=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- Lord Byron vs. Dirt Dog Unique Allah -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= [Sparkplug Lee raises his microphone once more.] RA: Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is set for one fall; introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Lady DeWinter, weighing 265lbs. and currently residing in New Orleans, Louisiana, Lord Byron! [Heel pop as Byron and DeWinter stride down the aisle, a hundred young hands thrusting over the retaining barrier in an effort to simply graze the beautiful DeWinter whose obvious physical endowments are augmented tonight by a short, black Versace dress with a neckline which plunges further than modesty would dictate. Byron ignores the commotion, commandeering a security guard to aid the good Lady to the ring. Byron pauses to smugly speak briefly to the powerful Creed, drawing only a glare from the red gloved one.] TD: Well, the fans are certainly glad to see this man's return to the IIWF Coliseum -- in their own fashion. SR: Wow, I missed that Byron. Hey Dross, got a couple of bucks? TD: The loan sharks again, Steve? SR: Cute. I need to save up for our upcoming IIWF pay-per-view, "Loveshack '97." TD: Will you stop? SR: Valet table dancing. Call Spreadbury, we're all gonna be rich. SL: His opponent, being led to ringside by Medusa Rage, he weighs 238 pounds and hails from Brooklyn, New York, Dirt Dog Unique Allah! ["Snakes" accompanies the Dirt Dog's stumble into the aisle, his customary bottle of spirit teetering precariously as he careens into the crowd, throwing his arms around a middle aged man in a too tight even at XXL "Quickstrike" Chris Quigley t-shirt. The angular Rage snaps her fingers as she passes by, immediately drawing the attention of Allah away from the mainly confused fans. Allah offers a palm to the stoic Creed as he reaches the ring, but is rebuffed without even an acknowledgement from the tough newcomer.] TD: I almost hesitate to say this, but Allah's 3-1, and with his victory over the American Patriot he's becoming someone to be reckoned with here in the IIWF. SR: [long pause] You're never gonna get any better are you, Dross? Look, forget the bum and the Patriot, Lord Byron has returned from his overseas tour looking better than ever and he'll make quick work of Dirt Dog. [Dirt Dog lurches across the ring in a spasm, arms flailing toward Byron, who sidesteps with a look of disgust beyond that of his usual countenance. Byron looks to lock up, but Allah slumps to the mat, resting his head on the bottom turnbuckle. Byron steps back briefly, looking quizzically at the official and then walks quickly to the corner, looking down at the prone Allah. Byron waves for him to rise and then takes a step back, holding his nose as much from offense at Allah's ring technique as the stench which fills the squared circle. Byron approaches again, not waiting this time for a reaction from Dirt Dog and delivers a series of boots to the head and shoulders of the Unique one, stomping him down into the canvas. Byron then meausres Allah and drops a series of crisp elbows to the right knee, causing Allah to emit a wail of pain and roll outside.] TD: A surprisingly aggressive opening from the technician Byron. What do you make of this, Steve Roberts? SR: I like it, Dross. We need more guys like Byron who aren't afraid to bring half-dressed women to ringside... what was I talking about? [Dirt Dog attempts to collect his bearings as Medusa meets him on the outside, he's however quickly distracted by a tentative wave from an approaching Lady DeWinter. Dirt Dog pushes past Rage and saunters up to a now retreating DeWinter, Allah rubbing his belly absentmindedly as his drunken stumble turns into an all out strut as he turns the corner... and runs smack into a knife edge by the waiting Byron. Byron chops at Allah's chest three more times before sending him into the apron and then executing a German suplex which leaves Dirt Dog laid out outside the ring to a big heel pop for the Englishman.] SR: Oh yeah! Oh yeah! Look at that fool, slobbering over Lady DeWinter like that, how could a grown man embarrass himself like that, Dross? TD: That question needs no answer, Steve. [Byron rolls Dirt Dog into the ring and begins working on his right knee, first with two vicious leg lariats and then a modified grapevine. Allah is able to crawl to the ropes after nearly 30 seconds, forcing Byron to break the hold. Allah rises, but his focus turns not onto Byron but to DeWinter on the outside, who once again waves toward Dirt Dog, who doesn't get the opportunity to respond as Byron drives a forearm into the back of his right knee and then rolls the fallen Allah up into a small package for a pin - 1 - 2 - Allah weakly kicks out and frantically rolls to the other side of the ring. Byron wastes no time in advancing, again diving at the right knee of Dirt Dog, who again falls into a heap and again is covered for the pin - 1 - 2 - kickout. Byron picks up Allah by his nappy hair and feverishly slams two forearm uppercuts to the jaw, Byron then Irish whips Allah who is able to stop but shakily drops his head too quickly allowing Byron to execute an excellent swinging neckbreaker! Big heel pop! Byron stomps down hard on Allah's head for good measure and then gives an exaggerated mock bow to the crowd which boos him loudly.] TD: I've got to say, I've never been more impressed with Lord Byron. He seems to have come back from his extended tour with renewed vigor. SR: He's mean, Dross. It ain't tough to see which way the wind is blowing in the IIWF these days, even Kauffman's gone hardcore. You gotta punish or be punished -- and Byron's taking out the garbage tonight. [Medusa Rage now draws the attention of the showboating Byron, climbing to the apron and pointing a finger into his face, Byron advances and is met from behind by a knee from Allah who then whips Byron to the ropes and meets his return with a big tilt-a-whirl suplex, leaving the Englishman down for the first time in the match. Medusa yells for Allah to seize the opportunity and drop his Fatal Flying Guillotine, but Allah is again distracted by the presence of Lady DeWinter, who has now climbed to the apron and is flashing a good deal of thigh at the Dirt Dog. Allah leaves the prone Byron and heads for DeWinter, pulling up his waistband and running his fingers through his hair as he stumbles toward her, "Let the big dog eat!" Allah shouts as he reaches the waiting DeWinter. Allah perches his right elbow on the top turnbuckle and then rests his head on it, blowing a kiss toward the valet of the man who is a split second from taking out his right knee again. Byron drills Allah. Then picks him up and takes out his knee again, wrenching the Dirt Dog into another pinning predicament - 1 - kickout! Byron picks up Allah, whips cross corner, and applies an atomic drop which sends Allah reeling and then down with a short clothesline. Byron covers again - 1 - 2 - kickout. Byron is getting frustrated, whipping Allah into the ropes again and again meets him with an atomic drop! Byron then sizes up the staggering Allah, balls up his fist and delivers a thunderous right hand that floors the Dirt Dog!] SR: That's it, Dross. Aristoclutch time. This dog's day is over! [With Dirt Dog now laid out near the ropes, facing his own corner, Byron drops down to apply the Aristoclutch, locking up Allah's legs and then cinching up the modified sleeperhold, his smirk widening as Allah grimaces in pain. The official asks for a submission -- none is given -- the official asks again and again none is given. The official drops down to the mat and Allah arches his back, screaming in pain as he attempts to bridge out of the hold, Allah arches further, bending in a way he wouldn't have thought possible 30 minutes before and he bridges out of it! Allah bridges from the hold and with the official down on the mat, Allah grasps the waiting hands of Medusa Rage from outside, using the surprisingly powerful woman for leverage as he bridges from the hold and the official, oblivious to the interference sees that Byron's shoulders have become implanted in the mat and quickly counts - 1 - 2 - 3!] RA: The winner of this match, as a result of a pinfall... Dirt Dog Unique Allah! [Allah rolls away, thoroughly spent as Medusa climbs into the ring to raise his hand and reward him with a swig from his bottle of comfort. Byron is disgusted, shouting at the official that the count was too fast and pointing at Medusa in an accusatory manner. Allah stumbles to Byron and offers his hand, offers to shake the hand of the haughty Englishman in congratulation for a tremednous matchup. Byron refuses, getting right in Dirt Dog's face and jawing at the victor, yelling that he doesn't belong in the same ring with someone like Lord Byron. Allah doesn't allow these last words to reach his ears, however, before spewing his "Deadly Venom" full into the face of Byron. Byron staggers away, falling to the mat and furiously wiping at his face as Allah cockily shrugs his shoulders and leaves the ring.] TD: Oh my! Steve Roberts, we have just seen, of all things, Dirt Dog Unique Allah defeat Lord Byron to advance his IIWF record to 4-1. Absolutely amazing. SR: What we just saw, Dross, was a man getting beat up for an entire match. That's what we just saw. And if a guy like that vagrant Allah can come into this Federation and become a contender, then maybe I oughta come out of retirement, Dross.