TD: [interrupting] Good grief. Batten down the hatches, Steve, because Joe Petrow and title shots go together like salt and peter. SR: My hatches don't batten, Dross... that why I'm the "Soundbite". And stop talkin' about peters. Whooo... hack... hack. 'Scuse me, those biscuits are dry tonight. TD: Yes, well. SR: Got any cheese, Dross? TD: No. As I was saying, Joe Petrow is one of the most unpredictable men in the IIWF. One of the few friends he has been able to make is the... ummm... _unlucky_ Majestic Maurice McArthur, who sparked Petrow's brawl with Takezo Musashi Wednesday night in Washington. SR: Yeah, but he's always got the Sychopaths. They aren't the L'il Soundbiters, but they're loyal. TD: Petrow will need their support tonight because Lord Byron has no equal when it comes to technical wrestling. He's the master of the mat... the squire of the squared circle... the king of... SR: Aw, you got some mustard on your tie. [As Dross looks down, Roberts flicks him in the nose.] TD: Ha! That was better than cheese! Better than cheddar! Better than Monterey... Jack! [A small group of fans behind the broadcast table begins yelling "Shoot, Soundbite, Shoot!"] TD: I never thought I would miss working with Becky. Let's just go up to the ring. =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= IIWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH: =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Lord Byron [c] vs. Joe Petrow ----------------------------------------- WRITER: SO [Sparkplug Lee is casually bouncing against the ring ropes and looking up into the rafters, counting the house lights and looking for any wrestlers with painted faces who may decide to drop into the ring unexpectedly. A Sychopath hurls a brass doorknob at Lee, who turns as it barely misses his head. He sees the camera lights and snaps back to reality.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, this match is one fall for the IIWF Intercontinental Championship. [big pop] Introducing first, from Tokyo, Japan, weighing in at 227 pounds, he is the self-proclaimed _uncrowned_ IIWF Cruiserweight Champion, he is... "Syyyyyychosys" Joe Petrow. [The Sychopaths in Section 103 simultaneously shake their cans of Mooselips Beer and pop the tops, release a majestic spray as Petrow calmly rises from his seat in their midst. McArthur also gets up from his seat, drawing the Triple M sign from several Sychopaths, but Petrow waves him back to his seat. Confused, McArthur obediently complies. The Sychopath with the boombox hits the "play" button and Tears for Fears' "Shout" blares out. Petrow casually steps over the steel ring barrier, enters the ring, sheds his robe and slouches down on the bottom turnbuckle.] TD: We seem to be looking at a rather subdued Joe Petrow tonight. He didn't even want Triple M at ringside with him. SR: Yeah, no thanks to Sparky Lee for bringing up that little incident when Owens took the belt away from him. I'm surprised Petrow didn't hit the ring like a 50-pound chunk of havarti cheese. TD: Well that's very... SR: You ever had havarti, Dross? Smooth... buttery... creamy. Reminds me of my date with Queen Elizabeth years ago. Did I ever tell you about that? Shout... shout... let it all out. Lizzie was a screamer. [Dross merely makes a grumbling noise. Back in the ring, Petrow remains slouched on the bottom turnbuckle. He cocks his head and stares at Sparkplug, which makes the veteran ring announcer a bit nervous.] RA: And... uh... ummm... introducing the champion. He's from Lancashire, England, by way of New Orleans, Louisiana, weighing in at 265 pounds and is accompanied tonight by Lady DeWinter and his European Alliance partner, Otto Verhoeven, he is Lorrrrrrrrd Byron! ["Intermezzo" from Karelia Suite plays as the trio make their way into the arena, Lady DeWinter dressed in a stunning white sequined evening gown leading the way. A fan reaches out over the railing, but DeWinter reacts as if a rodent stands in front of her. Verhoeven threatens to slap the fan, who recoils and disappears into the sea of occupied souvenir shirts, while the sneering Byron keeps his attention on the ring, where Petrow sits waiting.] TD: [sarcastically] The European Alliance again practicing fine public relations there. SR: There's no money in public relations, Dross. Everyone knows that. TD: I'd have to disagree. SR: Aw, go write a book. [Byron takes his time at ringside, consulting with Verhoeven and slowly disrobing and handing his brass-topped cane to DeWinter. He points at Petrow slouched in the corner and says something to referee Chuck Sanders about "THAT ruffian wants my belt"? Petrow half-smiles, cups his hand over his left ear and replies, "Huh"? Petrow then begins to laugh, which unsettles Byron. Sanders calls for the ring bell and Byron looks over to his corner for some reassurance. Verhoeven meets his gaze and points down to his knee.] TD: It appears as though the European Alliance has scouted Petrow rather thoroughly and may have found something. SR: Must not have been a cranial x-ray then. Hey Dross, do they sell Mooselips at the concession stand here? TD: I believe that's more of a regional libation. SR: Regional libation? Isn't that what got the Disney people in trouble with the Southern Baptists? [Byron attempts a single-leg takedown, but Petrow nimbly avoids it. Again, Petrow holds his hand to his left ear and yells "What?" before laughing again. In unison, the Sychopaths chant "What?". Byron steps away, but then both men lock up in the middle of the ring. Byron powers Petrow into the corner and Verhoeven takes a quick shot at Joe's right knee from the outside. Petrow turns to kick at Verhoeven, allowing Byron the chance to plant a knee in Joe's back.] TD: Poor tactical move there by "Sychosys". You can't take your eyes off an opponent like Lord Byron. SR: I can't take my eyes off Lady DeWinter. Whoo-hoo! I wants me a DeWinter biscuit with limberger on top. Mmmmmmm.... TD: You're a sick man, Steve. Whoa, Byron with a big European uppercut. [Byron hits Petrow with a second European uppercut, staggering him. He whips Petrow into the ropes and bows down for a backdrop, but Petrow stops short and slaps Byron's left ear with an open hand palm-strike. Byron winces and grabs his ear until doubling over as Petrow kicks him in the stomach. "Sychosys" hits Byron with another palm-strike in the left ear, then cups his hands over Byron's ear, and screams "HEY!" at the top of his lungs. Byron quickly exits the ring, holding the left side of his head. Petrow looks out at his Sychopaths and repeats his earlier motion: "What?" They answer with "Huh?".] TD: Petrow's game plan appears to be to go after Byron's head. He already appears to have done some damage. SR: Of course. Byron is the one who is supposed to do the screaming -- at all of his servants. I'll bet I could make Lady DeWinter scream though. TD: Would you just get off Lady DeWinter for a moment? SR: Oh... to hear _her_ say those words. TD: Would you... hey, look out! [Petrow backs up and attempts a plancha, but Byron sees him coming, catches "Sychosys" and turns it into a hotshot on the outside railing. Chuck Sanders begins the count, but Byron slides back under the bottom rope to break the count, drawing the referee to the opposite side while Verhoeven sneaks around the ring to kick Petrow twice in the knee. As Verhoeven backs away and protests his innocence when Sanders questions him, Byron slides back to the outside. Petrow, however, greets him with a forearm to the groin that staggers Byron, and "Sychosys" adds another open palm shot to the left ear that puts Byron on the outside mat.] TD: I'm not sure Byron wants to get into a battle with Joe Petrow outside the ring. Petrow is a dangerous man out there. SR: Petrow is a dangerous man _inside_ the ring, too. Groin shots and ear slaps... who-hoo! [Petrow shakes off the effects of the hotshot as he slides back into the ring. Lord Byron is slower to recover, and returns to the ring only to have Petrow slap on a headlock and put additional pressure on Byron's ear. However, Byron is able to gain the leverage to lift Petrow and then land an atomic drop. There is a big pop, not for Byron's move, but for Creed who makes his way down to ringside. Creed is greeted by chants of "ignorant slut" from the Sychopaths, but he ignores them and pulls up a chair beside the broadcasting table.] TD: Well, this is an unexpected surprise. SR: Hey Creed, did you know Father's Day was last Sunday? Didja drive around the Bay Area with a gift-wrapped tie on your car's bumper? Trolling for daddies, we like to call it. TD: Steve just stop that! Can we get Creed a headset? What's that? Oh, okay. [Creed glares at Roberts and shakes his head at Dross, indicating that he is merely there to watch the match. Byron has noticed Creed and begins to pick up his attack on Petrow, hitting a neckbreaker and following it up with a snap suplex. Quick cover, but Sanders reaches only a count of one before Petrow kicks out. Byron is quickly to his feet, stomping on Petrow's knee. He grabs Petrow's leg, wrenching it, but suddenly stops as another big pop travels through the arena and Duncan Macbeth strolls down the aisle. As DeWinter runs to the neutral corner, Byron leaps to the second turnbuckle and sneers at Macbeth, yelling something about "lack of culture" and "Scottish buffoon". Macbeth merely glares at Byron, then notices Creed sitting beside Dross. He stops and jumps over the steel railing and into the front row, where an empty seat conveniently awaits.] TD: It appears that Lord Byron is drawing quite a bit of attention here tonight. First Creed and now Duncan Macbeth. SR: More likely it's Byron's belt that is drawing the attention. Belts are nice, but give me a smooth mozzarella any day. TD: Byron is giving it his all tonight and I have to wonder if his attack on Petrow's knee isn't some sort of message to the man sitting to my left, Creed. It isn't often that we see Joe Petrow dominated like he has been so far... whoa, look at this! [Byron, his attention on Macbeth, does not hear Verhoeven yelling for him to pay attention. Petrow grabs Byron and executes a textbook belly-to-back suplex. He jumps on Byron's chest and begins pounding the left side of his lordship's head. Petrow bends over Byron and again screams in his ear before returning to a series of open palm slaps. Petrow stands and grinds his boot into the left side of Byron's head, drawing a protest from Verhoeven, who leaps to the ring apron. As Verhoeven is reprimanded by Chuck Sanders, a Sychopath tosses Petrow a full can of Mooselips beer and he slams it into Byron's left ear before popping the top, taking a swig, and hurling the can at Creed. However, the can ricochets off the broadcasting table.] TD: Hey, watch it! This is a new suit! SR: Where did that can go? I'm thirsty. Aw jeez, that kid got it. TD: What is Petrow doing in the ring? He's only attacking Byron's ear. SR: It's called the "Van Gogh Strategy". It was named after some painter... I can't remember his name. The whole idea is to disorient your opponent by upsetting his equilibrium. Of course, a six-pack of Mooselips will do the same thing. Just ask Triple M. TD: But Petrow has still taken a tremendous amount of punishment and we know that Byron can pull out a win at any time. [In the ring, Petrow has slapped on another headlock and is grinding his arm across Byron's ear. Byron attempts to shrug off Petrow, but "Sychosys" turns it into a sloppy bulldog and maintains the headlock. Petrow finally releases the hold, but resumes his palm strikes and screams directly in Byron's ear. Petrow finally rolls to one corner and leans against the bottom turnbuckle, just as he did before the match. Byron gets slowly to his feet and looks around, attempting to stagger to his corner. But he stumbles like a drunken man and falls to one knee.] TD: I dare say Petrow's strategy has worked. SR: If Byron only had magenta hair and screamed "Shakeemah!" at the top of his lungs, I'd swear that was Dirt Dog Unique Allah in the ring. Heheeeee... hey Creed, what do you think about gouda cheese? Is it gouda nuff for a DeWinter Biscuit? [Roberts is ignored by Creed, who watches Petrow nod toward the Sychopaths and advance toward Byron, who grimaces and holds the left side of his head. Petrow bends over to lift Byron, but is quickly wrapped up in a small package. Sanders hits the mat, but Petrow has enough momentum to carry Byron over and pin his shoulders: 1 - 2 - kickout!] TD: Petrow nearly had Byron there! SR: Byron isn't himself right now. If he knew where he was right now, Petrow never would have reversed that move. Byron is wrestling on instinct, which still makes him better than 90 percent of the hackers back in the locker room. [Petrow hits a forearm smash to Byron's head, then lifts him for a suplex, seemingly holding him inverted for nearly ten seconds as the blood rushes to Byron's head. As he drops Byron to the mat, he covers again: 1 - 2 - Verhoeven puts Byron's foot on the ropes and Sanders halts the count. Petrow kicks at Verhoeven and yells: "You're next, Herr Tonic!" Another pop grows through the crowd as Takezo Musashi heads down the aisle.] TD: Now what is Musashi doing out here? He has no business out here. SR: Oh, like Creed and Duncan Mushmouth _do_? It's obvious that Musashi and Petrow are on a collision course and he wants to get a closer look at "Sychosys". [Petrow yells something at Musashi in Japanese, but the "Enigma" only stares at him. Petrow walks closer: "I said, you like to see people fly?" He pulls Byron to his feet and lifts him onto his shoulders, then begins to spin.] TD: An airplane spin! Good lord, I haven't seen that used in years! SR: It's not up there with Abe Jacobs' kiwi leg roll, but it'll get the job done. The question is where will the landing strip be for Lord Byron? [Lady DeWinter tosses the cane to Verhoeven and jumps to the ring apron to get Sanders' attention. As the referee looks away, Verhoeven nails Petrow in the knee with the cane. As Petrow's knee buckles, Byron is able to slide off his opponent's shoulders and land next to Petrow. Byron has the presence of mind to drape an arm across Petrow.] TD: Byron has him, but Chuck Sanders is still talking to DeWinter! SR: At least there's one intelligent referee in the IIWF. [An angry Verhoeven pulls DeWinter off the ring apron and Sanders turns to see the cover: 1 - 2 - kickout! Byron continues to shake his head, but Verhoeven yells for him to put on the figure four leglock. Byron instead grabs Petrow's leg, but stops and looks at Verhoeven.] TD: Byron is going for the Aristoclutch! SR: Well, he _was_. Then he apparently heard Verhoeven yelling for the figure four. [The delay gives Petrow time to roll over and deliver a kick to Byron's left ear. As the champ is staggered, Petrow gets to his feet, favoring his weakened knee. He takes two small steps back from Byron and the Sychopaths go wild.] TD: He's setting Byron up for a Sycho Kick! In the champion's condition, this could be the telling blow! SR: But here comes the cavalry! [Verhoeven jumps to the ring apron and again draws Sanders' attention while Musashi pulls the chair out from under Sparkplug Lee. Petrow delivers a variation of his Sycho Kick to Byron's left ear, sending the champ quickly to the mat. He is unable to cover, however, as Musashi slides under the bottom rope and hammers Petrow in the back of the head with the steel chair. He adds another shot for good measure, then drags Byron on top of Petrow before exiting the ring. Verhoeven jumps off the apron, Sanders turns to see the cover: 1 - 2 - 3! Ding! Ding! Ding!] TD: No! Joe Petrow had the title in front of him only to have it pulled away once again. SR: Hey, all's fair in love and the IIWF.