(FADEIN: Piedmont Triad International Airport. The CS Enterprises Private Jet rests unbothered. Hortense navigates the staircase leading to the passenger entrance skeptically. She’s never been one to travel too far from home, but as Thomas’ better half she’s expected to be at his side when he travels on business. The Love Sisters haven’t toured in ages, not since Bush Sr. was in office. There have been rumblings of getting the band back together. Carson Daly always needs booking. If Tears For Fears can reopen old ties, Hortense sees no reason why the Love Sisters can’t cut a new album and open the next PPV.

Maybe Thomas wasn’t the only one who married selfishly.

“Sug?”

The frontwoman of one of the biggest bands in history (literally) asks. It’s her first step inside the CS Jet and her apprehensions, her longstanding fears of flying are gently put to rest. The leather seats, the appearance of luxury she’s never had prior to wedding herself off to her spiritual rival steady her step and expel the crippling anxiety that’s cost her opportunities to better herself before.

“I don’t believe this! When we get this?” She throws her body beside her husband and CSWA Commissioner Stephen Thomas.

“Phone, baby. Thanks.”

Twenty minutes before scheduled take off, Thomas’ seatbelt’s clamped in securely, and he’s sweated through his navy blue dress shirt.

“Cause I’m not going to wait around here for Ryan to amuse himself further. I saw the look in his eye. He was,” Thomas stops in mid-sentence as he eyes his wife break out a pen and yellow legal pad. “What’s this?”

“I feel like writin’ again. Believe it sugar?” The depths of her smile are endless, as is the pain Thomas takes from her renewed interest.

“He was soulless,” he continued, tightly sinking into his leather seat—his gaze settling out the window scanning the cracks in pavement for serenity. “Ryan’s a problem I want taken care of, old man. And I want the power out of his hands. I’m not scared of anyone. I just...need to be there.”

He abruptly ends the call, dropping the phone to the bed of the plane casually. “Sir, we’re ready to take off if you are...” the pilot’s voice instructed over the vessel’s PA system.

“Ready?”

“Nassau! A proper honeymoon Sugar! One that you’ll participate in as well! I love my mother honey, but sending us off to Six Flags alone...how’d I say yes to that anyway?” Hortense returned fire over the intercom, “Let’s go!”

“Ready? There’s time....”

“Hmmm. Can’t remember the last time I flew Sugar. You need me for anything?” He tightly shook his head. “Good. Creativity calls thee.”

“I remember the last time,” the commissioner spoke, unsure if he did so with the strength to break a whisper. “I remember the last time I flew.”

(FADEIN: The kitchen area of the PCL II. CSWA Commissioner Thomas, and his wife Hortense cut through a clearing of chefs, and waiters, flanked by a couple of bodyguards. They’ve been on the PCL for ten minutes as Thomas has insisted they travel through a maze of lower levels, and back rooms to reach his makeshift office from which he’ll be watching the night’s festivities.

There was a more direct route to the luxury suite but the parking garage accident last week’s has him on edge. The plane ride to Nassau didn’t quiet his fears as much as he’d hoped. The game’s changed while he’s been gone, and it’s been a struggle for him to catch up. Merritt left a mess by any definition. If the CSWA’s to run well again, Thomas believes it’s on his shoulders. The ship figuratively speaking needs a firm hand on the small of its back to prosper.

He laid the law down last week.

He fired anyone not in attendance.

He reminded the workers what league gave them their first shot.

He...stripped Dan Ryan. And hasn’t slept a wink since.

“Honey we need to get to the room.” The commissioner’s new wife pleaded, the heat from the open flame grills watering her brown eyes. “We could’ve just---“

Thomas snapped back around, clearly irritated by the implications her fleeting patience suggested. That his precautionary detour was an overreaction; “I KNOW we could’ve taken the elevator! Trust me I know! I didn’t ask you to come with me. If you’d like go at your own pace, be my guest.”

He dotted the skin above his left eyebrow, the heat weighing on his nerves as well, and then whisked back around, colliding with a moving tray of pasta.

“Hey what the—oh, Mr. Thomas. Sir, I’m so sorry...”

The guilty waiter falls to his knees and begins to clean the spill, stealing troubled glances from the broken plates lying helplessly on the floor to his disgraced boss residing in a state of shock.

“Wearing our dinner again, Thomas?”

The old man, and owner of Thomas’ leash lights a Cuban with a match—causally tossing it aside when he’s lit.

“Don’t just stand there! Somebody get this crap off me!”

His security team rolls up their sleeves and frantically paw at the remnants of a well-made Italian dish. It’s a useless endeavor. Thomas pushes them off, taking off his dress shirt in front of his staff. Modesty’s never been an issue.

“What do you want old man? I thought I might have gotten lucky and you decided to jump ship.”

“Not at all. Leave you when it’s just gotten interesting? No, that would be a mistake.”

“You’ve made others.”

“A house call. The islands are your true home, I keep forgetting.”

“He did a number of my ride, you fool. I sure as hell am not going to sit and wait for his anger to subside.”

“You expected Ryan to take it? Go quietly into the night?”

“What I expect, old man, is for Ryan to be gone after tonight. Some of these pricks I can’t fire without just cause. Miles is on the ship, Ryan isn’t. Danny boy no shows tonight’s match, and well...that’s a violation of a contract my legal team can work with.”

“You’re running Miles out there with no opponent?”

“Only one of them’s signed the contract...”

“I’d be leery of how Craig decided to fill his allotted time, if he’s the only one to walk to the ring.”

“He will be.” Thomas storms past the old man, motioning for his wife and security to follow. “Tonight Ryan goes, and soon after that...if you don’t butcher your end of the bargain...this company’s free of that contract.”

Thomas throws his stained shirt in a trash bin as he heads out the door. Veering recklessly to the left and into the waiting body of a beast.

“Ah, gawd no!”

Thomas cowers to the floor, only scarcely eying the six foot seven inch, three hundred pound frame hovering over his shaking body.

“You ‘aight?”

The commissioners’ security personnel slam the monster into the wall. “I didn’t see him, man!” A surprised Chef apologetically motions to Thomas. “He turned into me...”

“What’s wrong with you! Scaring Sugar like that!” Hortense slaps him across the head. “Sug get up...”

Thomas finds his feet, gritting his teeth with embarrassment. From the corner of his eye he senses the kitchen’s focus on the scene. “WHAT? Back to work. All of you. Sorry son...”

(FADEIN: To the promenade deck of the CSWA Ocean liner. We see 'Hot Property' EDDIE MAYFIELD laying out on a deck chair, playing a Game Boy Advance SP in his own world: a Camel hanging out of his face, shorts and a T-shirt with 3 screened images of the ghosts from Pac-Man on it. After a beat, JJ DEVILLE and referee PEE WEE TROUTMAN walk into the shot murmuring to each other, and DEVILLE pushes TROUTMAN back a few feet, giving him 'Let ME handle this' motions, and approaches MAYFIELD. DEVILLE, wearing no shirt under a leather karate gi and plastic tight shorts blocks the sun right in front of him, trying to look imposing - puffing out his chest and breathing hard. MAYFIELD doesn't notice.)

MAYFIELD: (Not looking up) "Yeah man, I've been waiting forever for you to get here."

DEVILLE: (Surprised) "Oh yeah?"

MAYFIELD: "Yeah. (Grabs a halved coconut with straws and parasols hanging out of it and hands it to DEVILLE) Yeah, can you go top this off? Thanks pal, you're a lifesaver." (DEVILLE takes the drink, then blinks, shrugs it off and SPIKES the coconut in MAYFIELDS stomach, making him spit-take his cigarette and drop his GBA!) WHAT THE FOOOOF! HEY! That's coming outta your tip!"

DEVILLE: "Yeah Eddie - you and me have some business to settle, and since we don't have an official match booked for this show, I brought Pee-Wee with me to sanction one. Name it - I want a shot at that Presidential title - and I want it NOW!"

MAYFIELD: "You're (BLEEEEP!)ing me, right? (DEVILLE shakes his head 'Hell No') You Zebra, what's gotten up his ass? Can't you see I'm trying to relax here?"

TROUTMAN: "Look Deville, I've been trying to tell you that the card is full, I don't have the power to sanction a title match, and the rings not put together yet... so unless you wanna armwrestle him or something, I don't know what I can do for you here..."

DEVILLE: (Lightbulb goes off) "YEAH! Arm-Wrestling!" (DEVILLE flexes, and MAYFIELD makes a 'Whoo boy' expression across his face)

MAYFIELD: "Yeah, let's NOT. (Looks around) Listen, I got it, why don't I just whip your ass right here on the deck, so I can get back to my game?"

DEVILLE: (Thinking) "You know what, Eddie, you've given me an idea. You come out here all the time talking about those stupid video games of yours. I'll do you this... You and Me... right now, in a VIDEO GAME CHALLENGE! You name a game - if I whip you at it, then you give me a title shot at the next show."

MAYFIELD: (Smiling) "Oh yeah? Hokay dood - your loss. How about some Madden?"

DEVILLE: "Whatever... let's get it on."

(Crowd on the CSWAVision cheer! MAYFIELD sits up, smirking and grabbing for another Camel)

MAYFIELD: "Ok then... you and the zebra meet me in my room and we'll do this. JUST SO HAPPENS (MAYFIELD glances at the camera) I brought my Xbox with me."

DEVILLE: "You got it, Mayfield! Prepare to get (Jumps into a martial-arts stance and does a flurry of shadow strikes at air!) MUSHED OUT, MADDEN STYLEEE!"

MAYFIELD: "Whatever, ass(BLEEEEP!)"

(FADEOUT as DEVILLE walks away excited, talking to a bored-looking TROUTMAN)

DEVILLE: "Ok, are the Lions any good? I could use them... Howabout the Bengals?"

(FADEOUT)

(CUEUP: “War” by Bob Marley and The Wailers.)

(CUTTO: A fatigued Dan Ryan's arm being raised in the Merritt Auditorium as he clutches the CSWA World Title belt in the other arm.)

(CUTTO: Hornet and Tom Adler shaking hands at the end of their CSWA15 match.)

(CUTTO: Kin Hiroshi's 'thumbhold' on Jean Rabesque during their Greensboro Title match..)

(CUTTO: JJ DeVille getting the pin at CSWA15 and raising one of the Unified Tag belts over his head.)

(CUTTO: Mark Windham saying "Yes, I Quit" and Eli Flair dropping to his knees.)

(CUTTO: Timmy Windham standing over Mark Windham with the remains of a flaming wooden chair.)

(CUTTO: Eli Flair being loaded into an ambulance after being attacked in the parking garage.)

(CUTTO: Thomas pinning Gethard to win the CSWA Presidential title.)

(CUTTO: Joey Melton in ’88 addressing the sparse crowd at Merritt Auditorium after winning the CSWA World title.)

(CUTTO: Thomas strapping the World belt back on Melton at a recent press conference at CS Towers.)

(CUTTO: The Parsons Cruise Liner leisurely tearing through that Atlantic Ocean; escorted by a school of Dolphins. Is the sea ever happier than when the CSWA comes to visit?)

(CUTTO: Lindsay Troy dropkicking Miles.)

(CUTTO: Miles busting Melton over the head with flask of Whiskey.)

(CUTTO: Ballroom B. A thousand rapid fans mug for CSWA cameras as we pan around the room. The CSWA’s back and nobody knows for how long. Enjoy it while it lasts.)

(CUTTO: Ringside. Buckley and Benson in position. The color’s returned to Bill’s face. Inactivity drains his soul. Benson’s sporting a half-beard; he’s lit but defiant about showing it.)

BB: Helloooooooooooooo wrestling fans! Welcome to PRIMETIME #498 in Nassau!

SB: 498? Last year we were on 301!

BB: Sammy...

SB: Nice, during the three-month hiatus Thomas ran 197 phantom shows. Not surprisingly we weren’t paid for any of them.

BB: But I hear the ratings went through the roof... (laughs)

SB: Buckley...

BB: Sorry. Fans we’ve got a great show for you tonight! Joey Melton puts his World Title on the line against Tom Adler!!

SB: That’s good to know. There was a nasty rumor going around that Tom took a bath with a toaster after he lost to That Damn Hornet. Admittedly, Adler’s not on my Christmas card list...but then I don’t celebrate Christian holidays.

BB: Geez.

SB: What? I’m not runnin’ for office here okay Buckley. I blame the Internet, yeah the Internet. That’s it.

BB: Hey! You got me a gift last year!

SB: Societal pressure. And I swiped it out of Seizter’s office. As I was saying, Adler and I aren’t buddies...but I’ve seen Hornet drive many a man over the edge. He’s a cancer on this sport.

BB: Well tonight he’s back from the brink of death then and facing Melton for the World Title! Jean Rabesque defends the Greensboro title against Cameron Cruise!

SB: The only gold Cameron Cruise will wear in the CSWA’s capped onto Mercedes’ molars. But he’s kinda like Nader. He runs and runs without giving any real consideration that he’s costing the election for a better candidate.

BB: And Dan Ryan returns to the CSWA against “Cocky” Craig Miles! Who went over the line in my opinion last week!

SB: Opinions are—

BB: Ahem.

SB: ....subjective. Yes, Miles had a flashback to his first tour of duty in ‘Nam, but he’s a veteran. They’re practically given jobs at the post office, and they’re cut more slack on the PCL II.

BB: Understandably. Fans thanks for watching; this ships at port in Nassau! And Thomas himself has boarded!

SB: The Emperor’s coming here?

BB: Indeed. IT’S PRIMETIME AND IT’S NEXT.

(CUE UP: “Revilluion” – Tantric)

BB: We still live? Sorry, thought we were taking a break.

SB: Two decades later, he apologizes. Thanks...

BB: Tom Adler’s making his way into the ring. He’s certainly not dressed for action at the moment.

SB: Hey, you saw what happened to Bugbrain last week. The illegal aliens we’ve got handling baggage around here probably lost the man’s tights.

BB: I’d really like to argue with that. I really would.

SB: You know it’s the truth.

BB: The challenger’s in the ring.

(Adler paces around the ring with microphone in hand; clearly agitated.)

ADLER: Ya know… when you’ve been around this business for as long as I have there’s a tendency to think you’ve SEEN IT ALL!! But just when you do there’s that cold slap in the face of reality and somebody comes along and gives ya a whole new bunch of (bleep) to wade through.

SB: I knew it… first poop… can Mark Hamill be far behind?

BB: Don’t go there… I mean it!

ADLER: Steve Thomas? PLEASE tell me I didn’t hear you tell us all that YOU were gonna make the CSWA mean something again. TELL me that you didn’t sit there and tell Lavesque that YOU built this company? YOU put the butts in the seats? YOU conquered this industry… city by city? YOU made that World Title mean something? TELL ME that that isn’t what you said!

SB: Somebody tell him or he’ll never get out of the ring.

ADLER: Now… I realize that this business has more than it’s fair share of self-righteous, self-absorbed, ego-maniacal blow-hards that think the universe revolves around them. I know… I’ve met ‘em!

SB: See? And you said he didn’t own a mirror.

BB: Quiet.

ADLER: (laughing) But you, my friend. You really take the cake. You sit up there in your leather and ivory tower with a couple of self booked paper cuts on your forehead regaling about days gone by that never were thinking you can tell US what made this company great? Where were you when guys were pulling shards of glass and wooden stakes out of body parts? When were you the one putting his life and career on the line in I Quit match instead of somebody named Flair or Windham? Where were YOU when guys were wrestling three hour matches with (bleep)ed up legs against thirty men because somebody couldn’t wait a week to kick your ass?

Where WERE you for all of that, Steve? I’ll tell ya where you were, Steve. Sitting in that big leather chair on your fat rear end just like you are tonight… telling us how YOU saved this company.

You didn’t do JACK S(bleep)!!!

(Crowd Pops!!)

ADLER: I have sold out more arenas by walking INTO ‘em and caused more RIOTS by walking out than you’ve booked in, pal!!

BB: When did this become shoot country?

ADLER: If you think you’re the man people are gonna tune in to see out here every week, you’re sadly mistaken.

You sit there and talk about hard work like you know anything about it when the hardest thing you’ve done in four years is try to keep a straight face while telling the world that Joey Melton actually DESERVES that belt?

But I guess that brings us to tonight, doesn’t it? I get my BIG SHOT at the most prestigious hunk of nothing going. That’s the plan, right Steve?

Melton’s gonna put the title on the line somebody’s who’s not just a contender… he’s a certifiable LEGEND in this industry. And, what’s more, everybody will have no choice but to acknowledge the winner when it’s done because you and I have a little history of our own, right Steve?

I mean, Steve Thomas brought Tom Adler BACK to the CSWA. He’s gotta be playing fair now, right?

There’s just one little problem with your game plan, Steve. It’s that I’ve run this play before, remember? I’ve BEEN the guy that CS Enterprises chose to wave the big gold belt in front of before. And I’ve been the one who had it yanked away just so people might actually give a damn about Joey Melton.

Ya know… as bad as Merritt was, you’re ten times worse.

SB: Is that possible?!?!

BB: Maybe!

ADLER: Because Merritt may well have been out to screw me every time I stepped into the ring, but at least he was OPEN about it. I’d have far more respect for what you’re trying to do here, Steve, if you’d just tap me on the back and say “Nice to see ya, Tom… welcome to the job squad.”

Well, sorry, Steve. I just feel like losing tonight. Frankly, I think I’ve ALREADY done it a few times lately that I shouldn’t have. Which pretty much means I’ve met my quota.

So, you wanna be the man around here? You wanna be the man who makes it all happen? Good. You’ve got your shot right now. You can make another main event happen.

BB: What? What’s he talking about?

SB: How should I know. I stopped listening after he started insulting Joey.

ADLER: You can wave your magic twanger and whip up another legend you can job to give your pet a little credibility. Because, unfortunately, the only win he’s gonna get over me tonight is the only kind a paper champion deserves… a win… on… paper!

(Adler tosses the microphone on the mat and climbs out of the ring)

BB: Fans this has definitely got to throw a wrench into Thomas’ plans for tonight.

SB: Eh, who cares. Joey deserves a night off.

BB: Now, we’ll be back in 2 and 2...

(CUTTO: Outside of the entrance into Ballroom A, the make shift backstage area. Thomas paces back and forth, wearing out the carpet. Fists clenched, Stephen’s making no effort to mask his anger.)

“Pulls out of a Main Event! Adler! He’d be back doing Krispy Kreme commercials in Pittsburgh if not for me!”

Thomas stomps on a bug inching past him. “Nobody does anything on this ship unless I say so! Insects included!”

“’Cuse me...” a deep voice pushes Thomas aside. Eli Flair wedges past his boss, and opens the double ballroom doors, gracefully (as graceful as Flair can be) managing a large tray of NY deli sandwiches on his broad right shoulder.

“WHAT—“

”What---what is this? What are you doing on my ship?!”

Eli tosses a cheesestick in his mouth and pushes inside the ballroom before turning to answer, “Workin’.”

“Working?” Thomas furiously chases Eli into the locker room. “Are you INSANE?”

The former World Heavyweight champion’s mobbed by workers, friend and foe. “Careful boys, it’s still hot.”

“Awesome. Eats!”

“Effin’ prick in charge of catering apparently...”

“FLAIR!!”

“What?” Eli just manages to rip his arm loose of the pack of hungry wolves devouring the goods before it’s too late, and he ends his career wrestling minus an appendage.

“I....FIRED YOU.” Thomas throws his hands up in the air. In the old days, a firing sure went a ways longer.

“Yeah, sure you did kid.”

“Hey, get the hell out, no press...”

“Press? Wha—wha---“

Thomas migrates outside the doors, and watches in utter disbelief as they’re closed in his face. He drops to his knees, and in a grand Kirk moment yells, “FLAIRRRRRRRRR!!!”

And the echo’s heard throughout the PCL II...

....”Flairrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

....”Flairrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

....”Flairrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.”

SB: And we're back here ladies and gentlemen as we're just about to start a Greensboro title match between the champion Jean Rabesque and the challenger Cameron Cruise!

BB: Rabesque has gone on the record as of late, even confronting Steve Thomas, saying that he is the CSWA's last link to credibility, and Thomas challenged him, saying that he needs to go on a city by city tour, defending that Greensboro Title, and if he can do that, then maybe, just MAYBE, Thomas will let him have a crack at Joey Melton and the CSWA World Heavyweight Title.

SB: Rabesque believes the belt that he carries right now is the rightful title, and he is putting it on the line against Cruise tonight.

BB: Yeah, and he'll sure look like a tool if Cruise takes him out tonight.

SB: We're off as these grapplers hit a collar and elbow in the middle of the ring. They release... and try again. Another..... and here we go again, finally a guy behind by Cruise, Rabesque elbows out, drop toe hold by Cruise, Rabesque spins out of that, Cruise rolls through into a cradle, 1-2-Rabesque reverses into one of his own, 1-2-NO! Cruise tries one more, 1–2-NO! And Rabesque rolls out as the men reach a standing position simultaneously.

BB: And the crowd responds accordingly giving these men a nice ovation, a little chain wrestling to start this thing off.

SB: Right back at it, Cruise lays into Rabesque with a few rights and lefts, and some forearms to boot. Whip into the ropes, and Rabesque hit hard, he staggers out, Cruise with a beautiful bulldog onto the Greensboro Champ!

BB: Quick strike by Cruise, this could be enough to end it early.

SB: Quick cover! 1-2-NO! And Rabesque slips a shoulder up. Cruise whips Rabesque into the ropes yet again, Rabesque ducks a clothesline, leapfrogs him on the way back and delivers a nice clothesline onto Cameron Cruise, and Rabesque locks in a leg hold onto Cruise.

BB: We all know Rabesque's move is the Figure 4, so it appears as though he's going to immediately go after the knee of Cruise, trying to weaken him up a bit.

SS: Rabesque is wrenching on that leg as Cruise is struggling to get out of it. Cruise spins, but Rabesque manages to hold on through it. Cruise spins the other way, and Rabesque flips out!

BB: Nice strategy there by Cruise. The first time didn't work, so he went right back after him. He doesn't want to wait too long in a move like that, or it very well could have been too late.

SB: Both men back up to their feet now, and Cruise is again laying the forearms to Rabesque in the corner, it's European uppercut after uppercut!

BB: Starting to take it to him here a bit. But I don't think Rabesque is going to take the lightly.

SB: And here he goes, Rabesque reverses and backs Cruise into the corner, and now a couple backhanded chops across the chest.

(CROWD: WHOOOOO!)

BB: Didn't Rabesque used to do that?

SB: So we here, and I'm pretty sure by now, I think he wishes everyone would just forget about that.

BB: Can't say I blame him.

SB: The two are now trading shots in the corner, Rabesque grabs Cruise and whips him into the ropes, and Rabesque backbody drops Cruise over the top rope into the ringside area. Cruise looks dazed by this.

BB: Now the question is can Rabesque capitalize and go after Cruise.

SB: Rabesque attempts a baseball slide to the outside, but Cruise sidesteps him. Now the two are punching it out on the outside of the ring. Rabesque with an Irish Whip, Cruise reverses and Rabesque goes flying into the ring steps.

BB: Cruise gets into the ring to break up the count, and now he is right back onto Rabesque. He grabs Rabesque and rams his forehead into the steps again, and Rabesque is starting to bleed a bit on the outside.

SB: The referee is beginning to admonish Cruise some as Cruise calmly walks back into the ring. The referee is beginning to count Rabesque out on the outside.

BB: Cruise better realize he can't win the title by a countout and do something about this.

SB: He does figure that out as he slides back out once again and throws Rabesque back into the ring. Cruise stops for a moment on the outside and before casually walking back in.

BB: Rabesque is just trying to get his bearings about him some. But now Cruise won't even give him a chance as he lifts a knee right to Rabesque's forehead and the Greensboro Champ again goes sprawling to the mat.

SB: Cruise locks in a chinlock as the blood continues to stream down Rabesque's face. He's fighting to stay in it now as Cruise is beginning to wear him down some.

BB: But Rabesque is now starting to get to his feet some, and now an elbow to the mid-section of Cruise, another!

SB: Rabesque off the ropes and a huge clothesline to Cameron Cruise! Cover, 1–2-2 and a half! Rabesque almost got one out of nowhere there!

BB: Cruise begs off to the corner a bit but Rabesque follows with some kicks to the gut, and now some kicks square to the back of Cruise as he sits on the ring mat. And now Rabesque goes right back to the leg, as he drops his knee to the inside of Cruise's quad repeatedly. Now, he drapes it over the bottom ropes and sends all of his weight crashing down onto Cruise!

SB: Cruise definitely didn't enjoy that very much as he seems to be in a bit of agony right now. Rabesque staying on the attack. He picks up Cruise, sends him wobbling into the ropes and hits a shoulderblock right into the knee of Cruise! Cover, 1-2-NO!

BB: Cruise might have to call it quits here in a minute.

SB: But I'm not sure if Cameron Cruise would do that. He wants to win the Greensboro title, and even moreso possibly, he wants to be the one to derail Rabesque on the onset of his city by city tour.

BB: Come on, I would have to think the title would mean more!

SB: You never know, Rabesque has picked up his share of enemies in this business. But over the past minute Rabesque has been staying on the onslaught on the right leg of Cameron Cruise.

BB: Cruise is starting to stir a bit.

SB: That he most definitely is, and Cruise is fighting his way back up, and he is leveling into Rabesque with rights and lefts, DESPERATION DDT! Cruise got a DDT out of nowhere. Here's the cover, 1-2-3!! NO!!! Rabesque just managed to get that left shoulder up. Cruise could not manage to hook a leg and Rabesque was able to use that leverage to just manage to get a shoulder up.

BB: I thought we had a new champ there for a minute. Both men now are struggling to get to their feet. Rabesque makes it up first, he attempts an axehandle on Cruise, but is met with a kick to the stomach, Cruise hits a lariat after hitting the rope!

SB: Cruise could do this, he is sensing the momentum and some of the crowd is starting to get behind him. Cruise comes behind Rabesque, SIDEWALK SLAM! Cover! 1-2-NO! Rabesque gets the shoulder up again, and Cruise again thought that he had the three count!

BB: I have to be honest with you, I thought he did too, but Rabesque will not stay down. Cruise again whips him into the ropes and the two men collide in the middle of the ring!

SB: Both men are now struggling to get to their feet, Rabesque makes it first, and he is looking over at Cruise, sizing him up. He might be going for the Figure 4! HE IS!

BB: Roll up by Cruise!!! He was playing possum! 1-2-NO!

SB: Cruise back to his feet, he has Rabesque up for a piledriver, Rabesque rolls out, he now has Cruise up for a piledriver, but Cruise rolls out, and Cruise HITS the piledriver onto Rabesque!

BB: Another cover, 1-2-NO!

SB: Cruise comes from behind, tornado DDT, 1-2-NO!

BB: How is Rabesque getting up from this?

SB: I have honestly no clue, but he seems determined to not lose this match. It's almost as if he is completely relying on instinct.

BB: Well, when you've wrestled as long as Rabesque has, eventually some things become second nature to you, and that is showing here.

SB: Cruise is now looking up at Rabesque, he's climbing to the top rope! Cruise is perched, and Rabesque moved out of the way! Cruise went for a flying crossbody, and Rabesque moved!

BB: Sometimes it only takes one mistake!

SB: And there it is, Cruise is locked in the Figure 4!Rabesque has it locked in the middle of the ring. Remember all the punishment Cruise endured earlier in the match!

BB: You can't imagine how much longer he is going to be able to hold on!

SB: IT'S OVER! Rabesque wins it! Cruise could not take it anymore, and Rabesque retains the Greensboro Title and has accomplished mission #1 in his quest to be CSWA World Champion!

(FADEOUT)

(CUTTO: Thomas’s office in the Presidential Suite of the Parsons Cruise Liner II. He’s finally made it out of the kitchen. On the desk is a yellow legal pad, a selection of pens, a cell phone, and a more traditional business phone. Thomas comes into frame as he drops heavily into the leather chair behind the desk, a manila file folder in hand. He opens the folder on his desk and punches a number into the desk phone, now on speaker.)

“Hello.”

“Hornet. It’s Stephen Thomas. Why aren’t you here on the boat?”

(There’s a moment of silence before the response.)

“Sorry, I had to pause my TiVo. Who is this again?”

“You know who it is. Don’t play games with me. Why aren’t you here?”

“Don’t play games? You mean like sending me a boarding pass to the wrong ship and then denying me boarding on the right one?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Of course not.”

“What I do know is that you were sent tickets to be here this week. I had Teri send them personally after the apparent miscommunication from last time.”

“And I just assumed they were wrong again. Why would you want me there? You didn’t have me booked for a match… unless Teri’s letter was wrong about that.”

“Look, let’s get this clear. I may not be able to fire or suspend you based on this ridiculous contract that you swindled Merritt into signing, but it says I still have the ability to schedule your appearances and sign your matches.”

“And just what appearance or match are you signing?”

“Look, I’m not here to get in a pissing contest with you.”

“Good to hear, cause I just had a Big Gulp.”

“I’m just trying to get things running the way they should be. I’m trying to make sure that the company stays viable, and that we’re putting on compelling matches to draw ratings.”

“You mean like Craig Miles dressed up in facepaint and tights against Joey Melton?”

“Look..you weren’t here. I had to do something…”

“Let’s be real clear about something, Steve. You may have had some brain cells burned away by a steady diet of sun and coconut milk for the last few years, and I may have had some eaten away by popping Somas like candy, but I’m not senile yet. You had no intention of putting me in the ring against Melton… and Miles didn’t just happen to be aboard the Cruise Liner and available.to wrestle with no CSWA contract.”

“I told you… I’m trying to get this company running right, and that means correcting some of Chad’s mistakes. Letting Miles’ contract lapse was a mistake.”

“Just like signing mine, huh? You have no idea what you’ve put yourself into by bringing Miles back, especially now.”

“I know all about his little vendetta against you. As far as what he chooses to do elsewhere…I’ve already been clear that what matters here is the CSWA, and only the CSWA. Look, here’s the deal. I expect you here on the Cruise Liner in two weeks. And like I said, it’s about what’s best for the company, especially ratings-wise. That means that in two weeks, you face Joey Melton for the CSWA World Championship. Straight-up… no Miles dressed up as you, no games, no excuses.”

“Do you really think I believe you aren’t setting me up?”

“I don’t care what you believe. But I know one thing… if you don’t show up for the match, then no judge in the land is going to stop me from voiding your contract, especially not after your Battle of the Belts no-show. So, it’s really up to you. Take me at my word, stop being so freaking suspicious and get a shot at being a five-time CSWA World Champion…. Or add one more match to your list of no-shows and give me enough ammo to get out from under your contract once and for all. Got it?”

(Another moment of silence.)

“Hornet? Do you hear me? Answer me!”

(A burst of that annoying phone company beeping comes on the line, confirming that Hornet has disconnected… with no answer forthcoming.)

(CUTTO: Commercial break)

(CUTTO: The return from commercial takes us back to Thomas’ plush PCL II office. Post-call to Hornet, he’s reclined in a leather desk chair, feet propped up against the conference table, pleasantly chatting on his cell phone. Six months ago he merely dreamt of having controlling interest of the CSWA. It was an imaginary high to keep the atrocity of Merritt’s actions from leeching yet more blood from Thomas’ soul. So much of what he’d been before was cruelly lost, adrift in the sea that swallowed the sabotaged jet Chad sent he and Red off on with a blessing.)

A sense of normality was flooding Thomas’ life now. The luxuries he’d missed on the island, the ones he’d forgotten about for four years—learned to live well without—were again wearing on him like a child’s security blanket. The road ahead would be murderous, a climb a good businessman wouldn’t scale, but Thomas relished the challenged. Maybe, the worst was behind him.

“Baby, I’m sorry I yelled at you before. I’ve just been,” Thomas exhaled fingering a cherry skittle in his mouth as he created the pause, “under a lot of stress. You forgive me?”

The doorknob to his office signaled a welcome entry.

“That’s my girl. Why don’t you come up here and watch the rest of the show from daddy’s lap?”

Thirty-three year-old Teri Melton, CSWA’s general manager and resident Head Secretary, power walks to Thomas. The carpet under her golden strappy stilettos caves an inch with each step, delighting in the pressure from her touch. Inanimate objects don’t differ from men. Teri, ravenous in an open blazer and white blouse with the top two buttons graciously undone--strategically highlighting a sexy red bra--has been walking over both for years.

She stops a foot from the boss, the needy mini-skirt clinging to her sculpted white thighs she was born wearing, voluntarily recedes further to whip Thomas’ attention.

“Yes?”

“Read it.”

“Hang on baby...It’s a piece of paper.”

“It’s the contract for tonight. Miles’ signature has company.”

Thomas causally leans forward to read the autographed legal paperwork.

“You forged Ryan’s name?” Stephen smiles in awe of the moment. “Why?”

...

“Teri.”

“Teri...”

“...please.”

(FADEIN: To EDDIE MAYFIELD’S stateroom - a pretty big upper-deck suite with open space, couches and a Plasma Screen. On the screen plays the intros to Madden 2005 as MAYFIELD stands in the corner, playing with the skin on his lip - smokers nervous tic. The CSWA Presidential belt lays in an open suitcase on the bed, and the room fills up with CSWA fans, some heels who drag a cooler in the room behind them, referee TROUTMAN and the CSWA announce team of Bill Buckley and Sammy Benson!)

SB: (Shaking an empty red 'party' solo cup) Is this where the beer is?

BB: Put that away. We're here to call a match

SB: You're kidding. You told me there was just beer here.

(BENSON and BUCKLEY sit on a love seat, and pull a table over to them, putting on headphones as MAYFIELD takes a seat in a chair, and starts picking a team. JJ DEVILLE struts in the room and hops the chairback, landing in the seat next to MAYFIELD, looking confident)

DEVILLE: I'm picking the Eagles.

MAYFIELD: I seriously don't give a f(BLEEEEP!) If you pick the All-Madden team - I'm gonna whip your silly ass.

SB: Ok, we're set up here, and I guess we're gonna watch these two play a videogame? What the hell.

BB: This match was approved, so even though it is unorthodox, I don't see a problem with it.

SB: Ok, so Mayfield is using the Denver Broncos, and Deville picked the Philadelphia Eagles. We have the videogame coin toss, and Deville gets it, and he's going to receive while Mayfield’s Broncos are going to kick off. I don't believe I'm getting paid for this.

BB: And there's the kickoff... and nice booming kick received by Deville, and his little guy gets tackled immediately.

SB: If only that were true in real life!

BB: This is a 2 minute quarter, so these teams are going to have to score quickly to put points WHAT! DEVILLE TD! McNabb to Terrell Owens 50 Yard TD Pass! WOW!

(DEVILLE jumps out of his seat and dances - MAYFIELD glowers!)

SB: I think Mayfield may have gotten conned in this one.

BB: Mayfield doesn't look too happy about this, and the extra point is good! Deville opening up early and now sets the pace for the match. I know that Mayfield is a personal friend of the Jacksonville Jaguars organization... I think he was trying to prove a point to Deville by picking Jake Plummer and the downhill Broncos. Ok... Deville with the return kick... and The Broncos have it - OH! STRIPPED! FUMBLE ON THE RETURN AND EAGLES SPECIAL TEAMS RECOVERED IT AND RAN IT IN FOR A TD! MAYFIELDS FURIOUS!

(CUTTO: MAYFIELD kicking over a table!)

SB: This isn't going to go to well for Deville if he keeps this up.

BB: Extra Point... NO! The Eagles fake a Field Goal and pass it in for the conversion! Eagles 15, Broncos Zero, and that’s the end of the first quarter... WAIT!

(Referee TROUTMAN is arguing with MAYFIELD, and he turns and raises DEVILLES hand in victory! The room gets loud!)

SB: WHAT HAPPENED!

TROUTMAN: After examining Eddie Mayfield’s characters, they all seemed to be on automatic speed burst. I believe Eddie Mayfield used a cheat code! I am DQing Eddie Mayfield, and declaring JJ Deville the winner! (The faces in the room laugh and clap - MAYFIELDS eyes bug out!)

BB: WOW! That was fast!

SB: Not as fast as that! WATCHOUT! HAHA!

BB: While JJ Deville was getting his hand raised, Eddie Mayfield beaned him upside the head with his XBox controller! JJ stumbles, and Eddie spins him around... NO! NO! SCREWJOB SPINNING TOMBSTONE ON THE FLOOR! JJ is twitching, and Eddie Mayfield rips the cord out of the machine and starts wrapping it around JJs neck.. STOP IT - HE'S CHOKING HIM OUT!

(The room comes to life, as more people come in the room to stop this - cabin stewards, other guests!)

MAYFIELD: I HATE THE EAGLES!

(He picks JJ Up by the slack of the controller cord, and irish whips him into the wall! DEVILLE staggers back, and MAYFIELD catches him and leans back into a HOT SHOT THROUGH THE COFFEE TABLE! Mayfield drags him out onto the deck of his room, and THROWS DEVILLE OVERBOARD!)

SB: WHAAT! MAN OVERBOARD! MAN OVERBOARD!

SB: EDDIE MAYFIELD HAS LOST HIS MIND! HE JUST THREW JJ DEVILLE OVER THE RAILING... NO! HE'S HANGING HIM! HE'S HANGING HIM BY THAT CORD, AND THE CROWD DRAGS MAYFIELD AWAY AND PULLS DEVILLE UP TO SAFETY! Deville is OUT, and Mayfield has lost his damned mind! Mayfield stomping around the room, smoke coming out of his ears, and the refs try to corner him, and NO! OH COME ON! MAYFIELD ATTACKS AGAIN! He scoops up Deville, and hooks in the COBRA CLUTCH! COBRA CLUTCH.. NO! FAHRENHEIT 451 RIGHT INTO THE FLOOR! Deville is in pain, and he's rolling around, pointing to his neck! He's hurt!

BB: That'll teach him not to play games with Eddie Mayfield!

SB: Eddie Mayfield HAS to be put in check... this is disgusting! We have to take a break, and we'll be right back!

(FADEOUT: As MAYFIELD grabs his Presidential title and jumps on the bed, screaming down on DEVILLE)

MAYFIELD: Game OVER, bitch!

(CUTTO: Thomas’ PCL Office: A luxury suite with the trappings of home. He sits at a conference table facing a 56-inch HD television set broadcasting the show.)

Two members of his legal staff sit beside him highlighting key paragraphs in stacks of papers.

“John, I know. I’m the freakin’ boss. I’ve run this promotion for years. I understand the clauses in contracts!”

“I’m not saying otherwise, sir. I’m doing my job. In case you’ve forgotten some of them are tied to the numbers of appearances---“

“You’re here to push me on my ass. Lovely. Look, I’m aware we’re endanger of losing half the roster because we haven’t used them in months. Believe me! But, NCN’s tied my hands. All they’d give me was a small number of sixty-minute dates!”

“I understand. And sympathize...”

“With who? ME? No, I’m not the one who ran this ship into the ground. It’s Merritt! I can’t get two hours of network programming or a guarantee of a bulk number of dates, because they’re afraid we’ll and I quote, ‘go on hiatus again’. I’m bent slap over Jonathon, and I’m trying my best here not to get screwed!”

The door to Thomas’ office bursts open. Troy Douglas, Evan Aho, Kevin Powers and Scotty Michaels aggressively walk in and surround Thomas and his team at the table.

“What the hell is this?”

“It’s an introduction,” Thomas’ legal half instructed. “Restrictions or not, sir, I’d suggest memorizing these faces.”

(CUTTO: Outside of Lindsay Troy’s cabin.)

Joey Melton raps his knuckles over the polished wood of cabin number 432, the suite his manager and fantasy lover Lindsay Troy regrettably has called home for the last week. Cruisin’ on the Parsons Cruise Liner II’s been anything but a vacation for Melton’s lovely. She’s the hardest working woman in the business; a holiday would extend Lindsay’s career by two years, but being entrapped by Joey for a second time in less than a year is a spiritual drain.

“Troy!” her executioner knocks once more; if his fist carried a tune it’d sing a psalm of desperation. “Lindsay you can’t ignore me forever. As much as you’d like to try...”

She’s regarded Melton no better than a flesh eating disease, an irritant that if treated will run it’s course but invariably leave a damaging mark. Lindsay sees Joey’s impression every time she self-checks in a mirror. On her shoulders, lies the weight of being the responsible adult of the couple. What’s the benefit of an older man daydream if he’s too inept to take care of himself, let alone pay for meals and be a continuing lesson in bed?

“Troy...”

Well, the latter’s most assuredly true, but how much sh*t would one woman wade through just to cut loose primal screams under designer silk sheets at night?

Joey pulls a credit card he lifted from Cameron a week ago and tries to jimmy the lock on Troy’s door.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?” asks a chambermaid in an incredibly tight uniform. The fabric’s hug to the woman’s form is familiar, as is the costume. Joey rarely forgets a good date. Never when she’s the best Halloween he’s ever had.

“Sam?”

The tall, leggy blonde, a woman made in the Melton factory located in South Central, warms, then practically throws herself at the champ’s feet.

“Jo Jo? Is that really you?”

“Yes my love.”

“I’ve dreamt of this moment, night and day, day and night, sea to shore....”

“Yeah, well, I’m here...”

He braces his left elbow high against the near wall, striking a pose that won him a year’s worth of work as a hand model before signing to join the CSWA.

Sam breathes all of the champion in, exhaling the salty smell of the Atlantic in exchange for the sexy, hungry scent of Joseph...

“You sonofa...” She slaps Melton’s face intensely, her demeanor hardening on a dime as Joey was. “You’ll call huh. ‘I’ll see you in six weeks...’”

Joey moves to block another swing, “They told me you changed your number. You moved out of country...help me out here...”

“They told me you were an ass, and they were right.”

“That works.”

Melton’s head drops. Is there ever one right thing to say in this situation? “Look b*itch, we screwed now it’s over. You’ve had eight years to move on with your life, and if you haven’t then it’s no fault of mine. Now, open this door and kill the drama.”



Melton breezed through the threshold and shut the door quietly behind him. The lighting inside the cabin was dim, soothing even. A laptop computer plugged into one of the electrical outlets softly wraps up "Ol' 55" by the Eagles before switching over to "Wasted Time".

Joey smirks at the irony as he glances over to the bed. Troy's suitcase lay wide open upon the comforter, it's contents beckoning to the Sexual All-American. Melton took two steps toward the jackpot, but the sound of running water caused him to whirl his head around.

Troy was in the shower.

The prospect of lacy undergarments was soon forgotten as Melton walked over to the bathroom door with a smile on his face.

“This is like a dream,” he disbelievingly confessed to his conscience unzipping his skin and stepping out from it. Immoral decisions are best made alone. “I know you’re in there. No, don’t come out. I’ve got something to say to you, and its’ just as well I can’t see your face. Otherwise it may never come out right.

His shoulders lift from the internal pressure of a deep, cleansing breath, and Joey searches for the courage to sincerely go where no man in the Melton family has gone before.

“I’m sorry. There! I’ve handed over my last shred of dignity, its yours, cherish it. Well, actually I think that left in Vegas when Cruise found me wearing one of Mercedes’ dresses. But...you’ve broken me, woman. You’ve broken me into a thousand pieces...and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put them back. I don’t want to be able to put them back because I’d rather be nothing and be at your side, than be Joey Melton and be alone. I’m in love with you. I, want to marry you.”

Joey paused, unsure if he tripped over the last five words. Didn’t seem like he stumbled, but he navigated over them so clearly. He’s offered to marry a hundred women before, but a finger was always crossed, or threat of nuclear holocaust high. The words threw themselves out of his mouth, and the man never choked. Surely, there was a flag on the play. Maybe the back lines’ judge saw something.

“I know I screwed that up in Nashville, I know...I screw everything up...but...that’s who I am baby. I’m an aging, penniless...f*ck-up.”

The All-American laughed cathartically. “This sell will eventually get better...”

Melton’s head lays itself on the door, weary from the wait of Troy’s emotional response that didn’t appear to be coming. “I have nothing more to say...if I could fly Rod in to perform privately for you tonight in this cabin, I would...but...I don’t see that happening. It’s just me. Hoping your trust in me isn’t too far gone...”

Gently, Joey recites, “PROUD of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
Not to partake thy passion, my humility.”
The water abruptly shuts off, and Melton hears movement from inside. The doorknob turns; Joey takes a step back…

“Joseph Curtis Melton, reciting Emily Dickinson? I think I might have to go check the temperature in hell…”

Ivy McGinnis stood in front of Joey with a towel wrapped around her body. Her hair hung damply, just slightly shoved out of her face, as she was still not used to the length. Her green eyes peered at Melton, somehow looking an even deeper green without glasses to hide them.

"Hell? Wha? No...this is...." Melton's body crumbled, like Obi-Wan's after giving himself to the force, "Nassau..."

“You’re not in Kansas anymore, Melton…”

Footsteps approached the door, and the sound of keys could be heard jingling.

“But from the looks of it, you’re going to be in big trouble…”

A key was inserted into the lock, but when turned the lock made no sound of disengagement. A “What the hell?” could be heard from the hallway, before the knob turned…

…and in walked Lindsay Troy, barefoot, wearing a purple and blue silk bathrobe.

She stared at Melton, then Ivy, then back to Melton as her eyes narrowed.

“Joey, what the HELL are you doing in my cabin?”

“Well, he provided me with a lovely Emily Dickinson poem and a proposal of marriage, but I’m pretty sure that they were both for you,” Ivy said with a snicker.

“Oh God…” Troy put her head in her hands and addressed Ivy. “I can’t leave for two minutes to tell maintenance to fix the water pressure in your cabin without disaster striking.”

Joey stared, mouth agape, at Troy’s attire. Just one knot undone and one swift tug at the bathrobe’s ties--in the twelve months he’s lived under Lindsay’s roof, Melton’s never seen her so, vulnerable. Every move of their relationship has been over calculated, a Troy safeguard for being colored prey: Joey’s “She Doesn’t Really Want To Know” number served. But, the only one that’s ever matters. If she ever truly believed that line, the time is now past. Lindsay’s seen Melton for what he is, what he’s always been, and what he invariably will be until death.

A hopeless romantic.

“Lindsay...”

“Out Joey. No more games! Leave.”

Ivy smiles, as Troy pulls her to the bathroom. “Don’t you know it’s bad luck to see the bride before...”

“Oh Gawd...Ivy...”

Joey blinked a few times--was this really happening?—before turning towards the door. No sooner had he turned the knob to leave, that Troy’s sweet southern voice called him back.

“Joey…”

Melton looked at her with pleading blue eyes.

“I…I’ll meet you by the curtain.”

(CUTTO: Outside of Troy’s Cabin door. Melton’s mentally exhausted. He’s seen Girls Go Wild, he’s seen mothers and daughters share a singular, filthy mind, but nothing in Joey’s sexual past prepared him for Poison Ivy, wet, half-naked and...wet and half-naked.)

He falls back, braced by Troy’s door and sinks into an orgasmic depression. A state of mind equipped with warnings and medications for survival, but in Melton’s special place no one shaves their wrists with a fine razor, or loses the ability to have erections until age seventy.

“Melton!” “The King Of Extreme” Eli Flair bellows from down the hallway. “Just the man I wanted to see.” Flair saddles up next to Joey, taping his wrists as he talks. “You okay kiddo?”

“I,” his eyes glaze over, Eli could force Melton over with a feather. “Was...just...in....heaven.”

“MmmHmm.” Flair stood in front of Joey, breaking his vision into a satisfying daydream. “Thomas wants me in the Main for Adler. You in?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever man...”

Eli follows Joey’s eyes through him, trying to find what the All-American sees, but leaves the hunt a second later; walking off to prepare for the newly signed Main Event.

BB: Sammy our lovely PA Ricardo has just handed me a note-- Thomas has declared the PCL will not dock again for a full year. And I quote, “They’re captives. They’re mine. And they shall do my bidding from here on out.”

SB: Are you (censor) me?

BB: (laughs) Yes, but admit it, its not that unthinkable.

SB: I was about to ask for a change of underwear. No it’s doable. Thomas has survived a plane wreck, and a number of years alone on a deserted island with a midget. Really, you could tell me he’s cloned a human embryo, and/or created nuclear fusion and I’d believe it. I know the morons at home watching this are thinking—well they’re thinking two things. One, if I disappeared tomorrow would anyone notice, and two, why is being an involuntarily roommate with a dwarf a milestone? And the short answer is: long exposure to midgets will ruin your career or drive you to an early grave.

BB: I doubt that.

SB: Oh? Who from Wizard Of Oz worked steadily afterwards?

BB: Judy Garland!

SB: Judy Garland should have died ten years before she did, but God blessed with a liver that rivals only mine and Keith Richards’.

BB: That’s really winning the genetic lottery, huh.

SB: Don’t you know it. And look at us Buckley...hostages on a runaway Cruise Ship. I don’t even think we’re on TV anymore. I haven’t noticed a Red light over a camera for five years. Admittedly, I freely abuse prescription medication, but perhaps it’s more reasonable to argue someone did the wise thing when (censor) tried to kill Tallman on national TV, and created our equivalent of a fake Salem. One of those damn Dimearo siblings went the extra mile and created a replica CSWA Auditorium, etc, etc.

BB: Sammy...that’s enough.

SB: Why! You’re just afraid of the truth. That behind that door over there is miles and miles of uncharted island jungle.

BB: And speaking of Miles...

SB: Seamless Buckley, seamless...

BB: Thanks. He’s seconds away from facing the rightful World Champion, Dan Ryan!

SB: Rightful? Back to thinking we’re an honest promotion are we? Whatever keeps the light on for ya, but here’s the hard, cold truth Buckley...

BB: ...

SB: I WANT OFF THIS DAMN ISLAND! (Shakes Buckley) WHAT’S WRONG WITH YOU MAN? CAN’T YOU SEE?

(The lights go black!)

SB: MARRRRRRRVINNNNNNNNNN!

(All of a sudden a loud, shrilling, venomous spitfire of guitar feedback reverberates everywhere, that's right folks its Radio Friendly Unit Shifter - Nirvana and none other than 'COCKY' CRAIG MILES is walking out with an expressionless face, silver sunglasses, no shirt, no shoes, and an old 'Antichrist' JIM WILLIAMS t-shirt. Miles isn't fazed by the boos, the erupting flames, or swirling lights -instead he runs down to the ring and slides in.)

BB: “Cocky” Craig leaving the Hornet gear in his cabin this week...

SB: It’s on Ebay as we speak. If not it should be. If a kid can sell his virginity online, might as well chuck CSWA wardrobe up as well.

BB: For once leave Billy alone.

SB: It was a weak moment, I know. It’s okay Buckley. (pat) It’s okay.

(Cue up: "Zero" by Smashing Pumpkins.)

(Thunderous crowd pop as 'Ego Buster' Dan Ryan steps out on the stage in all black, lights reflecting off of dark sunglasses.)

(CUT TO: 'Ego Buster' flashes across the screen in rapid contrasting black and white.)
(CUT TO: Dan Ryan gorilla pressing Kevin Powers from inside the ring to the floor below.)
(CUT TO: The word "YOU" flashes on the screen.)
(CUT TO: Dan Ryan throws 'Living Legend' Mark Windham from the second level of Key Arena down to the first level.)
(CUT TO: the word "ARE".)
(CUT TO: Dan Ryan clotheslines 'Cocky' Craig Miles, nearly taking his head off.)
(CUT TO: the word "BUSTED")
(CUT TO: rapid shots of Dan Ryan pulverizing opponents with the Humility Bomb, a last ride powerbomb landing high angle on the neck.)

(Ryan walks down to ringside, his eyes fixed on Miles as pyro erupts along the ramp beside him. He rolls under the bottom rope and climbs a corner turnbuckle and simply glares through the sunglasses into the crowd.)

BB: The fans in the ballroom showing Ryan their appreciation for a wonderful title reign that should’ve never been stopped.

SB: Wonderful title reign? The man defended the belt about as much as your wife wants sex.

BB: Actually I think Dan’s reign was more productive.

SB: You sad sad man.

(SFX: RING!)

BB: This one is underway. Patrick Young finishes checking Miles’ boots and signals for the action to begin! Who knows what we can expect from this one...

(Miles calmly lights a New Port in the middle of the ring while Ryan impatiently waits.)

BB: Miles is a different wrestler than what CSWA fans can remember last seeing...

SB: That’s right, he’s Alexander The Great! Conquering 90% of the known world! And an open homosexual.

BB: The match five second old, but neither man looking to be offensive. (Craig puffs a smoke ring into Ryan’s face and grins. Somepeople study law, or paint. Miles’ trade is controlling the form cancer takes out of his mouth) Ryan just leveled Miles! Slapping the fag from Craig’s lips!

SB: Crap Buckley...

(Miles still reeling reaches automatically for a fresh stick.)

BB: Ryan rocks Miles with a right hand! One more! Discus punch and Craig goes down!!

(Miles hits the mat and grimaces; still fishing for his meds.)

BB: Dan Ryan kicking the life right out of Craig Miles! (Fans stand and cheer)

SB: He wasn’t on the boat last week, shouldn’t he be fired? Either that or he’s passed a makeup drug test. But who’ll believe that?

(Ryan reaches and forcibly picks Miles off the mat and props him up, Miles cigarette barely hanging flashes the sly smile that’s won legions over to his side of the fence.)

BB: Ryan BENCH PRESS SLAM! Listen to this place!!

SB: Yes! They’re all screaming, “FAKE SALEM FAKE SALEM.”

BB: Off the ropes, flying clothesline! The former World Tag Team Champion is in early trouble! Dan forgoing an early pin...which is smart. Craig’s rocked, but I don’t think he could have him yet.

SB: As long as you don’t think! We’re all safe.

(Ryan executes a belly-to-belly suplex)

BB: Belly-to-Belly! Dan Ryan, the beast from Houston, Texas hoisting Craig Miles over his head....presses him...once....twice....ttttttthhhreeee times! POWERSLAM!

(Patrick Young falls into position; Ryan shakes his head as if to say, “He had no chance....not tonight..”)

BB: One........two..............t-no! Left shoulder up!

SB: We’ve seen this before from Craig Miles. He likes to wear opponents down by using his body! Don’t worry he’ll come around.

(Buckley shoots Benson a look.)

SB: Eh...I haven’t a clue. One minute this guy’s on an aging tag team in the mid-90s and now he’s a 27 year-old. He could pull a rabbit out of his ass next and it wouldn’t surprise me.

BB: Ryan pushing a weary Miles into a corner...throwing his hips into Craig’s guts! He was gasping for air before...still not finding it..

SB: Gasping? He was trying to tell us something...”There is another Skywalker?” Is that it Craig?

BB: Hip toss out of the corner! Ryan going to the top rope! This could be over in under four minutes!

SB: This thing is four minutes old? Man....where’s my life going...

(Ryan perched on the top rope, preparing to drop an elbow as the fans are on their feet egging him on. It’s what they came for. Seeing Miles’ chest caved in by Dan’s elbow would make up for Thomas zooming by ports teasingly, yelling on the PA System “Mine all mine.”)

BB: Dan OFF THE TOP! NO! Craig with a foot up but Ryan caught it!! Landing on his feet! FIGURE FOUR--- (as Dan spins around hooking the leg Miles grabs him by the hair and pulls his face closer to his own...throwing a weak fireball in his face) RYAN RETREATS in a hurry! I didn’t quite happened Sammy...but Craig countered somehow.

SB: It was magic Buckley. The man’s a wizard. He made our careers disappear yesterday in the parking lot. Oh wait.

BB: ‘COCKY’LINE and the former World Champion goes over the top rope, spilling over to the cement floor! Seconds from closing the book on this match, and the rug’s swept up from under Ryan.

(Miles leans against the ropes, finally lighting a new cig with a look of disbelief. But some things are worth the wait.)

BB: Miles carefully climbing through the ropes...Young needs to stop this Sammy before---

SB: Before what? Someone gets hurt? I think we’re past that point don’t you? Let’em go. Two man enter one man leave. That’s what I say.

(Craig leaps off the apron driving his right knee into Dan’s back.)

SB: That and we should heavily tax people in America who don’t vote.

BB: Brilliant. Craig whips a battered Ryan into the ring steps! (SFX: CRASH!) That was brutal! Dan’s gotta find his bearings here quick but it gets away from him.

(Miles sarcastically toys with some fans in the front row before setting up Ryan.)

BB: MILES BENCH PRESS SLAM!! (Ryan’s dropped on the apron) Barely getting him up, but he made it!

SB: That looked like Stan trying to do free weights after his stroke this year. Haha.

BB: (Miles lays the ring steps on it’s side) SIDE-RUSSIAN LEG SWEEP OVER THE STEPS! The former World Champ’s had some wars over the last year, and Miles is set to entice him into another!

(Craig rolls Ryan back in the ring after Young’s causal warnings.)

SB: That’s it Patrick take control of this match. Get’em boy, get’em!

BB: Miles hanging over a stunned Ryan, DDT! He planted that one firmly in the mat...Young counts...ONE...TWO...RYAN’S UP! A smile from Craig’s face, I think he almost regretted going for the pin there.

SB: And why not...the fun’s just starting.

BB: The Cocky one bounces Dan off the ropes and across the ring, side-backbreak, NO—RYAN’S up! Clothesline!

(The blast rocked Miles hard, but akin to a boxer laughing off a blow to mask the he’s been rocked, Craig jumps at Jedi Speed back to his feet where Ryan lets him taste a jab.)

BB: Ryan JAB! JAB! JAB!

SB: I sure hope you’re saying JAB and not JAP.

BB: Miles blocks, a JAP—DAMN YOU SAMMY!

SB: Jap by Miles! Jap by Miles! Jap by Ryan!

BB: STOP IT! Miles plants a knee into Ryan’s gut but Dan returns the favor! SIT-OUT POWERBOMB BY RYAN!! From out of nowhere!

(Fans stand in approval.)

BB: He’s headed back to the top...

SB: Every big man wants to fly...and every midget wants to win a dick swinging contest.

BB: Oh geez.

SB: What?! Huh? What?

BB: Miles staggers...but dives for the ropes and Ryan’s off balanced on the top rope...he’s rocked... (Miles shakes the top rope, and Ryan finally falls...racking himself.)

SB: He won’t be pleasuring any rats tonight...actually I imagine a man his size just shakes something like that off in an hour or so. If it were you or me Buckley we’d have to be frozen in carbonate to get the ball swelling down.

BB: Thanks for the visual...Miles drives a left hook into Ryan’s skull...before climbing the ropes. Hooks the arm over his head...SUPERPLEX----Ryan blocks. Miles tries again...Ryan blocks and lifts.... Sammy watch out!!

(Buckley and Benson scurry as Ryan throws Miles over his head, sending Craig back first onto the broadcast table breaking it into pieces.)

(Fans roar to life.)

BB: Sammy you okay?!

(Miles stirs slowly.)

(CLOSE-UP: Benson straddling the security railing unable to fall either way...headset crooked. Look of utter fear on his face.)

(Fans chant: “Sammy!” “Sammy!”)

(Benson falls off into the crowd.)

BB: Sammy!!

(Ryan rushes over, picking up Miles and suplexing him onto the floor.)

BB: Sammy!

SB: No R2...we’re not regrouping with the others. We’re going to Fake Salem...where the camp counselor who instructed Schmid will instruct me.

(Ryan sends Miles into the ringsteps.)

SFX: CRASH!

BB: Fans bear with us...we’re trying to check Benson for a pulse.

(Ryan tries to dropkick Miles against the steps but Craig moves.)

SB: Buckley!

BB: Yeah...

SB: Buckley!

(Ryan approaches Miles...Craig pokes him in the eye then nut shots him.)

BB: Yeah!

SB: Buckley!

(DDT on the floor.)

BB: YEAH!

SB: BUCKLEY!

(Miles picks up Ryan’s head and rams it into the floor repeatedly.)

BB: YEAH!

(Craig whips Ryan into the security railing. Grabs him as he shoots off and whips him into apron...grabs him as he shoots off and whips him back into the railing.)

SB: I’m okay.

(Cockyline and Ryan goes over the railing!)

BB: Get up off the floor then!

SB: I don’t think I can...my back’s out. I can call it from here. Yeah!...it’s good. Ricardo fetch me a monitor.

BB: Miles drops Ryan over the railing! This one has got vicious...we knew it would. Ryan busted wide-open...and Miles has a small open cut over his left eye as well!

(CLOSE-UP: Ricardo holding a monitor down to Sammy who’s flat on his back just over the railing, lying at the feet of the first row of fans.)

SB: Yeah...that’s blood alright.

BB: Miles...running with Ryan’s head in his hands....

(Craig runs about ten-feet with Ryan and aims to throw him into the iron post, but Ryan’s able to power him into the post!)

SFX: THUD!

(Fans pop)

BB: Ryan forces Miles into solid iron! (Miles on his feet, rocked, reeling, wondering if this is all just a Geikco commercial) DROPKICK!

(Ryan muscle poses for the crowd.)

(CUTTO: Buckley standing beside Benson with a “Damn the CSWA is back look on his face.”)

(CUTTO: Patrick Young doing the robot in the ring.)

SB: Oh...geez...that’s the most hideous thing I’ve seen in a CSWA ring. And I’ve seen poopin’ and I’ve seen rain.

(Snap suplex outside)

BB: That’s impressive.

SB: It really is. Even flat on my back the humor’s endless. Which is really where most of yours begins.

BB: Ryan pushing Miles back in the squared circle...chair in hand. And this one is out of hand...

SB: Badddddddddd Buckley. Badddd.

BB: Shut up you toad.

SB: Ow.

BB: Young’s let this one go a little too far...CHAIR SHOT over Miles’ back! We know which way Patrick’s voting this year...

SB: Sweet mother of all that’s good and pure.

(Ryan goes for a brainbuster on the chair, but Miles flips over and drops Ryan over the chair with a SWINGING NECKBREAKER!)

(Count: 2)

BB: So close! Young...he’s gotta have orders from Thomas to let this one go. It was Thomas who wanted Ryan in this match...

SB: Buckley this fat hog in front of me’s wearing a skirt. Buckley I can see......Buckley (crying) I can see Metropolis.

BB: Now Miles working Ryan over!

(SFX – Rhubarb Jones: “Two minutes. Two minutes remain”.)

BB: “Cocky” Craig...Washington native...is about to erupt with a piledriver...on that steel chair!

(Miles piledrives Ryan, but Dan breaks the fall with his hands, never fully going down. He pops up, Miles’ legs under his arms, and catapults him into a Stun Gun over the ropes.)

BB: What a move! Miles won’t go down however...Ryan MONSTER FOREARM SHIVER! ANOTHER! ANOTHER! (Miles rocks back, out against the ropes.)

SB: Ricardo get me out of here right now!

BB: Ryan catches him on the rebound, airplane spin into a JUMPING DDT!

(Fans roar.)

(Ryan carries Miles to the corner...and climbs to the top rope, pulling Craig with him.)

BB: Listen to these imprisoned fans! Dan Ryan going for a TR Powerbomb!!

(Ryan pulls him up...but Miles flips out..)

BB: Miles is out! Craig forearm shiver on Ryan! Jumps to the middle rope, DDT...no!!! no!! ROCK BOTTOM! ROCK BOTTOM from Ryan on that steel chair! Good grief Craig’s hurt!

(CLOSE-UP: Ryan’s bloodied face as he springboards off the middle-rope...)

BB: SPRINGBOARD LEGDROP! Ryan covers! (fans go wild.)

(Young balks at first...then covers.)

BB: ONE.........TWO...............THREE!!!!

(There’s not a soul still sitting in the ballroom.)

SFX – Rhubarb: “The Winner the match by pinfall “The Ego Buster” Dannnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn Ryannnnnnnnnnnnn!”

BB: Dan Ryan has just beaten Craig Miles...fans we’ll be right back in this special sixty-minute edition of PRIMETIME! Don’t go anywhere!

SB: We’re not...

BB: What a match...

(FTB)

(CUE-UP: "Ain't Goin' Down" - Garth Brooks.)

(Shane Southern emerges from the back dressed in the typical getup: Jeans, cowboy-boots, Party's Over t-shirt. But this time, Southern's added one addition piece to his ensemble, a dented metal folding chair. Southern raises the chair to eye level, gazes at if for a moment, then drops it with a thud to the floor. Not bothering to acknowledge the tremendous reception he's getting, he power walks down to the ring, climbs in, and is tossed a mic.)

SOUTHERN: Time after time ... match after match ... I PROOVE to you (points to the fans), n' I PROOVE to the boys in tha' back ... that I AM tha' best pure WRESTLER in the world today. Yet TIME after TIME, MATCH after MATCH ... guys like EDDDDDDDIE Mayfield escape with DQ or count out finishes ... then stand in front of tha' WORLD n' claim
THEY'RE tha' biggest news story since Thomas came back ta' life for tha' second or third time.

When in reality, they're nuthin'. Alotta' people 'round here are good at runnin' their mouth, then backin' it up with (BLEEP). Mayfield...you wanna' prove yer ah' real "HOT Property" ... prove it NEXT WEEK. Step inta' tha' ring with me AH'GAIN n' just for (BLEEP)'s n' grins ... let's make it NO DQ, NO COUNTOUT this time. Let's see just who TRULY is better...n' who TRULY deserves that shot at tha' title.

N' yeah ... I KNOW Dan Ryan was screwed, n' yeah, I KNOW alotta' people 'round here think HE deserves tha' title shot ... well, I don't giva (BLEEP) ah'bout what anybody else thinks, I don't givva' (BLEEP) ah'bout DANNY RYAN. Ryan got screwed. Anybody surprised? A top tier superstar gets screwed over by management to tha' advantage of an "established" talent. Have you people EVER see than in tha' CSWA before? (thumbs his chest) All Dan Ryan has ta' cry ah'bout is tha' fact that they didn't LET his title reign last justa' LITTLE bit longer...n' take solice in tha' face that at least they let him HAVE tha' belt for ah' little while. Now ... he goes back down in tha' pack with tha' rest of us .... outsiders ... n' TRIES ta' get back up
to tha' top ah'gain.

But it's a vicious circle here in tha' CSWA. You gotta' just be gluten for punishment, 'cause no matter how hard you work, no matter how good ya' are ... there's always some 40 year old "veteran" with an "owner" in his back-pocket waitin' ta' take it from you.

Well ya' know what CSWA ... (BLEEP) you. I don't CARE ah'bout JOEY MELTON, I don't CARE ah'bout STEPHEN THOMAS ... makes NO difference ta' me WHO tha' champ is ... or HOW he got there, EYE am gonna' be tha' guy ta' right tha' ship....n' if I gotta' dent ah' few skulls, break a few noses, bust a few knees, backs, arms, n' elbows ta' do it
... then you can mark it down in yer day planner ... it'll happen. N' it won't just happen ta' EDDIE MAYFIELD. From Hornet ta' Miles ... from Melton ta' Cruise ... from TOP ta' BOTTOM, it's time ta' clean a little HOUSE ... Shane Southern style.

NOBODY is safe ... NOBODY is immune ... from tha' damage that's comin'. (smiles) N' I can't (BLEEP)in' wait.

Party's Over.

(Southern drops the mic as "Ain't Goin' Down" cues back up. Southern walks out again, stone faced and focused)

(CUTTO: Bill Buckley and Sammy Benson sit in the front row of seats behind the wreckage that once was their broadcast table, surrounded by rabid fans. Literally, they’re rabid. It’s been a long cruise. Some of them won’t make it home.)

BB: Welcome back fans...

SB: We hope you weren’t put off by the ten-minute commercial break. I’ve been here for low before, but Thomas is digging too fast.

BB: Stop it. Sammy, good to have you upright.

SB: Believe me, I’m glad to be out of the bushes so to speak and back in the clear.

BB: What?

SB: I dunno, Buckley I’m just winging it at this point. Sixteen years in. I’m old and feeble is that what you want to hear?

BB: Believe it or not, yes. A couple fans were gracious enough to give up their seats for us, and for the first time in our history together Sammy...we’ll be calling a Main Event amongst the people!

SB: As I said, I’ve been here for low...but... and don’t lie to the American public Buckley. You called security and had a honeymooning couple forcibly removed just so you could be comfortable calling this match.

BB: Okay. And?

SB: Not sure where to go from here.

BB: Right then.


"Is everybody in?"

SB: You say something Buckley?

"...is everybody in?"

The lights come down, as the fans cheer, anticipating the Main Event.

"...the ceremony is about to begin..."

Eli Flair and Poison Ivy take a confident stride together onto the rampaway: the best of friends and one soul. Ivy turns her face into Eli, as a jet of pyro lifts like a flare, and subtly grins at Flair. As Emily Bronte wrote, “They fear nothing; together they would brave Satan and all his legions.”

WAKE UP!

(Cue-up: "Break On Thru" by the Doors.)

(Eli and Ivy jog down the aisle, ignoring the outstretched hands from the security railings, but open enough in their emotions to reel their fans in on the moment. Back home. Again.)

BB: Eli Flair and Poison Ivy, a sight for sore eyes!

SB: You said it...Ivy....Ivy....Ivy...

BB: Sammy what are you doing?

SB: I’m channeling my happy place...I just have to click my heels ONE more time.

(Flair sits on the middle rope, game face frozen on, and Ivy fulfills the gesture climbing through the opened ropes. Not to be out done, she returns the favor. The fans, already risen, shower the pair once more with affection as Flair shakes his head. She has to have the last word, always. God love her.)

SB: What’s the all time record Buckley, for most consecutive PCL tours?

BB: How should I know??

SB: Bill...

BB: Hornet with ten, followed closely by Eli and Ivy with eight.

SB: NERD ALERT!

(CUE-UP: “I Need A Hero” – Bonnie Tyler.)

Joey Melton, in a black sequin robe--the majority of diamonds forked off and sold for petty cash, steps into the atmosphere; Lindsay Troy regrettably by his side. Five years ago his entrances legally blinded a 3rd in attendance, the trademark CSWA laser shows reflecting off the indulgence of “pretties” as Melton likes to call Diamonds, and tearing though innocent retinas.

The World Title belt’s snapped on like a belt should be. Joey twirls (yes men his age twirl) once as the crowd gives a mixed reaction. The boos still thankful they’re here to see Joey put his Cruise unbeaten streak on the line. Joey starts to walk, but halts, disgusted that his manager Lindsay Troy didn’t spin in unison with him. They’re a team. Ebony and Ivory. Michael Jackson and the neighborhood kids. Weezie and George. House guest and benefactor. She should twirl too.

Troy feeds Melton the cold shoulder and begins the walk to ringside without him.

She gives no real thought to holding the ropes. Melton’s his own man; let him take the ring stairs, which he does. A butterfly gracefully lands on the turnbuckle nearest Melton. He closes a door on the madness surrounding him and stares at the simple beauty of his winged friend.

As Ref Ben Worthington checks Melton’s tights (more of a cheap thrill for Ben than a legality) Joey remarks to the veteran ref, “Was I then a man dreaming I was butterfly? Or am I now a butterfly dreaming I am a man?")


BB: Just received word this match is non-title! Thomas has taken the belt off the line here in the main event!

SB: Just received word from who? The jackass two rows behind me asking who my daddy is? If he’s making authoritative calls around here, I’m through.

BB: Worthington calls for the bell...

SFX: DING! (we spare no expense)

BB: The Main Event is underway! TV time remaining! Melton and Flair lock up in the center of the ring!

SB: Ten minutes, ten minutes remain!

BB: Melton kicks Flair’s left knee and takes advantage of Eli’s reaction to get a side-headlock! Joey, closing those arms in tight...

SB: What you’re going to see in the match Buckley on Flair’s end is a lot of grunting and plunderin’, from Melton...look for a score of nut shots and hair pulling. But he may end it right here with that headlock!

BB: Eli BACKDROP with one hand! Melton was close Sammy, I thought Flair would give any second there. The two men are up, but waiting! Melton and Flair in an old-fashioned staredown!

SB: Why not? We’ve seen the Presidential title decided in a video game challenge already tonight. Why not put the World belt up for grabs in a staring contest! I wouldn’t put it past Thomas.

BB: Melton off the ropes and buries a shoulder into Flair’s chest, but Eli’s not moving! Look at Melton he’s shocked!

SB: I love the man, but it’s sad to see the great ones fall. He used to be able to move mountains, now he can’t get an 8th grade dropout from Jersey off his feet!

BB: Joey off the ropes, DROP TOE HOLD from Eli! Eli quickly off the mat, KNEE INTO MELTON’S KIDNEY!

SB: I swear if he makes a future Hall Of Famer pee his pants in the middle of the ring I’ll personally hunt for a bigger man to take down Flair.

BB: Flair buries that knee one more time!! Now, a cross-face chicken wing!

SB: GUNS latest finisher, after he retired “Just out drugging everyone else.”

BB: Wow, a GUNS reference.

SB: By contract every show has to have one.

BB: Joey...struggling and finally reaches the ropes! Worthington calls for the break!

SB: Flair’s not loosening his grip...someone needs to tell Ben he has to sound out the words for that big oaf.

BB: Joey takes a powder outside! Not the way he wanted to begin!

SB: Cherish these times fans, five years ago that was the type of information you’d be paying to get off a hotline.

(Melton in the face of a fan, buying time.)

(Eli jumps outside, grabs Joey’s right arm and spins him around.)

BB: Eli swings at Joey but Worthington gets in the way! He wants the action back in the ring!

SB: Melton gouges the eyes! Perfectly timed Ben!

BB: Knife edge chop! That wasn’t planned Sammy...Ben just...

SB: Oh yeah right, and major sporting events aren’t fixed!

(Joey rips Eli’s shirt open and moves him against the guard rail.)

BB: CHOP!

SB: Wheee!

BB: Chop! (Eli looks bored.) Chop! Flair’s shaking his head...EYE GOUGE FROM ELI! Eli spins Melton against the railing...

(Flair fires two-hook combination to Melton’s ribs, then peppers his forehead with lumbering shots.)

BB: Flair has the Champ troubled! He shoots Melton back under the ropes, both men up, Eli sends Joey off the ropes, BOOT TO FACE!

SB: They should have outlawed that move back in the 70’s with the piledriver!

BB: Eli, madly cheered on by these great fans, many of whom I’ve gotten to know quite well over the last week, what with living together with them an all. Sharing buffets, swimming...

SB: BUCKLEY!

BB: GUT-WRENCH SUPLEX! Flair covers, ONE.....T---MELTON shoulders up! From his feet...Eli drops a closed right fist over Melton’s head!

SB: CLOSED FIST! CLOSED FIST! Oh, Worthington stops the dropout from swinging outside the ring, but he’s got carte blanche inside it!

BB: These fans around us seem to love it!

(CUTTO: Benson and Buckley sitting amongst the people. Buckley hasn’t enjoyed his job this much in years. Benson’s ready to leave for hell.)

BB: Joey’s helped to his feet by Ivy’s charge, BACKBREAKER! Joey cracked in two over Eli’s thigh!

SB: Actually this may be good for his golf game. Melton’s had a nasty slice for most of the year.

BB: DOUBLE CHICKENWING---NO!! Mule kick! Joey caves in Eli’s right knee...then clubbers his kneeling opponent with a knee to his head!

SB: I kneed a drink.

BB: Wow.

SB: I know.

BB: Joey boot to the face! Returns the favor there. Bounces off the ropes, modified BULLDOG!

SB: Trading boots with Flair won’t work. The man’s enormous. Now if the pants come off....

BB: Stop! Joey yanks Eli’s left leg! Snapping it like a wet towel! Melton drops his body weight over Flair’s knee! Softening the challenger up for the Figure Four, we’ve seen Melton long enough to know that.

SB: I was just thinking Joey won the World Title after an incredibly long drought. Eli, it’s been what...five years since Flair’s been the World Champion?

(Single-leg lock from Melton.)

BB: Oh stop. He didn’t win anything...

SB: I could have sworn he beat Deacon for the title. Maybe those were my drunk years.

BB: Right, you’re clean as a whistle now. The Champ putting pressure on the left leg of the King Of Extreme! Eli trying to pull Joey off, but Melton leans in and pops him with an elbow! Flair’s nose popped like a champagne cork! Liberally bleeding...

SB: A little too early to celebrate from Flair. He’s the one in a comprising position, but the bubbly starts now? Nice.

BB: Melton stands, both of Eli’s legs in his hands...don’t do it Joey! Don’t!

SB: Work those big balls over! That’s it Melton! The neckbone’s connected to the...dammit...I was trying to make a point.

BB: MELTON GOOD GRIEF...LEG DROP over Eli’s crotch...that’s uncalled for.

(Crowd groans)

SB: Why? If Flair can use a closed fist, Melton can work the nuts. Seems fair to me.

BB: Melton...dragging the body to a corner...as long as Eli’s on his back, Joey has the clear advantage...Melton outside....OH! He wrapped that left leg around the iron post!

SB: I’ve said for years we should make the posts Jelly. Nobody ever listens...

BB: Thankfully not. Joey cracks that leg against the post once more!! (Crowd rises, sensing what’s to come.) The Melton Playlist! FIGURE FOUR AROUND THE POST!

SB: That’s it Joey! Sink it in! Reach back! Dig a hole to China for extra leverage! Wheee!

BB: Eli in serious pain! He’s trying to fight it, to forcibly unhook Melton’s legs, but it’s tough sledding!

(SFX: Crack!)

BB: Oh! Poison Ivy stuck Melton hard with a Singapore Cane! (Joey breaks the hold) It’s an illegal move, if Worthington wasn’t going to step in, Ivy had to!

SB: Don’t justify cheating! That’s why this country’s test scores are so low, because men in respectable positions get giddy over a set of well-made breasts and turn lenient. If I’m elected...

BB: Sammy! (SB: Sorry...) Joey’s ticked off, and he’s stalking down Ivy! Ivy and Melton toe-to-toe....JOEY REACHES BACK TO HIT IVY...

SB: YES! YES!

BB: (Crowd pop) Lindsay Troy blocks Melton from behind! Joey’s furious! Now he and TROY are face-to-face!

SB: Two women with a hint of physical violence...Melton’s in heaven.

BB: Ivy whips Joey around...both women daring him to make a move, intimidating Joey! ELI OFF THE APRON WITH CLOTHESLINE!

(Huge pop)

BB: Landed on one leg...with as many wars as he’s been in, how much more damage can anyone really do to his body? Flair...suplex!

SB: Ivy and Troy at ringside together...Joey’s a beat off all match. You heard it here first, another Benson Degree...only one set of fake breasts in a match at all times.

BB: Then Joey would have to leave!

SB: That’s just a nasty rumor, Buckley.

BB: Eli climbs through the ropes, and Ivy and Troy shove Joey back in! Melton up, FLAIR CLOTHESLINE---MELTON OVER THE TOP ROPE!

(Joey’s over, but hanging on to the top rope. His feet dangling over the floor, as he tries to power back up. Ivy and Troy look at each other and then reach for Joey’s legs, but Melton pulls them up, then uses his feet to clunk their heads together.)

(Melton flips back in the ring.)

SB: Genius! Genius I say!

BB: Melton’s back in...and all too proud of it. (Joey’s backstrutting in the ring.) He meets Eli, forearm to Melton’s gut! Joey’s rocked...FALLEN ONE!!

SB: FANS WE’RE OUT OF TIME, SEE YA NEXT---

BB: ONE..........TWO.............THREE!!!! Eli Flair has defeated the World Heavyweight Champion clean in the middle of the ring!

SB: No!!

(Worthington raises Flair’s hands as the fans go wild.)

BB: Eli skips out, big hug for Ivy! He’s just beaten the World Champion! Melton’s beside himself!

(CUTTO: Joey kicking the ropes, threatening to harm the ref.)

(CUTTO: Lindsay Troy walking back up the rampway with Eli and Poison Ivy.)

(CUTTO: Buckley and Benson)

SB: (to himself) Non-title Sammy, non-title. Relax.

BB: What a night! The return of Eli Flair! Adler walks out, Dan Ryan with a big win...and Melton...the (cough) World Champion disgraced again!

SB: Disgraced?! Shut your mouth Buckley! It’s all Troy’s fault. She was nothing in this business before---

BB: Fans, this time we are out of time! Tune in next week...and check the website for updates! For Sammy Benson, and Rudy Seizter, I’m Bill Buckley...saying until next time!

SB: Get these morons out of my ear. Power to the people...DEATH TO YOU ALL!

(FTB)

(CUTTO: A corridor in the PCL II. Dan Ryan gingerly walks down the hallway with a CSWA Trainer.)

"It's a scratch,” Ryan bemoaned, the slight hitch to his steps a dramatic carryover from the match. Miles tenderized the Texan’s overworked joints with a sincerity he didn’t foresee his opponent possessing. If he worked less, Dan would’ve said “no” with more authority, but he’s arguably the biggest name in professional wrestling. He doesn’t live for fortune or glory, but it’s sure as hell nice. The question Ryan’s asked himself the last two years is, ‘Is the price worth paying?’ That he’s indulging the effects of a mini-war for any wandering fans’ benefit says volumes. “If I didn't have one after a show I wouldn't be able to sleep."

"I see,” the trainer playfully shot back, “You work 300 nights a year to master insomnia."

"Now, he's gettin' it."

"Humor me Ryan,” their walk was slowing, “I feel like I'm stealing money as it is. Free cruise, bunch of athletes who'd rather work with a limb begging to fall off than be in my graces."

"Let me put your mind at ease, Doc. You are cheatin' the company."

Edward Niles, a relative new CS employee smiles. “Thanks."

Niles directs Ryan into a training room on their right. The former World Heavyweight Champion opens the door and reaches inside the darkness for the light switch. Good thing Thomas paid the power bill.

“Watch this, magic...”

As the blackness immediately lifts, Ryan’s shot in the face with a mouthful of green mist.

“Sh*t---“

Timmy Windham dives at the big man’s feet, taking his physical superior to the mat instantly. Ryan, blinded, sweeps the immediate area furiously with his hands.

“Hey, what’s going on?”

Mickey Benedict, stepping from behind the opened door, cracks Niles over the head with a 2x4 effectively shutting the man up, then quiets Ryan’s rebuttal with a series of swift shots to the back of Dan’s neck.

Timmy, blood gushing from a spot on his neck where Dan inflicted damage, ties Ryan’s feet securely with a piece of rope then angrily leaps to his feet and kicks freely.

Ryan stirs, sweeping for his attackers, but he’s blind and beaten. Windham relishing the odds; drives Ryan’s head into the floor, reopening the wound Miles created.

“Hold’em, son.”

“The Muppet Kid” grabs Ryan’s arms and falls to the floor in front of him, stretching Dan’s body, exposing his back to the unguarded whips of Benedict’s leather belt that viciously follow.

Dan grimaces, but the lights are dimming. If he could get to his feet, they’d never find the bodies. But as the leather eats into skin, what’s left on the menu, the modern-day warrior knows he’ll have to take.

“Get this piece of crap up,” Benedict instructs, the life bleeding back into his eyes. It’s the day-to-day activities that have crippled Mickey, molded him into a useless old man, but when his hatred has an outlet he feels young again.

“That’s a good boy...”

Timmy hooks Ryan’s arms behind his back, and brings him to his knees. Mickey grabs Ryan’s chin and elevates it to match his eye line.

“Smarten up kid,” Benedict slaps him, “and get out of town! Or you're going to wind up like Windham.” An elbow over the bridge of Ryan’s nose for an exclamation, “Dead and buried!"

The old man slips on a loaded glove, rears back, and hits his prey in the head.

(As We CTB-Cut to Black.)