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Thursday 5 October 2006

[As "Bodies" by Drowning Pool thrashes away, the title graphic fades
through seamlessly to the big blue RCW logo mounted on the set in the
RCW studios in downtown Portland. The shot pans down past the logo,
past the large plasma screen showing the On The Wire logotype, and over
the trademark glass-topped desk. In front of all this, as ever, stands
Don Ditka, wearing an open-necked shirt with the RCW logo stitched onto
the left breast pocket. He looks up from the sheaf of papers in his
hands as the music fades and the studio lights rise.]

DD: Good evening, everybody, and welcome to RCW On The Wire -- the
world
of professional wrestling in sixty minutes! I am, as always, Don
Ditka,
and it's my privilege to bring you all the latest news right here on
KPDX-49 every other Thursday night. And it's good to be back after our
short preemption for Ryder Cup golf -- better luck in two years, Tiger.

[Ditka turns to face another camera, and the face of "Golden Boy" Nolan
Dorado appears on the large plasma screen behind him.]

DD: We've got a jam-packed hour ahead of us tonight, but before we look
back at the events of our last RAMPAGE broadcast, some important news
that has come to us from RCW Head of Talent Relations, Brad Kinder:
"Golden Boy" Nolan Dorado has been granted indefinite compassionate
leave to settle some important personal matters. We understand that
Dorado, together with his valet Jodee Burwick, have already returned to
Tacoma, Washington, and we're not sure when to expect the exciting
high-flyer back in the ring here in Portland. The Internet has been
abuzz with speculation that Dorado has actually turned tail and
disappeared from the Pacific north-west rather than face the "Jersey
Drifter" Liam Cassidy one-on-one in a fair fight -- but in response to
that speculation, all we can say is... no comment.

[The screen behind Ditka shows the RAMPAGE logo.]

DD: Now, folks, RAMPAGE hits your screens again *live* next Thursday
night from the beautiful Rose Garden, and it's going to be a huge, huge
show, headlined as you saw at the top of the hour by one of the most
eagerly-anticipated matches in RCW history: RCW World Heavyweight
Champion Johnny Pleasence will defend his title against hot Tennessee
rookie, Mark Coleman. We'll talk much more about this match later
tonight, but make sure you don't miss out on the opportunity to be
there
in person next Thursday night when this match goes down. Click onto
www.ticketmaster.com right now to be sure of securing one of the last
remaining tickets.

[The screen shows a graphic with the web address for Ticketmaster and
the phone number of the Rose Garden's box office.]

DD: Before we look ahead in detail to next Thursday's show, let's recap
our last RAMPAGE, way back on September 14th.

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[Ditka is now seated behind the glass-topped desk, and the RAMPAGE logo
appears on the screen behind him.]

DD: The main event three weeks ago will undoubtedly live long in the
memory for the twenty thousand fans in attendance who witnessed it, and
to the hundreds of thousands who watched it live on KPDX-49. A war to
settle a score eight years in the making, submission specialist Vinny
Carmazzi squared off against second-generation Texan superstar,
"Pistol"
Paul Driscoll, inside a steel cage, with the most final stipulation of
them all: loser... leaves... town.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." The two men
stand across from each other in the ring, competing crowd chants of
"LET'S GO DRISCOLL!" and "BREAK HIS ARM!" ringing out from the fans.
Carmazzi has the better of the early exchanges, but Driscoll soon slows
him down with a low blow. Driscoll sends Carmazzi headfirst into the
steel cage, and Driscoll wastes no time in driving his head into the
cage again and again, busting him open early doors. Driscoll toys with
Carmazzi, opening the wound on his head and putting him in pinning
predicaments, then lifting him from the mat before the official can
make
the count. Over these scenes, we hear Ditka's voice-over.]

DD: Shades of the very first meeting between Driscoll and Carmazzi down
in Jacksonville, Florida at the turn of the century. On that night,
Driscoll used Carmazzi as a human punching bag, desperate to launch his
own career and impress his influential father. On that night, Carmazzi
couldn't fight back -- but three weeks ago, the New Jerseyan was
determined to take his licks and come back kicking and screaming.

[Driscoll repeatedly slams Carmazzi into the cage... traps him in the
Torture Rack and appears to have caused Carmazzi to pass out through
blood loss -- but as Juan Morales lifts Carmazzi's arm for the third
time, Carmazzi clenches his fist and the crowd bursts into life!
Driscoll soon turns the tide back in his favour with a Death Valley
Driver -- but Carmazzi kicks out!]

DD: The fans in the Rose Garden were on their feet as Carmazzi not only
survived Driscoll's trademark Torture Rack, but then immediately kicked
out of the Texan's signature Death Valley Driver. We've perhaps never
seen such tenacity from a competitor in RCW to date.

[Somehow, Carmazzi pulls himself back to his feet, blood matting his
hair, running down his face and sweat-soaked body, droplets of bloody
saliva expelled from his mouth with every breath... and he targets
Driscoll's knee! But Driscoll again cuts Carmazzi's rally short, with
a
brutal powerbomb -- but again Carmazzi kicks out! Driscoll pulls
Carmazzi to his feet... and now hits his Discus Punch -- but yet again
somehow Carmazzi kicks out!]

DD: Driscoll tried every move that had brought him success over the
past
eight years, ever since he put himself over Carmazzi in Florida. He
even pulled out his Discus Punch -- a move taught to him by his own
father, the legendary "Gentleman" George Driscoll -- and still Carmazzi
kicked out.

[Driscoll drags Carmazzi up onto the top turnbuckle, and appears to be
ready to try a superplex -- but Carmazzi busts out, slamming Driscoll's
head into the cage and knocking him back to the canvas, before climbing
all the way to the top of the cage, and without even looking behind
him,
launching himself with a picture-perfect moonsault from the very top of
the cage down onto Driscoll on the mat below. Carmazzi makes the
cover... and Driscoll kicks out!]

DD: My broadcast colleague, "Spotlight" Billy Shakespeare, in his
heyday
couldn't have hit a better moonsault than the one executed by Vinny
Carmazzi in the Rose Garden three weeks ago -- but Driscoll showed the
steel that has kept him near the top of his profession over the last
decade, and kicked out of the ensuing pin attempt. With so much on the
line, neither man could bear to lose -- but somebody would have to.

[Official Juan Morales counts both exhausted men down, but before the
count reaches 10, both get back to their feet -- and Driscoll goes for
a
second Discus Punch. This time, however, Carmazzi has it scouted, and
he manages to grab Driscoll's right arm, and immediately lock in his
signature Kimura Armbar, to the delight of the capacity crowd!
Driscoll
can withstand the pain only for a metter of seconds -- and he taps the
mat to signal his submission.]

DD: Vinny Carmazzi pulled out the Kimura Armbar, the hold that to date
no man in RCW has been able to break, and which has resulted in a
certain victory for Carmazzi every time he has managed to apply it.
Paul Driscoll was unable to buck the trend -- and after agonising
seconds locked into the immensely painful armbar, he was forced to
submit.

[Carmazzi climbs back to the top of the cage, raising his arms to the
fans. Freeze on this image, and cut back to the studio, where the same
shot is shown on the large plasma screen behind Ditka.]

DD: Folks, what an absolutely incredible match -- and Vinny Carmazzi
showed the form that will undoubtedly make him RCW World Heavyweight
Champion someday. As for Paul Driscoll, it's back to Odessa, Texas for
this second-generation superstar -- to rue what might have been, and to
ask himself what would have happened had he been a bigger man eight
long
years ago. Let's move on.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006", showing Owen
Curtis and Nolan Dorado wrestling one-on-one, Dorado actually receiving
some cheers from the capacity crowd because he is facing the hated
Curtis.]

DD: Owen Curtis finally returned to the ring for the first time since
Wild Summer Night in the Rose Garden three weeks ago, going up against
the hottest high-flyer in RCW today. Unfortunately, as we've already
heard, Dorado has now been granted compassionate leave -- and is it
possible that the way this match went down was a factor in his sudden
disappearance?

[Having felled Curtis, Dorado showboats to Burwick, who now has a big
smile on her face, and is applauding her man. But behind him, Curtis
rises to his feet, spins Dorado around, and grabs him around the waist
to send him flying with a lightning-fast belly-to-belly release suplex.

Heel pop! We hear the original commentary:]

DD: Come on, Dorado! Stop the showing off, and stay on your opponent!

BS: Dorado needs to remember that Curtis has been around this business
his whole life, and he's as tough as they come. Dorado should not
ever,
*ever* turn his back on a Curtis.

[Curtis sends Dorado into the ropes with an Irish whip, but on the
rebound, he knocks down the Truth with a flying spinning leg lariat!
Big pop! With Curtis down on the mat, Dorado races into the corner and
literally runs up the turnbuckles to execute an impressive running
moonsault elbowdrop directly to the older manÕs sternum. Huge pop!]

DD: Pin him, Dorado! Pin him!

[But Dorado doesn't pin him -- he goes back to the corner and climbs
the
turnbuckles. Suddenly, Eddie Curtis is up on the apron, wielding his
camera, apparently about to fire the flash into Dorado's face, but he
is
promptly yanked down by Jodee Burwick, and the two of them engage in a
heated shouting match on the outside. Nickrick is forced to roll from
the ring to try and separate the two, while Dorado balances on the
turnbuckles.]

DD: He's going for the Golden Guillotine! He's... hang on! It's Liam
Cassidy!

[With Nickrick distracted by the goings on outside the ring, Liam
Cassidy vaults the steel crowd barriers, and grabs a nearby steel
chair,
before rolling into the ring. Dorado jumps down from the turnbuckles
as
Curtis also rolls back to his knees, the opportunity to finish him off
gone. Cassidy charges towards the two men in the middle of the ring...
Dorado covers up, expecting the impact...]

DD: Liam Cassidy has seen enough! Liam Cassidy has...

* CLANG! *

[Big pop!]

DD: ...Liam Cassidy has just blasted *Owen Curtis* with a steel chair!

[Dorado uncovers his head in confusion, just in time to catch the steel
chair tossed to him by a grinning Liam Cassidy, who rolls straight back
out of the ring and hops back over the crowd barrier. Dorado looks at
the chair in confusion as Nickrick rolls back into the ring. Dorado,
frozen like a rabbit in headlights, looks at the official, looks at
Curtis laid out on the mat, and looks at the chair in his hands -- and
then immediately tosses the chair aside. But this is damning evidence
for Pat Nickrick, and the official signals for the bell!]

* DING! DING! DING! *

DD: What just happened here?!

[Nickrick immediately goes to the corner and converses with Sy Simmons,
who makes the announcement.]

SS: Ladies and gentlemen, the winner of this match... by
*disqualification*... OWEEEEEEEEN "TRUUUUUUUUUUUTH" CUUUUUUUUURTIS!

[As Dorado looks on in horror, freeze on that image and cut back to the
studio.]

DD: There's nothing like poetic justice, folks. Dorado stole a victory
over Liam Cassidy by way of the scheming Jodee Burwick, who threw brass
knuckles into the ring after Cassidy knocked Dorado out with the Pikey
Layover -- and Cassidy struck back, having bade his time in the fans
all
night, he came out to cost Dorado the match, much to the dismay of the
"Golden Boy." Somehow I very much doubt that the issues between Liam
Cassidy and Nolan Dorado are truly over and done with -- but they'll
have to be put on hold. And as we will see a little later on,
something
else fell into the lap of Liam Cassidy three weeks ago in the Rose
Garden that may force a reevaluation of his priorities from here on
out.

[The plasma screen behind Ditka shows some more post-match footage, as
Owen Curtis picks himself up following Cassidy's chair shot, to see RCW
President Daniel Spreadbury applauding from the top of the aisle with a
smirk on his face.]

DD: As for Owen Curtis, he may have won the match, but the result still
seemed to please the RCW President, who -- I'm willing to bet -- was
really smiling at the lump on the back of Curtis's head courtesy of the
"Jersey Drifter." Relations between the RCW front office and Curtis's
legal representation are... icy to say the least. And with no end in
sight to the interminable horror that is Owen and Eddie Curtis's own
promotion, Ring of Truth, polluting the airwaves every other Thursday
night, perhaps the RCW President will be booking "The Truth" into some
other... *interesting* matches in the weeks to come. For our sins,
let's hear from the Curtis brothers now.

[The screen is filled with one color -- gold -- and the picture fades
into focus.]

VOICE: Man, you gotta love the view here. The view. It's just
incredible.

VOICE 2: You're not kidding. [He whistles.]

[The camera is showing reflective panels -- panels from the side of a
tall building, as one could quickly infer.]

VOICE: You want a beer? On me.

VOICE 2: You know, beer's beer, but I'd take a frozen mango margarita
if
you're paying.

[The camera is panning outward, showing the curvature of the building
--
revealing that it is a skyscraper done in a trefoil design. That means
it's one of those three-winged buildings like you see so many of ... in
Las Vegas. Gold... did you guess the Mandalay Bay? Give yourself a
point, because that's what you're looking at.]

VOICE: Man, we paid $50 just to get in here, and I paid for both you
and
me. I'm also paying for this whole damn vacation out of my Pay Per View
check. Now you want me to buy you a $10 margarita. Aw, what the hell;
we're on vacation. [calling out] Garcina!

[The view of the skyscraper is interrupted by the wavy dark hair and
tanned, shapely backside of a woman in a string bikini, who has a towel
over her arm.]

WOMAN: Garcon means boy.

VOICE: Yeah, and garcina then means girl. My brother here would like a
frozen mango margarita, and I don't want it made with the cheap stuff.
We're talking anejo all the way. This is, after all, the Moorea Beach
Club at the Mandalay Bay Casino Resort. The very finest.

VOICE 2: Yeah. The European bathing area, which means topless. Which
begs the question... you're not topless, so where are they? Whip 'em
out! We paid our 50 bucks. We ain't got all day!

VOICE: Just ignore my brother. He doesn't realize you gotta be nice to
the help. Eddie, don't push it with this gal; she's bringing us drinks.
And as for me...

[A sound is heard. A snippet. It's a ringtone. Drums banging ... horns
blaring... Hammond B3 swelling ... Annie Lennox strutting around in her
blonde crewcut... well, you can't see that last part. But it's the
Eurhythmics.]

VOICE: Make it two. Two frozen mango margaritas. You have to excuse me.

[The background shot, meant to make you guess who's talking and where
they're at, gives way to a view of the two speakers. "Would I Lie To
You?" No, I would not. It's Owen Curtis grabbing his cellular phone,
with his brother Eddie next to him. Each is in his own red beach
recliner, clad in surfer shorts and shades. Since this is a rassling
promo, Owen also has on his green eyeshade, available on
www.ripcityswag.com. It bans all ultraviolet rays.]

OWEN "TRUTH" CURTIS: Truth. Hello?

[Pause.]

OTC: Oh, hey, Eddie! It's Chesapeake! Charlie Chesapeake. Our attorney.
He says Spreadbury's been calling all week. You mean that jerkwad's
back
from his vacation to England?

[Pause.]

OTC: No, I don't want you to call him back. Really, I'd just blow him
off. Who cares what he wants. We got him right where we want him, as we
demonstrated on the last show. There's none he can do about it. None!
Except give us what we really want.

[Pause.]

OTC: What? Some of the wrestlers don't want me and Eddie calling their
matches? That would only be important if they had a say in the matter
--
which they don't. So what else is going on? [Pause.] Oh, you have the
full card for the next RAMPAGE? Well, lay it on me! We gotta decide
which of these Rip City matches... would be better as Ring of Truth
matches!

EDDIE "FLASH" CURTIS: [disinterestedly] All of them.

OTC: Eddie says all of them. Jeez, Eddie, learn some compassion. We
could, and should, claim all of them in the name of Ring of Truth. But
what would Dan have left then? Nothing. It'd be like taking his whole
promotion away, and we can't do that. Even though he signed a contract
that, through aggressive interpretation, says we can. So tell me the
matches.

[Pause. A woman walks by with great legs, a bikini bottom barely
covering her derriere, and a flash of sideboob that's barely visible at
the top of the screen -- but then she's gone. Eddie starts to get up,
but Owen pulls him back down by the hand while not missing a beat on
the
phone.]

OTC: Pleasence and Coleman for the belt... Cassidy versus Daniels...
Valentine versus Rage... Ron Paris up against somebody, and... who's
that? There's a guy called Big Bad Wolff? Who's he wrestling, Red Hot
Riding Hood? Come on, now, I love Tex Avery's work as much as the next
guy but that's ridiculous. Not even Chris Blue's dumb enough to book
toon wrestling... what? He already did it once? I stand corrected. All
right, so humor me. Who's this Big Bad Wolff wrestling against?
[pause.]
Samuel Muster? I bet Spreadbury just hired THAT guy so he could fire
him. Then for once he could Truthfully say he "cut the Muster." Ha ha,
yeah... I kill me. So yeah. You catch all that, Eddie? Any of that
strike your fancy?

EFC: Well, I don't want to call a Daniels match. He thinks he can go
around just creating belts, like he's the promoter or something. That's
crazy talk. He can't just make himself the promoter! And I don't want
to
have to deal with any Big Bad Wolff... I don't want to be blown on by
any bad breath numbskull retards. Valentine against Rage? Yuck. Ron
Paris? Not so much. I guess that leaves us...

OTC: Pleasence and Coleman.

EFC: Exacto-mundo. That's the one.

OTC: Great. That's what we'll do, Charlie. Pleasence and Coleman for
the
belt. Which soon will become the Ring of Truth championship belt. No,
don't tell Spreadbury. It'll just give him a big hole right in the
stomach ulcer. There's no notice required. We'll just show up on
RAMPAGE
next week and tell him then. Like the contract says, we get our show
anytime we want, and that will be when we want it. The main event. You
think Pat Nickrick has earned the right to referee a match of THAT
magnitude? Hogwash! It's Eddie all the way, baby!

[Pause.]

OTC: No, nothing else. Well there's that other thing we have planned,
but that's enough. You've done more than your share as our attorney by
getting them to lift the ban against Eddie down at the Palomino Club.
Now I have to pay to get him in THERE as well. Jeez, I'd say it's time
for him to get a girlfriend who lap dances for free. Well, later.

[Owen pulls the cellular phone away from his head and presses a button
to hang up. Just then a red bikini bottom and set of legs walks into
the
frame and stops.]

WOMAN: Two mango margaritas, frozen, but you didn't say if you wanted
salt on the rim. I can go get it if you like.

EFC: No need. I can salt your rim right here, baby! Just turn around
and
let the Flasher do the rest! You know I'm fully developed!

[The woman shakes her long hair, then sets down one drink on the table
next to Owen. She pours the other... directly into Eddie's lap... and
walks off. The camera zooms in to show the grimace on Eddie's face --
literally, he's turning purple, like the McDonald's milkshake mascot --
as Owen looks on, laughing.]

OTC: Eddie, my friend... I think you've just been F-Stopped. I told you
to be nice.

[Eddie's agony continues as the picture fades to black. Cut to footage
captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc
squares off against Ryan Faith in singles competition.]

DD: After Orin LeBlanc was Mark Coleman's enforcer two weeks previously
when the Tennessee rookie faced Faith's stablemate Dave Bryant and left
Faith lying, a singles meeting between the burly Canadian and the young
lion from Southborough, Mass. was inevitable. Equally inevitable, it
seemed, was that Nathan Herod's manager, Mick Silvestri, would be at
ringside to involve himself in the match, apparently desperate to prove
his worth to LeBlanc, whom he still appears to be pursuing as the next
athlete he wants to represent in RCW.

[Faith can be seen smiling a wickedly triumphant grin as he plants the
stunned LeBlanc's head between his legs in preparation. We hear the
original commentary:]

DD: TEST OF FAITH! Ryan Faith is going for...

[But before Faith can lift the big Canadian upside down for his
trademark double-underhook piledriver, LeBlanc powers his way out of
the
smaller man's grip. Spinning Faith around, LeBlanc then wraps his arms
around one of the smaller man's arms and across the front of his neck.]

DD: Cobra Clutch! Is LeBlanc going to hit the Beast's Burden Suplex?

[Things move quickly, however, for on the opposite side of the ring,
Dinah climbs up onto the apron and begins shrieking in an attempt to
distract LeBlanc. Her efforts are ignored, however, but are mimicked by
Mick Silvestri who climbs up onto the apron on the opposite side of the
ring... with a weapon in hand.]

DD: Both managers are up on the apron... and Silvestri has a steel
chair!

[The referee shouts warnings at both Dinah and Silvestri but just as
LeBlanc looks about to hurl Faith up and over onto the back of his neck
with the Beast's Burden Suplex, the Englishman swings his steel chair
at
Ryan Faith's face. Faith, however, manages to yank downward just enough
so that the chair misses him and slams directly into Orin LeBlanc's
forehead!]

* CLANG! *

"OOOOOOOOOH!"

[LeBlanc's grip loosens and Faith breaks free as the big Canadian falls
backwards, stunned by the blow from the folding steel chair. The
referee
immediately begins pointing at the timekeeper while yelling
instructions.]

* DING! DING! DING! *

SS: Ladies and gentlemen, here is your winner as a result of a
disqualification... "THE LYNX"... OOOOOOOOOORIN LEBLAAAAAAAANC!!

[Faith looks shocked beneath his mask of blood as Dinah rushes into the
ring beside him. Both immediately begin arguing with the referee as
LeBlanc tries to sit up, wincing and holding his bruised forehead. On
the ring apron, Mick Silvestri looks both surprised and chagrined as he
quickly drops the steel chair and jumps down to the floor before
hightailing it up the aisle as fast as he can. In the ring, the
bloodied Ryan Faith and Dinah continue arguing with the referee as
LeBlanc rolls to his feet with a murderous expression in his eyes.
Freeze on this and cut back to the studio.]

DD: It wasn't a good night for Mick Silvestri. Just minutes earlier,
he
had been at ringside with his charge Nathan Herod, as he faced
self-proclaimed RCW Supreme Champion, Danny Daniels. Folks, I should
warn you, the footage you're about to see features commentary from Owen
and Eddie Curtis, who once again invaded ringside and claimed that this
match would be contested under Ring of Truth rules.

[Cut to footage captioned, "Courtesy of Ring of Truth, 14 September
2006." Silvestri barks at Daniels, giving Herod the chance to crawl
towards the timekeeper's table, where Daniels' belt sits there all nice
and shiny.]

OTC: HEROD HAS THE SUPREME BELT! And you can tell, he has bad
intentions
for what to do with it!

EFC: Thanks for telling me, Owen. I'll keep an eye on it. But tell me,
how come RCW doesn't let the announcers warn the refs, huh? I mean, you
always hear announcers talking about people about to cheat, but the
refs
never seem to notice. Here, we do! It's another Curtis brothers
innovation! [to Herod] Hey! Set that down!

[Herod tosses the belt to Silvestri and directs his attention to
Daniels, who gouges him in the eyes! He tosses Herod back under the
bottom rope, and follows him in! LeBlanc applauds!]

OTC: Herod, to his feet! He catches Daniels on the way in and hooks up
a
suplex, trying to set up the HDD! Daniels reverses ... small package!

EFC: One! Two! And no!

[Daniels is back up quickly, as is Herod -- and this time it's Daniels
that hooks up a suplex! He lifts Herod into a vertical position ... but
Herod shifts momentum and crashes down on top of Daniels! He hooks the
leg!]

EFC: ONE! TWO! THREE!

OTC: Not so fast, Eddie! Not so fast! Silvestri had Daniels by the leg
there!

[Eddie walks over to Owen at ringside, and they consult. The viewers at
home see a slow motion replay where Silvestri is hiding low, next to
the
apron, but he's clearly using the Supreme belt to trip the leg of
Daniels, which is what caused Herod to get the reversal. Eddie points
to
the timekeeper.]

EFC: Ring of Truth fans... the winner of this match... as the result of
consultation with someone who actually saw what happened... due to the
interference by Mick Silvestri on behalf of Nathan Herod...

DANNY~! "YOUR HERO!" DANIELS!

[Silvestri argues vociferously with Eddie Curtis.]

MS: [overheard through Eddie's mic] This is nonsense! You saw NOTHING!

EFC: You don't like it? Ask me for a rematch! The fact is, the promoter
saw you cheating, and you can't have a higher authority than that!
Daniels wins!

[Daniels is outside, and he snatches the Supreme belt out of
Silvestri's
hand! Just as quickly, he's back into the ring!]

OTC: Danny Daniels is celebrating!! And why not? He's just retained the
Ring of Truth Supreme Championship!

[Daniels runs around the ring waving the belt around! He climbs a
corner! He celebrates! He hops down! He runs around some more!]

OTC: DANIELS! WHAT A GREAT MOMENT! WHAT A --

[Owen stops. On the screen, we all see why.]

EFC: What a kick to the gut by Nathan Herod.

[A disgusted Nathan Herod hooks the hunched-over Daniels up in a suplex
position. He hooks the leg. He lifts him, as if for a fishermen's
suplex
-- and you know the rest.]

OTC: HDD! HDD on Danny Daniels! Herod dropped him right on his head!
Reverse the decision, Eddie! Herod is the real winner, as far as I'm
concerned! Reverse the decision!

EFC: I would, Owen, but I can't. You see, Silvestri there was kind of
being a jackass to me, and I don't feel I should have to put up with
that.

OTC: Fair enough. Daniels wins by disqualification.

[Herod kicks away at the fallen, motionless Daniels -- until a certain
sight stops him. A shiny sight. A shiny, Supreme sight.]

OTC: Oh my. I think Herod wants to pick up that belt. He wants to pick
it up, and he wants to do something with it. Something bad.

[Herod indeed picks it up. He turns, flings it around in a circle, and
lets go... where it lands squarely in the Hobo Section!]

OTC: Wow! Free belts! Let's see Rip City do THAT for its fans! Of
course, we'll have to see that Spreadbury is billed for a replacement
belt. We can't have the Ring of Truth Supreme Champion walking around
without a strap!

[The belt is passed around overhead, beach-ball-like... until it lands
in a certain set of hands.]

OTC: Oh dear God no.

[The hands of Liam Cassidy.]

OTC: Criminy. Liam Cassidy has that belt. Liam Cassidy couldn't obtain
a
belt if you sent him to a clothing store with a wallet full of money.

[As Cassidy stares down at the shiny gold belt in his hands, cut back
to
the studio.]

DD: Well, folks, as you see, Liam Cassidy walked out of the Rose Garden
in possession of Danny Daniels's Supreme Championship belt, and Mick
Silvestri *ran* out of the Rose Garden, with two very annoyed, very big
men in hot pursuit. One of those two men, Orin LeBlanc, had some words
for us.

[Cut to footage captioned, "After RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Fade up
into the locker room, where we find a familiar looking medic trying
desperately to hold back an "I told you so" smirk. Instead, our
seasoned RCW medical worker merely hands a cold compress to a nearly
purple with rage Orin "The Lynx" LeBlanc. After a few tense moments,
the medic can't help but offer his two cents upon the situation.]

Medic: No new stitches needed at least.

OL: [not even looking at him] Shut up.

Medic: Aren't managers supposed to let their clients in on their game
plans?

OL: Shut up.

Medic: You'd think he could have at least said "Duck!" or "Look
out!"...

OL: SHUT UP!

[The Lynx suddenly chucks the compress at the medic, who barely manages
to jerk out of the way in time as it crashes against the wall. The
medic swallows audibly, then opens his mouth one more time.]

Medic: ...you know, I would like to point out that President Spreadbury
usually frowns upon wrestlers attacking non-wrestlers without good
reason...

[A low growl cuts him off.]

Medic: I did say "usually"... I'll be shutting up now.

[Without saying a word, LeBlanc just shoots an ugly look at the medic
before stalking off. The medic breathes a sigh of relief as we fade
back to the studio.]

DD: We'll find out more about how these events will develop next
Thursday night, when RAMPAGE returns. When we come back, we'll run
down
the whole card -- don't go away!

[Fade to commercials.]

[Fade back from commercials.]

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

[Ditka is still seated behind the trademark glass-topped desk, the
RAMPAGE logo on the monitor behind him.]

DD: Folks, in just seven days we will witness what is probably our
biggest RAMPAGE broadcast to date -- and while every RCW event since
mid-June has been a sell-out, a late release of a final allocation of
tickets means that a small number of seats are still available for next
week's show. Click onto www.ticketmaster.com right now, or get
yourself
down to the Rose Garden box office first thing tomorrow to be sure of
missing out. Once you see the matches set to go down one week from
tonight, your mind will be made up.

[The screen behind Ditka shows the faces of Mark Coleman and Johnny
Pleasence, the words "RCW WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP" running along
the bottom of the graphic.]

DD: What an incredible main event. RCW World Heavyweight Champion
Johnny Pleasence -- who has yet to be pinned or forced to submit here
in
RCW -- will face the hottest young rookie I can remember in this great
sport going back more than two decades. Young Tennessean Mark Coleman
has the challenge of his young life in just seven days when he goes up
against the Big Bad, the man who has singlehandedly shed the blood of
countless RCW superstars in his reign as top dog going back some four
months. Can Coleman be the man to finally put a mark in the "loss"
column for Johnny Pleasence, and take the belt? Three weeks ago in the
Rose Garden, these two titans came face to face in a contract signing
--
and as ever when Johnny Pleasence is around, things quickly got out of
hand.

[Cut to footage captioned, "RAMPAGE, 14 September 2006." Pleasence
stands, Matilda by his side, across the ring from Coleman, Don Ditka
between them, holding a microphone for the man who wants to speak.
Right now, that's Pleasence.]

JP: Got your number, mate. Gonna prove to the world that you're red on
the inside.

MA: Eyeballs to entrails, Mark... even the parts you can't see.

[Pleasence lets go of Coleman's collar, and the Southern boy
straightens
up. He smooths his shirt down for a moment... before grabbing the edge
of the table! The crowd cheers as Coleman, with only a little effort,
shoves the table to one side, almost to the ring ropes, removing the
only obstruction between him and Johnny Pleasence.]

MC: Nothin' stoppin' you now, Johnny. Take a swing. If you have the
stones, that is.

[Pleasence is forced to stop, as the crowd picks up on the moment...]

"S-C-B! S-C-B! S-C-B!"

[Matilda chants along for a moment, before shaking her head and
whispering something in her man's ear. Coleman, though, smiles
widely.]

MC: Take note, Johnny. You'll be hearin' that in four weeks.

JP: I ain't signed nothin'... so, take your four weeks and get stuffed,
mate.

[Coleman pauses for a moment. And then he lifts his hands, and cracks
his knuckles between them.]

MC: Well, 200 years ago, my ancestors convinced your ancestors
different...

JP: ...save the witty banter for the WB, ass.

[Pleasence lets the title belt slide down his arm as he steps closer to
Coleman, a look of pure annoyance on his face]

JP: All of you Yanks think you're so damned witty... well, if it's
words
you're wanting, then--

[And it's then, Johnny Pleasence strikes! He brings the belt up,
aiming
it square for Mark Coleman's head! The belt swing through the air,
lights sparkling off of the gold for a moment...

...but it comes to a crashing halt, and the belt goes dropping to the
mat as Coleman clotheslines Pleasence mid-swing!

Caught off-guard, Pleasence drops to the mat like a stone, Coleman's
massive forearm colliding with his jaw. It happens so quickly and so
suddenly, that the fans are stunned...but then they start to cheer
loudly as Pleasence lies unblinking on the mat!]

"COLE-MAN! COLE-MAN! COLE-MAN!"

[Coleman ignores the fans, though, instead looking down at the fallen
RCW champion. He stands over Pleasence, head bowed...

...and when he looks back up, there's a smile on his face.

One hand reaches down and grabs Pleasence by the back of his neck, and
hauls him up to his feet! He doubles over the champion, and the fans
instantly know what's coming, and chant appropriately!]

"S-C-B! S-C-B! S-C-B!"

[Coleman, smiling, bends down to wrap his arms around Pleasence's
waist... but before he can lift the champion up, Matilda glides in
front
of him...

...and a second later, Coleman has let go of Pleasence, staggering
backwards and holding his face. Matilda takes a few steps backwards
from the Tennessee rookie, who has gotten to the ropes and is gasping
in
pain, a curse escaping his mouth.

The camera focuses on what she holds in her hand.

A lit Camel Turkish Gold.

Matilda stands over Pleasence as the champion slowly climbs back to his
feet, using the table for leverage. Coleman has moved his hand from
his
face, and the camera on that side of the ring picks up a small burn
near
his left eye, red with a hint of gray ash surrounding the wound.
Coleman
blinks, and winces in pain, instinctively holding the area with one
hand. After a few seconds, he turns back around...

...and Johnny Pleasence, no look of merriment or amusement on his face,
boots him in the gut!

Coleman doubles over, and quickly, Pleasence reacts, grabbing the side
of Coleman's head and leaping backwards! In one smooth motion, Coleman
is driven down to the mat in a sitout facebuster...

...directly onto the RCW World Heavyweight title.

Coleman had bled onto the title belt only two weeks before, his blood
staining the prestigious belt like so may others under the reign of the
Big Bad. Now, the wound on his forehead is reopened, and blood begins
to trickle down his face. The fans are booing loudly as Pleasence, on
his feet now, lifts one leg and scrapes the boot across Coleman's
forehead! The wound opens, and blood flows more freely. Coleman
grunts
as he tries to roll away, but Pleasence follows and repeats the action!

Matilda, nearby, has gotten the microphone from off of the mat, and she
hands both the microphone and the lit cigarette to Johnny Pleasence.
Pleasence's first action is to take a deep drag from the cig. His
second action is another boot scrape across the face of Coleman. His
third is to speak in the microphone.]

JP: ...get me a soddin' pen!

[As Pleasence continues to boot scrape Coleman, the blood has covered
the center of his face. Matilda, on her hands and knees at the table
(and away from Don Ditka, who has wisely vacated the ring at this
point), calls out to Pleasence after a few seconds.]

MA: It floated away.

JP: No matter. Where's that bloody 'keepsake'?!

[Pleasence bends over now, and he smacks Coleman right across the face!
A retaliatory right hand from Coleman gets a few cheers, but
Pleasence's
response is to apply his foot directly to Coleman's face in the way of
several vicious stomps! When Coleman is motionless again, Pleasence
reaches down and takes the pen from Coleman's shirt pocket. Matilda
has
taken the contract from the table, and she walks it over to where
Pleasence stands. He turns her around, and puts the contract on her
back to sign. He scribbles the pen across the page for a few moments,
before cursing to himself...]

JP: Guess I should make this official, huh ducks?

MA: Smashing! Oh, we'll have a lovely tea party!

[Pleasence drops to one knee now, beside the prone form of Mark
Coleman.
The Big Bad then proceeds to take the pen, and drive it directly into
Coleman's forehead and the bleeding opening on it! His arm is a
piston,
driving down several times, stabbing the skull of the #1 contender!

Pleasence eventually sits back up, and the camera focusing on the point
of the pen, and the red blood pooling near the very tip.]

JP: Here's the Johnny H... and done.

[Coleman rolls to one side, the blood now staining the pristine mat
below him. Pleasence uses his foot to roll Coleman onto his stomach,
and uses his back as a table! He scratches a red mark across the front
of the contract, his signature in blood, pushing the pen down as hard
as
he can. In a few seconds, the match these fans wanted was official,
but
there's no cheering, only jeers.]

JP: You got your match. You got your shot. In four weeks' time?

I'll bloody well start a _riot_ ending your career.

[Pleasence stands up, dropping the pen near Coleman's body, before
taking another long drag from the cigarette as "Into the Night" starts
back up as Pleasence is handed the RCW title by Matilda. Together, the
two of them leave the ring, and leave behind a barely moving and bloody
Mark Coleman. Boos and jeers are thrown in their direction, along with
the occasional water bottle, but Pleasence pays them no mind, instead
holding up the bloody RCW title. In the ring, Coleman has managed to
get to a sitting position, looking out of it, his face and the mat
around him a pool of blood. Freeze on this image, and cut back to the
studio, where Coleman's blood-stained face is shown on the large
plasma.]

DD: Wow, folks. The animosity between these two men... it's off the
charts. Coleman has done everything to earn this shot. He's defeated
Ryan Faith. He's defeated Dave Bryant. Next Thursday night in the
Rose
Garden, can he complete the trifecta? Let's hear from both combatants,
beginning with the challenger.

[*THWACK*

The camera opens on a back yard.

*PLUNK*

It's a relatively well-sized back yard. Wooden fencing, complete with
metal deer netting, runs around the sides, enclosing the green space.

*SWISH*

*THWACK*

An oak tree sits in one corner, providing shade over the back of the
yard. The leaves are mostly green, with just a hint of red and orange
leaves peeking out from among the foliage.

*PLUNK*

Under the tree, tied to a leash wrapped around the trunk, a grey
hounddog lies flopped on its belly, paws by its face, eyes closed. Its
stomach gently moves in and out, in and out, as it snoozes in the
mid-day shade.

*SWISH*

*THWACK*

The fourth side of the yard is backed by a bit more fencing, filling in
the gaps the house doesn't. It's a white, metal siding house, complete
with a screened-in back porch. Also, by the small stone steps leading
up to the porch, is a shed, almost like a doghouse, leaning against the
back of the house. The lean-to currently holds a good bit of stacked
logs, firewood for the upcoming winter.

*PLUNK*

*SWISH*

*THWACK*

A stack of logs that Mark Coleman adds two more on top of.

Coleman is stripped to the chest, showing off his well-defined upper
chest, sculpted and carved after years of good living and hard
exercise,
along with his prominent "Stars and Bars" tattoo on his bicep. He
wears
only a pair of blue jeans, brown work boots, brown leather work gloves,
and an orange Tennessee Volunteers hat, turned backwards.

With one hand, Coleman turns and palms a small log from a nearby stack
of them. He turns back to a big splitting post in front of him, and
sets the log on top of it.

*PLUNK*

Now, Coleman reaches down and grabs an axe from the ground. With a
smooth, practice motioned learned from years of experience, Coleman
easily brings the axe around in a circular motion, around the side...up
over his head...

*SWISH*

...and easily splits the log into two pieces of kindling.

*THWACK*

Coleman buries the axe in the ground, picks up the kindling, and puts
both pieces into the lean-to. He stands back up, removing a blue
kerchief from his pocket, and wipes the sweat from his face.]

MC: Winter's coming.

Ever since I was old enough to swing an axe proper, my aunt's had me
out
here every October 1st, layin' in firewood so she could heat her house
for the fall and winter. Almost ten years, and every September, last
few days, I'd get a phone call and she'd simple tell me "Mark, winter
is
coming." Next thing you know, I'm out here choppin' up firewood and
puttin' it away.

Never could convince my aunt to switch to central heat.

Never complained or minded much, either. One thing, good physical
exercise. Another thing...

[Coleman reaches down, and grabs another log with one hand. Palming
it,
he lifts it up and sets it square in the middle of post.

*PLUNK*]

MC: ...it's good mental exercise too. Because, you gotta pay attention
the whole time. One simple mistake...

[*SWISH*

*THWACK*]

MC: ...end result won't be pretty.

Perfect comparison to my match next Thursday. Kind of a big deal. You
might have heard about it. October 12th, 2006. The night Mark Coleman
beats Johnny Pleasance and becomes the RCW World Heavyweight Champion.

Sure of myself? Of course.

Overconfident? Maybe.

Right on the money? Absolutely.

I ain't got no delusions, no denials, and no fear, Johnny. Not one
single lick of fear in my body. What you're lookin' at right here is
someone born, bred, raised, trained, and ready for the match he's about
to participate in in seven short days. Truth be told, takin' on Ryan
Faith? I was a tad nervous. Dave Bryant? Bigger butterflies took
nest
in my stomach. But now, right here, with a shot at the biggest prize
this sport's got goin' for it right now? Ain't got one nervous nerve
in
my body. Calm, cool, collected, sums up Mark Coleman right about now.
Good news for me. Bad news for you, Johnny Pleasance.

Now, supposed what happened nearly a month ago should have bothered me
in some capacity. Stabbing a pen into my forehead, runnin' me down on
national television, talkin' about how I was handed a title shot by the
suits in Portland, and...startin' a bloody riot endin' my career,
believe were your words exact. Ain't exactly the way to make friends,
Johnny, guessin' that the concept don't mean much to you anyway.

I see you now, Johnny, and I'm utterly focused. Because in a few days,
it's gonna be you and me in the ring in Portland, and I'll make you eat
every single word you said about me. I won't, however, stab a pen into
your head. I ain't that kind of guy. Plantin' you headfirst into the
mat, yes. Drivin' a writin' implement into your skull, no.

That's the kicker, Johnny. You talked about how you're the Big Bad and
Portland was going to run red with blood because of your title reign.
But I don't buy it, Johnny. I never bought it from day one, and I
don't
buy it now, because everything I've seen about you from day one, from
the tourney to crown you champion to our run-ins in tag matches and
post-matchups...

...you don't got what it takes, Johnny.

Lady said once "If you have to walk around telling people that you're
powerful, you're really not." Allow me to apply that sayin' to you,
Johnny, with a bit of a twist.

If you have to walk around tellin' people you're the Big Bad, you're
really not.

Sound, fury, second-hand smoke, and harsh language, Johnny. That's all
you are. You're not the Big Bad, you're not the Savior of All Things,
and after Thursday, you won't be the RCW World Heavyweight champion.
You ain't done a damn thing aside from a fluke win over Paul Driscoll
and bashing people's heads open with your belt to qualify you to be
World champion, let alone a ring assistant here in Portland. I look at
you, Johnny, and then I gotta think about what you think when you look
at me.

I know what you see. 6'4". 250 pounds of pure muscle. Years of
amateur wrestling in my head. And someone who ran a gauntlet to get at
you and your title. Someone hungry. Someone lookin' to make a mark.
Someone lookin' to become a champion at a young age, maybe even gunnin'
for the moniker of "legend" way down the line. For now, though, RCW
World Heavyweight Champion, Johnny. That's what it's all about.

You want to be the Big Bad more then anything. I want to be champion
more then anything.

And right there, that's the heart of our match Thursday night, live on
RAMPAGE.

[Coleman reaches down, one more time, and places a new log on the post.

*PLUNK*]

MC: Bein' champion is second to you bein' the Big Bad, Johnny. You
want
people to fear and respect you. You think one'll follow the other. Be
the Big Bad and make the people fear and respect you.

Me? Champion. I want to be champion. If people fear and respect me,
so be it. If they don't, so be it. Point is, I'll be champion. And,
most of all, I'll have done it my way.

I want to be champion, Johnny. I'm what you might call... motivated.

[Coleman picks up the axe...]

MC: RCW World Heavyweight Champion of the World Mark Coleman. Get used
to hearin' it, everyone... and especially you, Johnny Pleasance. I'm
motivated to take that belt from around your waist.

[*SWISH*

*THUNK*]

MC: And motivation's very important.

[Fade. From the darkness, a voice.]

'What do you want?'

"That's what they asked me, long ago..."

[Fade in on a shot of the the voice of that previous statement...
namely, RCW World Champion, Johnny Pleasence, as he paces back and
forth
in front of a standard RCW backdrop. Dressed in all black with the
World Championship title over his right shoulder, Pleasence takes a
drag
off of his Camel Turkish Gold and flicks it off the screen as he looks
at the camera, continuing...]

JP: That's what they asked me when I started out -- a couple of English
blokes and all that... anyway, that's what they asked me, and I really
didn't want to say much since I'd be coughing up my own lungs in the
process.

In fact, I didn't say anything.

I just chuckled, swallowed whatever blood was in my mouth, and went on
with it.

Been goin' on with it ever since.

[Pleasence shrugs.]

JP: I've took my lumps, dealt my damage, and in some situations, I've
had the last laugh... bein' a journeyman of the sport has more
advantages than most blokes'd be willing to admit... yeah, you got your
Driscolls and your Carmazzis -- potzers that aren't willing to
acknowledge the fact that time passed them by... and whenever they get
their shot, they go for it at _all_ costs.

Bye, Paul.

[The Big Bad mock waves to the camera.]

JP: Then, there are some of us... just a slight few... that don't care
about time and titles... all we know is the fact that we're _great_ and
you're _not_.

Consider me one of _those_ folks.

For years, children -- for years I've dipped and dabbled in various
promotions in this industry looking to make my mark... looking to
_mean_
something to myself and everyone associated in this glorious life of
ours... and nothing went _right_ until now.

Until _right_ now.

Before?

I was just a man biding his time until someone "worthy" could hold
this...

[Pleasence pats his strap.]

JP: ...World Title of yours. You all _never_ thought I was _your_
champion -- from Spreadbury right down to the sod that helps put up the
ring, _none_ of you ever thought I was worthy of this gold. You all
were waiting for that "other" Savior to slide on in... you were waiting
for that man to shuck whatever bonafide money-makin' deal he had in the
works to come here and get _guaranteed_ gold.

But you couldn't get that, could you?

So... enter Mark Coleman.

[Pleasence smirks.]

JP: Fits right in, doesn't he? Charming lad when one of the writers
from the CW network isn't writing his lines for him, isn't he? The
_perfect_ posterboy for Rip City Wrestling... wholesome, clean cut,
young, willing to learn...

[The Big Bad shakes his head.]

JP: And, due to that, let me apologize.

[Pause.]

JP: I've not been the champion you've wanted me to be.

I've been something much, much _worse_... and the funny thing is?

I'm _not_ finished.

There's more blood to be spilled, children -- some of it mine, most of
it yours.

All your heroes _will_ fall.

All your so-called "saviors"? They'll be called back to the promised
land soon enough.

I've got a long, long way to go, kids... and while Rip Cty's other
resident "Golden Boy" is set up to take me out?

I _am_ eternal.

[The Savior of All Things glares at the camera.]

JP: You might think you can end my reign, Coleman... but in the grand
scheme of things?

I'm _far_ from done.

...trust me.

[Pleasence winks, and with that we fade to black. Cut back to the
studio, where the screen behind Ditka now shows the faces of Liam
Cassidy and Danny Daniels, the shiny plate of the "RCW" Supreme
Championship behind them.]

DD: Having ended our last RAMPAGE broadcast in possession of the
unsanctioned RCW Supreme Championship belt, you can be sure that Liam
Cassidy is expecting a full-out assault from the belt's aggrieved --
and
still unofficially recognised -- holder, "Your Hero" Danny Daniels,
when
these two men lock it up.

[The camera fades in to an unusual site. It's Danny Daniels- same
wraparound sunglasses, same YOUR HERO t-shirt, same hair. But there
are
two differences. First, he's wearing a deerstalker hat.

And second, instead of his usual smile, Danny Daniels is frowning as he
faces the camera.]

D'YH'D: A horrible crime has been committed! The RCW Supreme Title has
been taken! But fear not, my fans... together, WE will solve this and
bring the criminal to justice!

[Danny takes a step to the side, where a movie screen has been set up.
He grabs a laser pointer as the screen is filled with a picture of
Danny
'Your Hero' Daniels, his arm raised in victory.]

D'YH'D: Let us begin with the circumstances of the crime. Last week,
I,
Danny "Your Hero" Daniels, a man so nice they named me twice,
successfully defends my RCW Supreme Title against Nicky Hilton. After
the match, there was a kerfuffle..

[The movie screen changes to scenes from a soccer riot]

D'YH'D: During which my title disappeared. Obviously, there are many
suspects who would try to steal my title... Let's look at the primary
suspects.

[Cut to a picture of Nathan Herod and Mick Silvestri.]

D'YH'D: Nicky Hilton and his manager, Mickey Dolenz? Certainly they
had
a motive. After all, despite their best efforts, they came up short in
their quest to win my title. However, both were occupied during the
kerfuffle...

[Cut to a picture -- Nathan Herod's and Mick Silvestri's faces on two
country line dancers.]

D'YH'D: ...at the time. Next up...

[Cut to a picture of Orin LeBlanc.]

D'YH'D: This man has had many problems with Nicky and Micky. Could he
have stolen the belt in an attempt to frame them? [Danny thinks about
it for a moment.] Always a possibility. However...

[Cut to LeBlanc's picture, photoshopped into a still from 'Law & Order'
with Detectives Green and Briscoe. A 'CHUNK-CHUNK' is heard in the
background.]

D'YH'D: He was already interrogated and released.

[A new picture -- Daniel Spreadbury.]

D'YH'D: Now this man has been the source of more crimes than anyone
else
in the history of mankind!

[Cut to a picture of Spreadbury's face photoshopped onto Saddam
Hussein.]

D'YH'D: A true master of disguise...

[Cut to Spreadbury, this time with Groucho Marx glasses and a fake
mustache photoshopped onto him.]

D'YH'D: And capable of the most heinous of offenses!

[Cut to Botticelli's "The Birth of Venus", with Dan Spreadbury's head
in
place of Venus.]

D'YH'D: He is most definitely a top suspect. We'll put a checkmark by
his name for the moment.

[Cut to a picture of the announce table, where Owen Curtis and Edward
Curtis are commentating.]

D'YH'D: And these two gentlemen... Curtis Owens and Curtis Edwards...
they had opportunity. But did they have a motive? It's well known
that
they have asked 'Your Hero' to be their champion. Could they have
stolen the RCW Supreme Title, believing that I would leave RCW to be
crowned their champion?

[Danny nods sagely.]

D'YH'D: It's certainly a possibility. Both men have been courting me,
offering me multi-year deals with incentive packages, to leave RCW and
join their fed. One of them -- Curtis, I believe -- has even been
hitting on me.

[Cut to a picture of the Fab 5 of "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy",
with
Owen Curtis standing in for Carson Kressley and Eddie Curtis standing
in
for Jai Rodriguez.]

D'YH'D: But "Your Hero" doesn't swing that way, and he turned down
their
offer, explaining that I'm quite capable of being both the RCW Supreme
Champion as well as their "Ring of Rings" Champion, so I didn't need to
leave RCW!

[Danny pauses]

D'YH'D: Still, they may be jealous of my refusal. We'll put a
checkmark
by their name as well.

[Danny sighs]

D'YH'D: Just when the mystery was overwhelming, we caught a break.
Abraham Zapruder, a fan, was filming the show at the time of the
kerfuffle.

[Cut to a slow motion film of Nathan Herod picking up the belt and
throwing it into the crowd, where it gets passed around from one set of
hands to another. Danny shakes his head in disgust.]

D'YH'D: Once the belt goes into the crowd, it gets difficult to see who
is holding onto the belt. I don't blame these people -- how often do
you get to touch something so priceless? But, as we freeze frame
150...

[A clear shot shows the belt in the hands of Liam Cassidy. Danny jabs
the screen with his finger.]

D'YH'D: THIS MAN! He ends up with the title -- MY title. Among the
thousands in the audience, he holds onto the belt -- the RCW Supreme
Title! This is the man!

[Danny pauses.]

D'YH'D: The only problem is -- no one knows who this man is!

[Danny sighs]

D'YH'D: So I turn to you, all of my loyal fans... if any of you know
who
this person is, call me at 1-555-326-4357. That's 1-555-DANIELS. Do
NOT approach this man -- he may be armed, he's certainly dangerous, and
he has MY RCW Supreme Title! Call now! Operators are standing by! We
WILL get my title back!

[The camera starts to fade to black...]

D'YH'D: TOODLES~!

[CHUNK-CHUNK. And we fade to black. Cut to young Jamie Bond on
roaming
assignment... Walking through the lobby of the Super 8 Portland hotel
carrying a big paper bags in his arms, complete with the grease of the
contents beginning to soak through. Jamie isn't dressed like he usually
is... He's not "on the clock" as per the usual case. No, tonight... Or
possibly this morning judging by the sleepy tired look in his eyes...
He
approaches the Courtesy Desk and rings the bell. As he waits for an
employee, he turns and looks to the cameraman.]

JB: So he called you here too?

[The cameraman nods with the camera.]

JB: Weird. I don't know he wants...

[Finally, a frail little old lady walks in from the backroom.]

Attendant: How can I help you?

JB: Could you let me know what room Liam Cassidy is staying in?

Attendant: Cassidy... Cassidy...

[She fumbles around with some papers.]

Attendant: Oh. He's in room two eighty five.

JB: Thank you.

Attendant: You tell him to keep the noise down in there. We've already
had six complaints about the noise and if I hear anything else, I'm
gonna have to call the cops.

JB: All right, thank you, ma'am.

[Jamie turns and heads for the elevator, cameraman en suite. The
hotel's
interior looks a little depressing... Run down and has a sad feeling
across it. The doors to the elevator shut with the two inside.]

JB: Did he say what this was about?

[Camera shakes no.]

JB: Me either. He called me at one a.m and just told me it was a matter
of life or death and if I could bring tacos...

[The elevator stops at the next floor up and the two step out into the
hallway which appears to have several lights burned out or flashing.
Needless to say, it doesn't look like the top quality establishment
that
one might expect a pro-wrestling superstar to be shacked up in. Then
again, when it's Liam Cassidy, this beats sleeping on a park bench.
There is a loud roar of laughter heard coming from down the end of a
hallway. Jamie heads towards it. The door to the room is left wide open
causing the light to spill into the hallway.]

LC: ...Now I told ya lad, either you're in or you ain't...

Voice: Just you wait boy, I'll be ready when I'm ready.

Other voice: [BLEEP] that Stankman, just fold 'em. We know you're
bluffing anyway.

[Jamie turns back to the camera with a look of fear in his eyes as he
closes in on the door. As he enters the room, he walks into a slightly
hazy, smoke filled room. The room is pretty torn apart. Beer bottles
are
lined up all over the place. The bed is flipped over onto its' side and
resting up against a wall. In the center of the room where that bed
should be, is a round table. Sitting around that table sits four men.
Only one is recognizable by the black fedora atop his mangy head.
Cassidy tilts his head back after noticing one of his acquaintances
point out Jamie's arrival. Liam removes the thick stogie from his mouth
as he greets his friend.]

LC: HHHHHEEEEY LAD!!!

JB: Liam.

LC: Did ya bring the tacos?

[Jamie holds up the bag.]

JB: Fifteen tacos, no lettuce, extra hot sauce. Just like you asked.

[Liam grins and slaps the man next to him hard on the shoulder.]

LC: See, what'd I tell ya? He's a good lad!

JB: What's going on in here anyway?

[As Jamie steps forward, the rather portly fellow seated next to Liam
swipes the bag from the intern's hands and quickly pulls out one of the
greasy late night treats and begins scarfing it down.]

LC: Poker! Have a seat!

[Liam reaches over and pulls up a chair to the table. Jamie cautiously
sits down.]

LC: Okay lads, this is my mate Jamie. He's a good kid, so don't you
guys
be trying nothing on him, ya hear?

[The collection of men grunt and grumble, as the particularly lanky man
sitting across from Jamie begins dealing out cards.]

LC: Al'right Jamie. This here is Old Man Parsons...

[Jamie looks to his left and sees a big, physical looking man. Funny
thing is, he doesn't look a day older than Jamie does. He picks up his
cards and gives a nod to Jamie. Bond looks confused and glances at
Liam.]

LC: What? It's just a name.

[Cassidy now picks up his cards.]

LC: And this guy here dealing... Oh lad, watch out. That is Sneaky Pete
and if you ain't careful, he'll walk out of here with your girlfriend
and that car you drove in on.

[Jamie blushes sheepishly.]

JB: But I don't have a girlfriend and I took the bus to get here.

LC: Then he'd date your mother and steal your bus money. You get the
picture.

[Sneaky Pete pays no particular attention to Jamie. Instead, he's
intently looking at his cards and puts his chips in the center of the
table. Both Old Man Parsons and Sneaky Pete look to be dressed down
like... well... like Liam himself. Liam points across to the gentleman
sitting next to Sneaky Pete... And it is a rather strange looking man,
dressed up as a native American, complete with facepaint and tribal
headgear.]

LC: This feller... Well... I don't know who he is, but damn bastard
knows how to play that's for damn sure.

[The native man nods at Jamie as he glances up from his cards.]

Native: I'm in.

LC: And that there is Stankman.

[The portly fellow looks up from his cards and smiles at Bond.]

Stankman: Hey Jamie.

JB: Hey Stankman....

[Between holding up his cards and scarfing down another taco, the
greasy
looking Stankman puts his chips in. Liam grumbles to himself and folds.
He then looks at Jamie.]

LC: You in, lad?

JB: Huh? Oh, I don't know how to play poker.

LC: Well, pick up your cards.

[Bond looks in front of himself to see that he has been dealt in. He
gingerly lifts the cards from the table. Liam leans over and sneaks a
peak at the cards.]

LC: OOOOOhhhh lads, he's in. He's in.

[Liam pushes some chips from his small pile in front of Jamie, and
tosses some into the middle.]

LC: So anyway, Jamie knows that Nolan Dorado feller and that chick of
his, Jodee Burwick.

Sneaky Pete: Is he that guy with that goldigger you was talkin' bout
earlier?

LC: Yeah, but guys, you really should see the wrack on this girl. No
way
they're real, but that don't stop us from lookin', eh Jamie?

JB: Errr... I guess.

LC: But you guys oughta see this windbag. If you think boxing is fun,
you all really should try this whole wrasslin' thing. I get to beat
this
bastards head in from pillar to post, and they can't say nothing about
it. It's all legal. Anyway, I ain't sure I'm gonna get the chance to do
it to him again. He's got some issues from the last time I knocked him
out... Won't give me another match. I think he's got some brain damage
or something, cause that would explain why he listens to that hot
looking harpee of his.

[As the discussion is going on, the game of poker is being played
around
the table. Old Man Parsons is out, and Sneaky Pete raises the ante
causing the Native to fold. Stankman is still in.]

LC: Son of a bitch...

[Liam folds.]

JB: What do I do?

LC: Well you got good cards, I'd raise if I were you.

JB: But... I don't have any money...

LC: Hrm. I'm almost out too....Hold on.

[Liam rises from the table and heads over to the dresser. He opens the
top drawer, knocking over several beer bottles as he pulls out
something
that is supposedly of great value.... The RCW Supreme title belt. On
his
way back to the table, he picks up two beer and drops one down in front
of Jamie.]

JB: Oh my god, is that Danny Daniels's Supreme title? What are you
still
doing with it? My god Liam, that's stolen property!

[Everyone around the table gets a good laugh at Jamie.]

LC: Shhhh. Quiet Jamie, I told these guys you were cool.

[He picks up his cigar and takes a big puff as he examines the gold
Supreme title. He grins and winks at Jamie. He tosses the title in the
center of the table.]

LC: He's in, and he calls.

[There is a hush of silence across the table as Stinky Pete and the
Native American think about their options. The Native folds before
taking a swig of his beer. Stinky Pete is just staring a hole through
Jamie.]

LC: Hey Pete, you in or not?

JB: Umm... Liam.. you just put the title in the pot...

LC: Quiet Jamie, I know what you're doing.

[Jamie glances back at his cards.]

JB: But I don't...

Stinky Pete: All right, kid. Too rich for my blood. I fold.

LC: All right!

JB: Huh? What does that mean?

LC: What does that mean? You won, lad!

JB: But I wasn't really playing.... And I don't even think I had good
cards.

[Liam sit sup and pulls the chips and title towards Jamie.]

LC: Don't matter. You bluffed.

[Stinky Pete slams the table in frustration.]

JB: I can't believe you put Danny Daniels's belt on the line like that.

LC: What? That piece of tin? I didn't think it was worth much.

JB: He said he paid thousands of dollars for it.

LC: For that ugly piece of [BLEEP]? He got robbed.

[Jamie looks down at his watch.]

JB: Liam, I have to get going... the last bus comes by in ten minutes.

[An angry Stinky Pete stands up from the table.]

Stinky Pete: What the Hell?! You ain't just taking my money and walking
out the door like that, boy.

LC: Hey. Cool it Pete.

[Liam raises his fist, pointing it at Pete. Stinky Pete grumbles and
sits back down.]

LC: Lads, just give me a sec...

[Liam and Jamie rises from the table. Liam cashes out Jamie's chips and
hands it to him.

LC: That oughta cover the tacos anyway.

JB: Sure. All right, guys, it was a pleasure playing cards with you...
I
guess it was beginner's luck or something... I'll just be on my way.

Stinky Pete: See to it, Kid.

[Bond picks up on the tension in the room and quickly steps towards the
door.]

LC: Hey wait, Jamie!

[Jamie stops at the doorway. Liam comes over and tosses the Supreme
title to him.]

JB: Oh... I can't take this Liam...

LC: Sure you can, you won it fair and square.

JB: No... Seriously... I can't...

LC: Well why the Hell not?

JB: Because... I... err... I don't want Danny Daniels coming after me.

[Cassidy gets a good laugh out of that one.]

LC: What? That pompous windbag? Don't worry about that poof, Jamie, he
couldn't fight his way out of a paper bag.

JB: Err... even still.... I don't want to have it. Here, you take it.

[Jamie hands it back over to Liam.]

LC: But it's yours.

JB: I insist Liam.

LC: Heh. I guess this makes me a two time champ, now don't it?

[Liam grins as he unclasps the belt and puts it around his waist. He
grins and looks down.]

LC: How's she look?

JB: That is a very, very scary picture.

LC: Al'right.

[Liam grins wider.]

JB: I have to run. I'll see you Thursday, Liam.

[Jamie exits into the hallway. Liam pokes his head out.]

LC: Taker easy Jamie... Swing by on Wednesday, we're all going golfing
down at the club on Winchester Street.... Come to think of it, go buy
me
some clubs and I'll pay you back! See ya lad!

[Liam waves goodbye and walks back into the room, beaming from wearing
the Supreme title belt. He grabs his beer and returns to his position
at
the table.]

LC: All right lads, the champ is here.

Stinky Pete: Who the Hell was that Liam?

LC: What? Jamie? He's a good kid that guy is. A little off, but he
means
well. Al'right, where were we... who's turn to deal?

[Liam reaches for one of Stankman's tacos and pulls one from the bag.
There is a lot of banter across the table as the five men resume their
wild game. The camera slowly zooms in on that valued Supreme title
around Cassidy's waist as he leans back in his chair. He rests his beer
on his thigh, next to the belt and spilling some on it. As we fade out,
Liam gets a good belly laugh going, shaking that belt up and down...
and
accidentally dropping some taco sauce on it. Cut back to the studio.
The screen now shows the faces of Giuseppe Valentine and Derek Rage.]

DD: Newcomer Giuseppe Valentine may have bitten off more than he can
chew. His debut in RCW will see him standing across the ring from the
giant Derek Rage. Will Valentine fall for the Hammer of God? Let's
hear
from both men, beginning with the Intelligent Thug.

[Derek Rage has obviously seen better days. His face is covered in
stubble of varying lengths. His usually well-groomed afro looks a bit
picky in places. He is caught in an unrelenting frown and his eyes are
both intense and yet burnt out. He looks directly into the camera.
There isn't a shred of subtlety about him right now.]

DR: Giuseppe Valentine, welcome to Rip City. I see you've made the
trip
up from Los Angeles. I see you've discovered that the EMWC is not the
place where legends are created. Daniel Spreadbury is a man who makes
legends. Some might argue that Daniel Spreadbury built my legend. The
Prophets of Rage are most famous for their contribution to the tag-team
wrestling scene in the IIWF. THis is the house that _I_ built.

[Rage jabs his thumb into his chest.]

DR: And the punks just keep jumping up to get beat down. Yeah, they
keep thinking that all they have to do is sign on the dotted line and
waltz into a match with Derek Rage and they'll be on their way to the
top.

[Derek's sneer is grotesque.]

DR: You're just another punk, lank-haired little bitch who thinks some
deep depravity and some inability to realise that you're outclassed is
your ticket to success. It bloody well isn't. You get me? Giuseppe
Valentine, just like the rest of your royal wrestling crew, you're just
another carbon copy. You're just another in a line of steretypes.
THink I bat an eyelid watching you booze it up with cheap women? Do
you
think I care that you would sell your soul for victory? I guarantee
you
that the price of your soul is pretty cheap. I guarantee you that you
are pretty cheap. So here's what's going to happen. You and I we're
going to step into that ring. You're going to try to avoid me. You're
going to be scared by just how big I actually am. You're going to try
to actually match skills with me and then you're going to try to
outsmart me. I mean, I'm big, right? So I can't possibly know what
I'm
doing in that ring. I can't possibly have seen every big man/small man
match in the ring. I can't have seen them, right? You're wrong. I
know you're going to try to put me on the mat. I know you're going to
dust off some of your old high-flying manoeuvres and I know that you're
going to try to cheat to win. Everybody else does. Think about it.
Dave Bryant got me looking up at the lights because Lord Byron decided
to stick his nose into my match. Nathan Herod he beat me because Byron
decided he wanted to make a point. But you see what happened to Byron
when Spreadbury made him wrestle me. Byron never showed up. He ran
like a little bitch and hid and so they suspended him without pay.

[He pauses.]

DR: I want you to think about that, Joe. I want you to think about
that
long and hard. Lord Byron preferred to lose all his money and go
hungry
rather than step into a ring with me. That's some [beep], ain't it?
So
what do you think you're going to do? Huh? You better find a friend
and get him to try to take me out, too. You can't do it on your own.
And now that I'm pissed off, Sep, it's gonna be even worse for you.
I'm
coming to prove a point. You're a punk from a weak ass organisation
trying to move into _my_ territory. I'm gonna eat you up, you silly
little bastard. I'm gonna hurt you in a way you have yet to feel pain.

And then I'm gonna [beep] you out all over the ring. Feel me?

[The camera zooms in on the rage in Derek's eyes. He blinks once.]

DR: Now fade to black.

[Dutifully, the screen fades to black -- and then we cut to Giuseppe
Valentine hunched in a darkened hotel room -- and not alone; it peers
from behind over the right shoulder of an unknown female -- slender,
white and crept over by strands of blond hair. Valentine -- shirtless
himself -- pays no attention to the form of his mystery consort. Over
the rim of a winecup clasped under his nose, his gaze is bolted to the
pieces of a chessboard that lays between he and her; Giuseppe plays
black, defending. He thrusts forward a Knight, scrapes away his black
forelocks from his eyes and acknowledges the camera's presence.]

GIUSEPPE: Don't think me a chess-player. Dice, always: instant,
straightforward, detached. For chess, I have my patience and my
cunning
tried enough elsewhere.

That is, until I arrive in Portland. That is, until this evening. You
might say...

[He steals a glance across at his opponent.]

GIUSEPPE: ...I'm feeling my way into it.

[Smirk. She pours herself a drink, still to make the next move.]

GIUSEPPE: Because for four years now I've seen and learned how our
promoters play fast and loose at their business. Pick you up, see what
you've got, then keep on trying you 'til something falls right. Play
it
out quick and after a year, disappear.

Here, I see, that's not the case. Here, it's about the long game.

[A white Bishop slides in to threaten the Knight. Giuseppe indicates
the game.]

GIUSEPPE: And so.

I'm practising. Training myself to remain aware of broader strategy,
to
sense an advantage or a weakness, to know when to hold back and when to
make a move.

I might have had the privilege of our President's acquaintance for only
a minute, but it's clear he's a man of intellect. You can tell in how
he looks at you from behind those flashing glasses -- he's calculating
how and when you'll be made or broken.

[Valentine squeezes an eye over the board again, biting his bottom
lip.]

GIUSEPPE: So a man with any ambition to influence the game himself --
rather than to be content just to be pushed around inside it -- should
understand after he's shaken Signore Spreadbury's hand not to relax his
wits for so much as a second.

[Absently, still considering his move, he sips again from the winecup.]

GIUSEPPE: And as he's already offered me his gambit...

...I've set mine to work immediately.

[He presses a pawn between her white piece and his Knight.]

GIUSEPPE: My opportunity, he called it. To show my quality.

...Or just as soon, to stretch too far... and fall to pieces.

[The pawn is taken. Valentine arches a black eyebrow.]

GIUSEPPE: I'd guess that many of those whom the President spends the
rest of his time shepherding lack the subtlety to grasp the difference
between the two. I'd guess that many of them simply launch themselves
into it, all resolve and bravado.

[He looks back to the board and takes the Bishop with another, unseen
Knight.]

GIUSEPPE: Of course, I intend to do things differently.

An opportunity, at RAMPAGE, I might have. To succeed or fail, yes --
but more than that as well: to set the tone. To establish position.
To
make _my_ opening.

President Spreadbury, I hope -- I'm sure -- will be watching closely.

[Taking up his cup again, he observes his opponent make her next move.]

GIUSEPPE: Until then...

[Cut back to the studio, where the plasma screen behind Ditka shows the
face of Ron Paris on one side, and a silhouette in the shape of another
figure on the other.]

DD: "Global Superstar" Ron Paris is finally done with talking - and
he
will finally make his RCW debut in the Rose Garden in a special
challenge match against a mystery opponent!

[The screen shows the faces of Samuel Muster and Big Bad Wolff.]

DD: And rounding out next Thursday's big broadcast, a match pitting two
debutants against one another. South Dakota's roughest, toughest,
*biggest* SOB, Big Bad Wolff -- who tips the scales at 335lbs and
stands
6'8" -- will square off against Samuel Muster, a remarkable young man
from Skyline Mountain, Montana, who is the very definition of a blue
chipper: Notre Dame football, decorated Marine, and now, not yet 30
years of age, a very promising wrestling talent. Let's hear from both
men, beginning with the Big Bad Wolff.

[Once again, Big Bad Wolff. Once again, the malcontent giant stands
before the camera with the demeanor of a man who just watched his wife
being tupped by his neighbor. In other words, he is not happy to be
here. Not happy at all...]

BBW: Sam Muster, let me ask ya a question there, son ...

[Wolff furrows his brow with mock inquisitiveness.]

BBW: Are ya a glass half-empty or a glass half-full type of guy? Ya
see, myself...

[He snickers.]

BBW: I'm just a guy who don't much like the fact that my glass is
half-anythin'. I'm a guy who gets pissed off 'cause my glass ain't
full
one way or the other. So, seein' as I ain't got my hands on what I
want, I'd say that my glass ain't full. And that, my friend, is a
problem for ya.

[Wolff scowls.]

BBW: Ya see, I ain't show up here in this joint to hold hands and make
nice with people, ya understand? I ain't show up here because I'm a
nancy boy lookin' to join some lily-livered chorus. Nah, pal. Let me
tell ya why I showed up...

[Wolff cracks his beefy knuckles as he glares menacingly at the
camera.]

BBW: I showed up here 'cause 'though the name is Wolff, I'm the big ram
at the top of the mountain... or at least I'm gonna be. And the longer
I'm down here...

[Wolff holds his massive hand flat and below his waist.]

BBW: ...havin' to knock off the rest o' ya blasted sheep from the
friggin' hilltops, I ain't a happy camper.

[Wolff cracks a grin.]

BBW: Now some say I'm just a surly son of a gun, born never to be
happy.
And hey, maybe that some got it right. Maybe I ain't ever gonna be
happy. But one thing's fer damn sure...

[The grin quickly erodes to a somber grimace.]

BBW: ...I will be the head ram 'round here.

[Wolff pauses to let the viewers reflect on that chestnut for a moment.

He then hitches his hands into his belt.]

BBW: Now I suspect, Muster, that yer most likely an unreasonable man.
I
suspect that, as we speak, yer probably blatherin' on 'bout what yer
gonna do to me. And that's fine. I could care less 'bout what ya say.

People say a lot of stuff. Don't make none of it true. What I care
'bout, Muster, is what ya do...

[Wolff points at the camera.]

BBW: And if ya do dare to walk down that aisle, if ya do step in my way
to the mountaintop, if ya do put up a fight...

[Wolff sneers.]

BBW: ...well, there ain't no accountin' for the amount of hellfire and
brimstone I'll rain 'pon your pointy lil' head.

[Wolff spits then glares at the camera before storming away. We
spin-cut to a front porch.

It's not really a fancy residence, this. The house has plain white
walls, white trim, and a white railing surrounding the porch. There's
really only one truly notable aspect of this place, and that's the
location. The house is on a large, empty grassy field in the midst of
some mountains... there is no sidewalk, road, vehicle, or any other
dwelling in sight. Nothing but the house and it's adjacent barn.

Now exiting his home is Samuel Muster. The muscular ex-Marine is clad
in a simple blue-and-gold striped button-up shirt, black shoes, and
navy
blue slacks. Samuel is a wide-shouldered man with natural dark-blonde
hair in a short, curly style. He's got a very picturesque face, with a
solid jaw structure and clear blue eyes. He marches past the camera as
he speaks.]

SM: Follow me. It's eighteen miles to the nearest road, and I don't
wanna be late.

[So the cameraman starts following him, and we see that Samuel is quite
directly walking across his field to the nearest wooded mountain.]

Cameraman: Uh, that's a mountain you're walking towards.

SM: It's eighteen miles straight as the crow flies. Bit more than that
going over the mountains.

Cameraman: Uhhh... don't you have a helicopter for precisely this
reason?

SM: I can use the exercise. Besides that, I'm looking to get into the
mind of a man who would call himself the Big Bad Wolff. Plenty of
wolves out yonder.

Cameraman: I am officially not going that way.

SM: Suit yourself. At the least, I'll do what you came here for first.

I'll tell you what I think about a man who calls himself the Big Bad
Wolff.

A wolf is a proud creature, ya see. A Big Bad Wolff less so. For one,
it feels a need to tell you that it's Big and Bad. I am fairly sure
Mrs. Wolff didn't name her child Big Bad. So what we have is a man
without a name. A man that hides his own name... that's a red flag.
Tells you something about him. What does he have to hide? We may well
find out when we see him fight.

I heard his comments to date, and he spent a good deal of his time
making it clear that he has no respect for the rules. A man like that
thinks this is a show of strength. If he has the strength he'd like us
to believe he has, he would never have said these things. The rules
aren't there to hold a man down. The rules are there to ensure that
the
better man wins. The strong don't need to break the rules, because the
rules favor them. The only motive for breaking or ignoring the rules
is
a fear of defeat.

What am I getting at? This Big Bad Wolff hides his name and hides from
a fair contest. This doesn't sound like anyone of worth by my
reckoning.

So in contrast, here's my mission statement. My name is Samuel Muster,
and I don't fear to fight by the rules. I will defeat the Big Bad
Wolff
on RAMPAGE, and if he wants to fight like a man, that will be
outstanding. And if he wants to fight like a coward, let him.
Everything we need to know, we will find out on Rampage. That's about
all that can be said.

[And so Samuel leaves it there, continuing to hike on. After a short
pause, the cameraman butts in.]

Cameraman: That's it?

SM: Talk's cheap, and I only do these things because it's a part of my
job. Nobody ever beat anybody by talkin' about it. Maybe the Big Bad
Wolff likes to huff and puff... but this house...

[Muster slaps his chest.]

SM: ...is made of discipline and heart. You ain't gonna blow me down
with words. No, the Wolff is gonna have to show me what big teeth he
has. Which is too bad for him...

...'cause I ain't no Little Red Riding Hood.

at's all he has to say, and so the camera stops moving. Muster pulls
away, into the distance.]

Cameraman: ...hey! I can't fly a helicopter! How am I supposed to
get... damn!

[And we cut back to the studio.]

DD: Which of these two men will come out on top in their first match in
RCW? You'll have to tune in next week to find out.

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

DD: All that action -- plus undoubtedly more from the delightful Curtis
brothers -- coming your way next Thursday night. Don't miss out -- the
last few tickets are going fast!

[A camera tracks Ditka as he stands from the glass-topped desk and
walks
around in front to his mark on the studio floor.]

DD: Well, folks, that's our show. I'll be back next Thursday night,
*live* at 10pm Pacific, alongside my broadcast colleague "Spotlight"
Billy Shakespeare for RAMPAGE. Until then, thanks for watching. This
is Don Ditka, wishing you all a good night, everybody!

["Bodies" kicks in over the PA once more as the lights in the studio
fall. Ditka puts his sheaf of papers on the desk behind him and walks
forwards out of the shot as the camera pans up to the RCW logo mounted
on the set. Fade to black.]

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