me.  Either way, Ah say enough
talkin'.  Let's just get to it.

[The Long Hauler nods]

GE:  Good enough for me.


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
'Rolemodel' Paul Styles
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[the camera opens on "Rolemodel" Paul Styles and Carl Stevenson again
seated in Carl's den in two armchairs facing the camera. Carl is
dressed in a classic three piece suit. Paul is wearing a sweater vest
over a dress shirt. However, Paul also has a metal knee brace around
his right knee,  a sling across his left arm and his right hand
heavily wrapped in bandages. Carl has a glass of scotch on the rocks
sitting beside his chair.]

Carl Stevenson: A tag team lottery involving this awkward roster
proved to be exactly what I expected, both stupid and dangerous.
Stupid because Paul Styles was partnered with Apollo Creed. Dangerous
because we were out there with someone so inexperienced he threw
himself, out of control, off the top rope and drilled his own partner.

[Carl points to Paul]

CS: What the hell did you do, Apollo? Is this part of being funky,
Creed? Do a little dance and accidentally hit your partner? Bone Ellis
has to now be seconding guessing your lame UFO tag team before it even
starts. What kind of a tag team member are you? Paul had to win the
match himself but that's alright because everyone expected that once
your name was drawn, Creed. What wasn't expected was having our own
partner flying around and injuring people. It figures that the only
person that can injure Paul Styles for the first time in his entire
career is a guy that doesn't know what he's doing.

[Carl shakes his head and sighs]

"Rolemodel" Paul Styles: Before anyone overreacts, I've been told I'll
make a full recovery. I couldn't get a timetable, but after talking
things over with Carl we've decided that I'm going to wrestle through
this incredibly painful injury...

CS: [interrupts] Injuries! Multiple injuries, Apollo, and to your own
partner. Paul has suffered so many injuries they wont even be able to
count them until the swelling goes down. Even the swelling is so sever
it's considered an injury itself.

PS: But I'm still here because I'm a champion and that's what
champions do.  A champion sacrifices for his title, his company and
his industry. And that's what this is all about. This battle royal,
and even the stupid lottery, is about me winning the Phoenix Valley
Wrestling championship and single handedly establish this company.
Blood Bowl is about Paul Styles separating Phoenix Valley Wrestling from 
all the garbage federations that open and close monthly. It's about Heavyweight
Champion Paul Styles keeping the rest of the underachieving jokes on
the roster employed. What Blood Bowl isn't about is rookies jumping
wildly off the top rope onto their own partner, Apollo! Look at what
happened to me, you're ow partner. After your lame jokes about double
funk, and crappy break dancing this is what's left, a random injury to
your tag partner. I hope you're paying attention, Bones. This is you
in a month. I'll let you
borrow my sling.

CS: You don't really think anyone is taking you seriously do you,
Apollo? Do you really think I was watching your interview and laughing
at those jokes? Do you really think I'm impressed with your
dance?You've spent so much time preparing for your career by coming up
with cool terms like Afrodynamics, rock'in jokes about being the
Funkiest Dude In Chicago and your ability to say funky thirteen times
in your first professional wrestling interview that you forgot the
most important part. You forgot to learning how to wrestle!

PS: It just further legitimizes my claim that I am the greatest
professional wrestling when I am not only able to win a match with
Apollo Creed as my tag partner, but get him a chance to win the title.
You don't stand a chance Apollo, no one expects the guy who fell off
the top rope two weeks earlier will become champion. But you're there
Apollo and that's a big enough miracle so just be happy for the
experience.

[Paul scratches his bandaged hand]

PS: Besides, I wont even have to eliminate Apollo, he'll just find a
way to fall out of the ring again.

CS: Besides questions about Paul's injuries or our opinion of
Heatwave, I've been asked, by my friends in the front office, for my
opinion of their battle royal roster. Who better to ask for an opinion
on their title match than their first champion? And to be honest I
think it's a really strong roster in a lot of ways. For example, with
men like The Master Of Afrodynamics, The Golden One, Long Haul,
Showtime, The Paladin, The Spectre, The Shark, and of course The
Fighting Irishman, it's a great collection of lame nicknames. With men
like Nagano FLASH, Chase Williams, Major Damage, Charles Lassiter, and
Apollo Creed it's an impressive gathering of wrestler's that will
leave the company in fear and failure within the next six months. The
match roster even includes Montana Bishop, so we have someone that
fans will have forgotten about before the match is over.

PS: And Outlaw will be there to swear a lot as he losses.

CS: It wouldn't be the same without him.

[Carl takes a sip from his drink. the camera cuts off after a few
minutes of awkward silence since the camera man didn't realize they
were done]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Livestock and the Gutch
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Thumping loudly, wood hits wood, and a judge on the bench, dressed in
a ridiculous-looking periwig, looks down at the camera.  Suddenly, a
familiar voice rings out, narrating the scene.]

Zeke (Narration): This can be a scary sight.  You, in court, alone,
because you were too dumb to get legal representation.  Let's face it.
Without a lawyer, you're in constant danger of litigation, and judges
are all overcompensating for tiny genitalia, and will, metaphorically
 speaking, butt-rape you in the court room if you come before them
 without someone to act as your chastity belt.

*WHANG!!!*

[Abruptly, a pair of large, heavy-looking briefcase waffle the judge
in the back from off-camera.  He tumbles forward, taking the whole
courtroom bench with him, and kicking up a lot of dust.]

Zeke: That's why you should find yourself a lawfirm with real muscle
to represent you.  A lawfirm like Craven, Bilker and Horowitz!

[Walking in from either side, Livestock and the Gutch turn and lean
against one another, back-to back.  From beneath the camera Zeke
rises, his face forming a centerpiece framed by the tagteam he
represents.]

Zeke: Seriously, muscle.  These guys are like 700 pounds together.
Huge.

[Ducking down again, Zeke disappears.  Stepping forward, the Gutch,
his fat mostly concealed by a charcoal blazer, squeezes a grunt out of
the actor playing the judge, who presumably is under his bench now,
being crushed by Gutch's 405 pound frame.]

Gutch: We'll fight for you!  Er, uh, actually, we'll fight for your
money.  It's what we do.

[Looking momentarily confused, Gutch looks down towards where Zeke
must now be.]

Gutch: Zeke, we're on retainer to Phoenix Valley, how we gonna take on
other clients?

Zeke: Don't look at me you lummox!  This isn't a real commercial, and
even if it were, Bilker, Horowitz, and your fellow worthless junior
partners are all available for other clients!

Gutch: Oh...

Livestock: Back to the script!

[Leaping forward, the 280-pound big man in his own right, Livestock
Zappa leaps forward, getting a squeaking sound from the already
crushed judge.]

Livestock: Tooth and nail!  If someone sues you, they're suing us too!
And if you wanna sue somebody, then we want a piece of that action!

[Hoofing it off to the side, and behind his team, Zeke runs between
them, and then stands, arms crossed, in the middle.  Everyone looks
very professional, except that Zeke still wears his neckbrace.]

Zeke: Craven, Bilker and Horowitz!  You don't get paid, unless we get
paid!

[Cut away to a black screen with the Craven, Horowitz, and Bilker logo
and the lawfirm's official motto of “Attorneys With Muscle.” Fade.]


<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Outlaw
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

[Cut to a sparsely decorated appartment.  An black oddly comfy couch
is pushed up against a wall, a large tv facing it.  Outlaw sits on the
couch, and game controller in his hands, and a headset on his head.]

Outlaw: [talking to an unseen online opponent.]Yeah [bleep] you too
you  [bleep] [bleep] [bleep] [bleep].  [bleep] headshot you [bleep]
little  [bleep].

[The doorbell rings.]

Outlaw: [bleep].

[He gets up to answer the door, grumbling to himself about having to
pause his game.  He opens the door and is greeted by by the big seven
footer Semi.]

Semi: 'sup partner.

[Semi steps through the doorway, much do Outlaw's dismay.]

Outlaw: The [bleep] you doing here?

Semi: Figured I'd drop by to see how you were doing.

[He makes his way over to the living and plops down on the oddly comfy
couch.]

Semi: Watched your match last week.  Looks like you got most of the
rust out.

[Outlaw sits further down on the couch]

Outlaw: [bleep] rust?  What [bleep] match were you [bleep] watching?
That was a [bleep] five star affair you witnessed.  I had to [bleep]
wrestle two [bleep] guys after my partner was injured before the
[bleep] match began.

[Outlaw picks up his controller and hits the pause button.]

Semi: Whoa, wait.  What are YOU talking about?

[Outlaw sighs and hits the pause button again.  He turns to look at
the big man.]

Outlaw: Do I need to speak [bleep] slower?  My [bleep] partner didn't
[bleep] make it to the [bleep] match, so i had to wrestle both [bleep]
Horsethief and [bleep] Montana Bishop.  It was some crazy [bleep]

[Semi shakes his head in disbelief.]

Outlaw: I had one of the [bleep] in a headlock and while I held on to
him I gave the other [bleep] a shooting star press to the outside of
the
ring.

Semi: While holding one of them in a headlock?

Outlaw: [bleep] right.  See, told you you weren't [bleep] watching the
right [bleep] match.  You need me to [bleep] TIVO that [bleep] for
you?

Semi: No no.  I'll just have to pay more attention in the future.  I
guess I must've been nodding off and imagined you were tagged up with
Bishop.

Outlaw: [bleep]

Semi: You said it.

[Outlaw presses the pause button on his controller again.]

Semi: So ready for this week?

Outlaw: [bleep]

Semi: Well are you?

[Outlaw presses on the pause again.]

OutlaW: [bleep] right I'm [bleep] ready.  I haven't been in a [bleep]
lumberjack in a long [bleep] time.  I wonder how Bobby Cole feels
about
the [bleep] match.

Semi: But its --

Outlaw: -- Yeah, [bleep] Bobby..  I hate that [bleep].

Semi: 'law, it's not a lumberjack match.

Outlaw: What?

Semi: It's not a lumberjack match between you and Cole.

Outlaw: But they announced like 16 [bleep] people for the [bleep]
match.  I thought all those [bleep] guys were the [bleep] lumberjacks.

Semi: We went through this before you came up here.  If you made it
past the first round you would be in a Battle Royal.

Outlaw: Wait a [bleep] second.  A battle Royal?  How am I supposed to
[bleep] research all of those [bleep] guys?  I don't have enough
[bleep]
time for that.

Semi: So wing it.  It wouldn't be the first time you went out for a
match with zero preparation.  [under his breath] like most matches
actually.

Outlaw: What was that?

Semi: Nothing.

Outlaw: [bleep].  So Bobby?

Semi: Yep.

Outlaw: What about Paul [bleep] Styles.

Semi: I think he's in it too.  Didn't you check your e-mails from PVW?

Outlaw: What do you [bleep] think?

Semi: I'm thinking no.  Let me think off the top of my head..  Caleb
Foley --

Outlaw: -- [bleep] the scottish --

Semi: -- He's irish, The Specter --

Outlaw: -- [bleep] ghosts --

Semi: -- not a real one.   Major Damage --

Outlaw: -- [bleep] the military --

Semi: -- can't disagree on that one,  Nagano FLASH --

Outlaw: [pause] i got nothing.

Semi: surprising, Chase Williams --

Outlaw: [bleep] Chase Williams --

Semi: -- [bleep] him indeed.

Outlaw: Watch your [bleep] language.  That's [bleep] rude to talk like
that.

Semi: Riiiiiiight.  There's some serious talent in that match.  You do
remember the rules of a Battle Royal right.  DON'T go over the top
rope.  I know you sometimes forget that and enjoy flinging yourself at
the other wrestlers whenver you see them outside the ring.

Outlaw: I [bleep] know the [bleep] rules.

Semi: Just checking.

[The doorbell rings.]

Semi: Oh right. Did I mention Amy was coming?

Outlaw: [bleep] no.  How's her [bleep] mood?

[Semi gets up to answer the door]

Semi: She's ok.  Except for the fact you picked up Horsethief's valet
like a sack of potatoes.  You know what Amy thinks of you hurting the
valets.

[Outlaw stops.]

Outlaw: This is gonna [bleep] suck.

Semi: It sure will.

[He opens the door, and in walks a raven haired beauty.]

Semi: 'sup Amy?

Amy: Did he run away yet?

Semi: Not yet.

[The two make their way to the living room]

Amy: Andrew..

[Outlaw looks up at her.]

Outlaw: Yes.

Amy: Care to explain.

Outlaw: Well you see it was really quite an interesting situation.
See my partner Montana was trying to finish the match by using his
finisher on Horsethief.  Young Varsity was up on the ring apron and I
feared that she could get hurt, what the all the large men grappling
in the ring.  So as elegantly as I could I picked her up and held her
on my shoulder to make sure she was safe. Really it was all for her
sake.  It was innocent.

[There's a silence.]

Semi: You know it's amazing how that happens when you're around, the
cohesiveness, the proper speaking, the general  change in attitude.
It's like you walk in the room, and a switch turns itself on and he
becomes a normal human.

[Amy just shrugs]

Outlaw: Well now, that's really unnecessary.  I don't believe I act
any different around Amy than I do around anyone else.

Semi: No, again, it's probably just me.

Outlaw: Oh, I wouldn't say that.  I mean it's not always you.

[Semi just looks on baffled.]

Amy: Fine Andrew. Just be careful in the future.  I'm gonna get
something from the kitchen, you want anything?

Outlaw: No thank you.

Semi: Beer sounds good.

[Amy walks out of the room.]

Outlaw: Thanks for [bleep] nothing you big [bleep] goof.

Semi: And there he is..

[fade to black.]



<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>
Charles Lassiter
<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>


"Sometimes they come to me in dreams..."

"Distorted faces, still only half memorized from a picture on the
mantle..."

"Birthdays, little league games, piano lessons, dinner in front of the
TV, endless laughter........  sex."

"And when I suddenly wake in a panic..."

[Up.  A shot of Charles Lassiter's big face and blond mane.  We look
down from above, his head resting on a fluffy white pillow.  His eyes
are bloodshot with dark bags circling beneath them.  He looks
absolutely exhausted, as though he hasn't slept for days.  Still, an
underlying tension lives in his jaw and anxiety seems to seep from his
very pores.]

CL:  ...I can't help but wonder...

Which is the dream?  And which is the waking?

[Confusion.  Sadness.  Followed by...]

CL:  Ah, hell with it...

[Cut to a wider shot, where we see Lassiter tear out of bed, throwing
the covers beneath him as he rises.  Don't worry.  He's clothed.  Whit
long-johns and a plain white t-shirt.  He shakes out his limbs and
yawns, then sits on the edge of the bed.]

CL:  I've been trying to put it all behind me.  I've been trying to
move on.  I've been trying to start anew, start fresh.  Got a good
start on that at Heatwave when I advanced into the Battle Bowl, and I
gotta say... it feels good to accomplish a goal.

Feels shitty to be double-crossed.

[Takes a moment to stare into the camera and make sure he's heard.]

CL:  Don't know what your deal is Spectre.  Don't care.  All I know is
you've done something really dangerous.  You've taken my mind off
of...

[Pause... his mind can't be TOO far off it...sigh.]

CL: ... other things... and have made me turn my focus to you.  Let me
tell you something, Spectre.  I want you to listen hard too.

[Lassiter, with one finger, motions for the camera to come closer and
it obliges, zooming in.]

CL:  Do I have your full attention?

[His voice is now quieter, but far more intense.]

CL:  I am a _very_ ... _fragile_ ... _man._

And I don't mean physically, Spectre.  I mean, up here...

[With that same index finger, he taps his head twice.]

CL:  So tonight, when the day is at your back and it's time for your
head to hit the pillow, I want you to think long and good about your
actions.  And I want you to ask yourself some simple questions.

Was it worth it?

Did I make it any easier on myself?

...and...

Did I mess with the wrong man?

[Silence.  Staring.]

CL:  Shouldn't take you long.  It's really quite simple:

No.

No.

Absofuckinglutely.

[His growing rage prompts him to stand.  He clenches his fists and
grits his teeth, his face begins to turn bright red.]

CL:  Let me tell you something.  Ever since... since... the day.  I've
been waiting.  Waiting...

[He smacks his right fist into an open palm.]

CL:  AH!  Waiting to take all of this _frustration,_ all of this
_confusion,_ all of this _heartache,_ all of this _fear,_ all of this
_guilt,_ all of this _suffering,_ all of this _aggression,_ all of
this _rage,_ all of this _envy,_ all of this _hate, all of this
_regret,_ all of this... all...

[Every blood vessel in his body looking like it's about to burst, he
drops his face in his hands.  Thrashing his head about from side to
side, it pops up again and his eyes are bulging... a look like we've
never seen before.]

CL:  ALL OF IT!

[He turns around on a dime, back to the camera. ]

CL:  Agghhhh!

[Crouching down, he puts his hands on his knees.  He just breathes.
In... and out.  In... and out.  In... and out.  Stands erect.  Much
calmer, but still with a burning underbelly.]

CL:  I've been waiting to take it all out on someone's face.

[A he turns around.  No longer beet red, his face is now ghost white.
A man beside himself, unsure of what's gotten into him...]

CL:  And I don't quite understand it.  I'm not even a fighting man.

But you've given me an excuse Spectre.  You've given me a reason.  So
when Battle Bowl comes around and there's 15 men in that squared
circle all putting their guts on the line to become PVW's first
Heavyweight Champion, I'm gonna do my damndest to win.  I'll give it
my all, my A game.  But if it's not in the cards?  And, heh... luck
hasn't exactly been on my side lately... then I'll tell you what.

It's gonna be my mission to make sure you go down in flames too.

[Finally in a state of relative ease, he sits back down.]

CL:  And that isn't because I hate you.  Heck, I don't like you.  But
I don't hate you either.

It isn't because you've damaged my pride or my ego.

It isn't even because you hurt me physically.

Those things... eh...  they happen.

It's just cause...

[Shakes his head, and raises his eyebrows as if to say "what the hell
is going on in my life, and how did it come to this...?"]

CL:  ...well, cause maybe...  just maybe....

...

[He thinks.  Then with hope...]

CL:  ...maybe once I get it all out.  All of that rage and hate and
frustration and sadness and regret and fear.  Maybe...

...maybe I'll be able to sleep through the night.

[The notion makes him smile.  He nods.]

CL:  Yeah.  Blood Bowl.  I need this.

[Fade.]