Tammy DeVille: "Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen. We're about to witness a match that until recently, quite frankly, might not have interested many people other than as a footnote. But events from seven days ago have changed that somewhat, Buck."

Buck Ansome: "You got that right, Tams. The Ivy Express was knocked off the rails by Miriam Gaiman two weeks ago, and coming off of that defeat, Armstrong seems a bit more vulnerable tonight."

Tammy: "Her opponent this evening has certainly been telling anyone and everyone within earshot that she's got Ivy's number, and that she's going to finish the job that Miriam began. And certainly, should Sascha defeat the Alabama belle tonight, it would be a serious setback for the redhead, as she has steadily worked her way up the rankings, and she is now poised to be a top contender. And, it goes without saying, Savarino would doubtless find herself in the Top Ten if she walks away with the win tonight."

Buck: "I've gotta tell you, Tamale, I'm torn. Here they are, two of my favorite wrestlers in all the world, fighting it out. Who do I root for?"

Tammy: "Why not be novel and try to be impartial for a change?"

Buck: "I thought we already had you being the boring one."

Tammy: "Oh, how I loathe you."

The houselights drop and music blasts through the arena's PA system, a single spotlight hitting the top of the ramp. There, a dark-eyed, bronze-skinned brunette beauty holds her position and accepts the tentative cheers with a scowl. Clad in a skin-tight, gold acrylic micro-mini with gold boots adorned by interlocking 'S's, she waits, Pink letting the throngs know that there's trouble in this town.

A voice interjects over the chords.

"Weighing in at 120 pounds and 5 feet 6 inches tall from Lebanon by way of Chicago, Illinois...Sascha SAAAVAAARIIIINOOOO!"

The slender, exotic beauty strides the aisle, offering a hand for a slap, then pulling it away with a mischievous grin.

"Don't even think you're worthy, slick," she scolds in an odd combination of refined lilt, softened Middle East accent, and Chi-town Superfans.

"Yer gonna learn some Southern Charm tonight, beeotch!" yells a scruffy fan.

Sascha's head spins, her long, dark chocolate locks twirling. She hikes her mini, revealing a black thong beneath.

"She's going to kiss it tonight...and you can only dream of it."

She finishes her climb and stretches into the ring, gold micromini already riding very high at this early juncture. Most of the crowd didn't see it as a problem.

Sascha grabs a mic as Pink's anthem dissipates.

"Tonight, you're going to see a true woman run that white trash out of the sport! It's about time I start getting my props around here."

The crowd boos lustily.

Sascha merely scowls, but before she can reply, the lights go out again, and the spotlight returns to the curtain at the head of the ramp.� .38 Special's "Wild Eyed Southern Boys" pumps through the speakers, and a redhead in denim cut-off's and a cropped black tank T-shirt with the word SPOILSPORT in faux diamonds across the front tears open the curtains and begins striding towards the ring, slapping the occasional outstretched hand.

"And now, weighing in at 120 pounds and standing five foot eight, from Uriah, Alabama...IVY BELLLLLLLLLLLLLLE ARMSTRONG!"

One fan holds aloft a sign that reads SHEA, PORTIA, CHRISSY, SOPHIE...WHO??? IVY IS THE ONLY FAWNER FOR ME!, and he is rewarded with the redhead cupping his cheeks in her hands and planting a kiss on his lips, his knees buckling from the bounty. In the ring, Savarino exagerratingly rolls her eyes at the display.

Tammy: "Armstrong is certainly looking as confident as ever. If her loss to Gaiman last week shook her any, she seems to be over it. And that's not good news for Sascha Savarino."

Buck:� "If anything, Ivy has to worry about overconfidence. Sascha may not have a lot of 'W's' in her column yet, but that's not because she isn't a good wrestler. She's come close to beating Sophie Mitchell, and she was robbed of her victory over Maiden America."

Tammy: "Are you still on that kick?"

Buck: "Hey, an injustice is an injustice. In fact, I think that travesty ought to be a major issue in this year's presidential campaign."

Tammy: "Do you even know who's running?"

Buck: "Yes, Miss Smarty Pants, I do! The President and his opponent. Hah!"

Tammy: "And who, pray tell, might you be supporting?"

Buck: "Dunno yet. Who's going to give me the biggest bribe...I mean, the fattest tax rebate?"

Tammy: "Democracy in action, folks."

In the ring, the referee gives his final instructions, then orders the two wrestlers to their corners. Ivy complies, but Sascha instead charges her opponent, shoulder ramming her from behind and sending the redhead crashing chest-first into the turnbuckle.

Tammy: "Dirty pool from Savarino even before the opening bell, and already Armstrong is at a disadvantage!"

Buck: "Ivy made a classic mistake here. She's so used to fighting the good girls, she didn't expect to have her opponent Pearl Harbor her like that. She'd better get her head into this match if she doesn't want to wind up down for the count!"

The brunette grabs her opponent by her mane and begins slamming her face into the turnbuckle. After ten impacts, she releases her handhold and lets Armstrong stagger backwards several steps, dazed. Sizing up her target, Sascha then unleashes a Superkick, her gold boot tagging the redhead flush in the jaw, sending her crashing to the mat.

Rolling Ivy onto her stomach, Savarino mounts her opponent's back and cups her hands beneath the redhead's chin, jerking her head up in a Camel Clutch. Armstrong's feet thrash as she feels her spine bent back to the breaking point. To add to the discomfort, the brunette then uses her left hand to grab at her rival's face, gouging Ivy's flesh. The referee orders the hold broken, and at the count of four, Savarino obeys.

Standing up, the brunette then falls back down to the mat, expertly drilling her elbow into the side of Ivy's right knee. Again standing up and grabbing Armstrong by the ankle, Sascha begins putting her boot to the redhead's knee again and again, weakening the joint and setting Ivy up for her next move.

Tammy: "I don't think I've ever seen Ivy Belle Armstrong so overwhelmed by an opponent. Sascha is certainly putting her experience to work tonight. She knows the best was to beat the redhead is to be relentless and not give her the chance to counterattack, and that's been Savarino's strategy from the very start."

Buck: "The way this is going, I think I know who I'm going to be rooting for soon enough!"

Armstrong's situation seems to go from bad to worse as Savarino locks a Figure Four on her, Ivy's battered knee taking the full brunt of the hold. The ref asks her if she wants to submit, but through gritted teeth, the redhead growls no. Sascha only smiles, and begins to mentally compile a hit list of opponents she should challenge next.

But what the Lebanese beauty fails to observe as she muses is that her victim is slowly, painfully, turning her body. By the time Savarino realizes what is happening, she has to struggle to turn Ivy back. Both women strain mightily for control, but in the end, it is Armstrong who makes the magnificent effort to turn both of them over onto their stomachs.� The result is that the pressure from the Figure Four immediately reverses, pain now flowing into Sascha's sculpted gam. And now the referee is asking her if she wants to end the match by surrendering.

Without bothering to answer, Savarino begins to desperately claw at the mat, slowly dragging herself and her tormentor a few precious inches closer to the ropes. Finally, the brunette is able to reach out and grab the bottom cable. The official calls for the break, but Ivy, much like Sascha, only complies as the referee is about to disqualify her.

Both women are hurting now, but they push the pain aside and lock up in the center of the ring, straining against one another for control. Ivy finally snares the brunette in a short Armlock, but Sascha breaks it by labeling the redhead with a Headbutt. Armstrong staggers from the blow, and Savarino manages to slip behind her, wrap her arms around the redhead's taut midsection, hoist her into the air, and bring her back down again for an Atomic Drop.

Ivy hurtles through the air from the impact and crashes face first to the mat. Sascha smugly saunters over to her and grabs her by the hair, pulling the redhead to her knees. But Armstrong then throws a right handed punch into Savarino's abdomen, doubling the brunette over. Yet Savarino quickly retaliates with a Kneelift to the jaw that sends her opponent sprawling.

Irritated that her victim refuses to simply accept the inevitable and let herself be battered into oblivion, Savarino hauls the redhead up to her feet and Irish Whips her into the corner, where Armstrong slowly sags down until she is seated on the mat, arms draped over the middle ropes. With a malicious smile on her face, Sascha struts over to her fallen foe, and hikes up her micro-skirt. The crowd roars its lusty approval as the brunette situates herself and then puts a Butt Smother on the Southern girl!

Armstrong thrashes, but can't shove her tormentor off. Sascha finally releases the hold, and pulls the redhead up to her feet. Then, she fastens Ivy's legs over the middle ropes, trapping her in the corner, and leaving her womanhood wide open for what everyone knows is coming: The brunette's Corner Kick finisher!

Going to the opposite corner, Sascha exaggerates her preparation for the move, pawing the ground like a bull and giving the fans a flash of an evil smile. She then charges her trapped opponent, her intent being to deliver a punt straight to the redhead's groin that will be so devastating, her ancestors will shudder in pain.

But just as the brunette reaches her target, Ivy grabs the top ropes for stability and pulls her legs free of the middle cables, then thrusts then forward. The heels of her feet slam into Sascha's face, dropping her to the canvas like a bag of cement.

The look on her face makes it plain that even the slightest movement brings pain to the redhead's face, yet she forces her body to move. Dismounting from the corner, she grabs her stunned opponent by the hair and drags her to the center of the ring. A Leg Drop further dazes the brunette.

Then Ivy returns to the corner, climbs it, and stands atop the turnbuckle. Leaping into the air, she comes smashing down on the prone form of her rival with a Bodysplash. For long moments, neither woman moves...Armstrong simply lay there on top of the unmoving body of her foe. The referee finally drops to his knees and decides this constitutes a pinfall, and slaps his hand to the mat once...twice....

Before the count of three can be called, Ivy springs to life, grabbing Sascha by the hair and pulling her shoulders up off of the canvas, breaking the count. This match will not end with a pin, the redhead has clearly decided.

Savarino offers only feeble resistance as Ivy goes for her own finisher, the Southern Charm. The brunette finds her head snared between Armstrong's powerful thighs, her face buried in the redhead's crotch. Between the crushing pressure and the smothering, she isn't long for this world, and her body ceases to squirm soon enough. The final bell is just a formality.

Tammy: "And Ivy Armstrong manages to pull out an upset win in this match. But it certainly looked bleak for the redhead through much of the battle."

Buck: "Tams, I think we're seeing Ivy at a crossroads here. Maybe she had too much success too soon, maybe she got bored, maybe she just doesn't know where she wants to go next, I don't know. But she lacked the killer instinct through most of this match, finding it only in the nick of time. It was that ruthlessness that let her make a name for herself in FAWN, beating the Mitchell's and Kylie Sanders, among others. But I think maybe she's been getting swept up in being a crowd favorite, and she's been playing the good girl more than before. But that's just not the stuff Ivy Belle Armstrong is made of, and it shows."

Tammy: "I think you've got an excellent point there, Buck...Lord help us all. I suspect last week's loss to Miriam may have left Ivy questioning her direction of late, and if so, then I expect that tonight's near-loss will drive some decisions home for her. The only question is, which way will Armstrong go? Only time will tell."

Buck: "And me, when I know it."

Tammy: "If you know anything, it'll be news to us."

Buck: "Right. Heeeeeeyyyy...!"