From: foleye@xanth.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: rec.sport.pro-wrestling
Subject: FWF:  Lightning vs. Doc
Summary: Aaron "Lightning" Murphy challenges Doctor Death for the World
	Heavyweight Championship.
Date: 18 Nov 92 22:50:37 GMT
Article-I.D.: flop.1eehbtINNd2k
Distribution: world
Organization: CS Dept, Oregon State University
NNTP-Posting-Host: xanth.cs.orst.edu

And now, on the heels of his narrow victory over Titan Morgan, Aaron "Lightning"
Murphy steps into the ring with the diabolical Doctor Death, in search of the
latter's World Heavyweight Championship.  Death has held the title for over
four active months, defending the title now for an unprecedented fifth time,
breaking his own record of four title defenses in his first World Title reign.
Now think, how many World Champions defend their titles four times on a PPV in
any other federation?

At any rate, looming up in the near future (if God is willing) is a very big
event:  a summit between the FWF and the PWA (Pro Wrestling Alliance), an
email federation operated by one Paul Thompson.  Whoever wins this match will
walk into that summit with the World Heavyweight Championship to represent the
FWF against his PWA counterpart.

Comments from both men on the subject:

Lightning:

"The news is out!  The PWA and the FWF are talking about getting some straps
and their holders against each other, and far be it from Thunder and I to not
see to it that at least one Storm member is wrestling as a champion in that
great event!  We couldn't get the chance to do it with the tag team belts, so
Doc, you have the misfortune of being the sacrificial lamb, ha, ha!!  And when
I walk out of Joe Lewis Arena, your second World Championship stripped and
placed around my waist, it's to end the old ways, and set forth into a new
dynasty of greatness!"

Death:

"So . . . the FWF has called upon its champions to represent it at a great
clash of the masters with the PWA.  It will not be the first time I have made
my presence known to other federations, and it will not the last.  In April,
I matched wits with then-, at least, EMWA World Champion John Girder, and yet
the FWF World Championship still is clasped firmly in my hands.  Soon, a third
World Championship will be competed for by myself, and I will do the FWF proud
a second time.  However, there is an insect buzzing in my ear, keeping me from
concentrating on the task at hand.  All that is left to me . . . is to squash
that insect that now crawls up my leg, trying to gather attention to its
bothersome noise.  My friends, the bug bomb, please . . ."

And so, the match occurs . . .


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The synthesized tones of "Storm" from the William Tell Overture bounce off the
rafters of the Joe Lewis Arena, and two men walk to ringside in black capes
and long-legged tights.  The smaller one, in front, wears lightning-shaped
fluorescent pink face paint to match the similar streak on his legs.  Alfred
Grinchley swallows his fear of the two and begins his ministrations for the
evening:

"THE FOLLOWING CONTEST IS FOR THE WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPIONSHIP!!!  IT IS
SCHEDULED FOR ONE FALL.  COMING DOWN THE AISLE, WITH HIS PARTNER, JERRY
'THUNDER' McGAGHNEY, IS THE CHALLENGER.  HE HAILS FROM KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI,
AND HE WEIGHS TWO HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE POUNDS.  THIS . . . IS . . . AARON
'LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHTNING' MUUUUUUUUUUUUUURRPPHHHHHHYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!"

The two men circle to opposite sides of the ring and enter on either flank
of the Grinch.  The Grinch begins to seriously question why he didn't listen
to his mother and become an auto salesman; it involved less risk.  Instead,
he gets to stand in between all these maniacs who would just love to tear
each others' heads off.

The two men tonight have quite a reputation behind them, and qualify as the
top heels, undoubtedly, of the tag team division of the FWF.  In their debut
match they left a man with a broken back, yet continued to beat upon them.
Any object at ringside can and will be commandeered as their personal weaponry.
Most recently, they left a promising contender in the singles ranks with a
broken arm.

However, that contender turned around and cost them the FWF World Tag-Team
Championship.  Soon, it is said, the FWF will co-sponsor a "Clash of the
Masters," as their adversary for the evening put it, with the PWA.  Unlike
Dreamcard V, in which only the World Champions of two federations battled,
the World, U.S., and Tag Team Champions of the two federations will duke it
out.  Thunder and Lightning, collectively known as Storm, are determined to
represent one of the FWF titles in this event.  But their recent defeat by
Devastation countermanded that hope . . . unless Lightning can gain a pinfall
or submission tonight.

The macabre tones of "Toccata and Fugue in D Minor" ring out in the arena, and
a black-cloaked, hooded figure slowly walks out from the dressing room, his
ebon folds covering him from head to toe.  A metal hockey-like mask covers his
face, and a flash of gold from beneath his cloak is visible when it parts
briefly.  The Grinch stands silent, gazing out at the grim spectre, before
realizing he still has a job to do, and then he can flee for his life as he
pleases.

"AND HIS OPPONENT, MAKING HIS WAY TO THE RING AREA . . . HAILING FROM PARTS
UNKNOWN, HE WEIGHS TWO HUNDRED, EIGHTY SEVEN POUNDS, AND HE IS THE WORLD
HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION . . . . DOOOOOOOOCTOOOOOOR DEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAATH!!!!!!"

Death looks up at the two in the ring, and abruptly and uncharacteristically
runs to the ring.  The two Stormers set themselves as they see Death sprinting
towards them, cloak billowing behind him, but they see that his eyes are on
the Grinch, trying to leave the ring.  The Grinch drops the microphone and
panics, fleeing from the ring at the sight of the approaching individual.
Turning his black eyes with their red flecks at Thunder and Lightning, Death
climbs to the ring apron, turning the horrible eyes on the official.

The ref gulps, and walks over to part the ropes for the man.  Soon, no fewer
than three men in black stand to the ring.  Death picks up the discarded
microphone and begins to speak.

"YOU TWO FOOLS SERIOUSLY BELIEVE THAT I WILL PERMIT A MORE-THAN-POSSIBLE
DOUBLE TEAM WITH MY PRESTIGE ON THE LINE?  TERMINATE THE MUSIC!!"  In a
heartbeat, the organ music cuts off.  "LET IT BE KNOWN THAT I HAVE SOMEONE
TO ACCOMPANY ME, IN WITNESS OF THUNDER'S COMPLIANCE IN THE VICTORY OVER THE
LESSER FICTIONAL WRESTLING FEDERATION CHAMPION, TO PREVENT SUCH AN EVENT FROM
BEFALLING ME."

The unutterably wicked "Overture to the Phantom of the Opera" blasts over the
PA system of Joe Lewis Arena.  Several of the fans stand agape, overwhelmed
by the sheer nefariety of the sound, as Death continues his monologue.

"INTRODUCING MY CORNERMAN FOR THIS EVENING, FROM PARTS UNKNOWN, THEY CALL HIM
. . . BIIIIIIIIIG TRUCK VAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAADEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRR!!!!"

And sure enough, a huge individual in a ninety-pound steel helmet/mask begins
to tromp down to the ring area.  The two Stormers shout at Death angrily, but
a single look from the blood-spattered coals behind the mask gives even them
pause.  They turn to the referee, protesting vehemently.  The official backs
off, shrugging.  If Thunder stays, Vader stays, as far as he's concerned.

The huge figure removes the steel to reveal a leather mask covering most of his
face, accenting the black and red coverall tights he wears.  Death unclasps
his own cloak, removing his metal mask, and handing the World Championship belt
to the referee.  The two leather-masked men make for an extremely imposing
duo, between the only two-time FWF World Champion and the gigantic man who
definitely could present a threat to that honor himself if he so wished.

Lightning and Thunder refuse to accept the setback, shouting with the referee
to remove Vader from ringside.  Death points simply at Thunder's presence as
well, and the referee is at a loss.  Big Truck Vader shouts encouragement to
Doctor Death, and Death calmly leans against the ropes while Thunder and
Lightning blow off steam.  The mind play has worked quite well against the two
men, and Death knows it.  Vader seems quite pleased that his presence has
created such a stir.

Finally, the official points out that Vader is, at least, outside the ring and
not delaying the beginning of the match.  Thunder rolls his eyes skyward,
seeing that they're getting nowhere in this, and takes Lightning's cape with
his own as he exits the ring.  Vader glares at him contemptuously, much as
Death is regarding Lightning at this point.  "I could stuff both you guys up
each nostril!!!" he shouts.

Despite the distraction of Vader and Thunder, the bell sounds and the match is
officially under way.  Death smiles beneath his mask as Lightning takes
reassurance from Thunder that Vader will not be a factor.  Lightning's got cold
enough feet just being in the ring with the Doc himself.  Vader puts a whole
new twist on the knife of fear in his heart.  But, after much goading from the
Doctor, Lightning at last ostensibly moves his mind to the match.

The two men opt for a collar-and-elbow tie.  No sooner than this, Lightning is
sent brusquely back into the corner.  Death slaps his powerful left shoulder,
flexing his leg muscles for warm-up and smiles derisively on his smaller foe.
Lightning gives Death the once-over.  He's not completely defined, but there
is little flab on him, either.  His legs are very good-sized, suggesting that
any use of his height advantage will be a serious problem for Lightning.  He
also knows, from watching tapes, that Death's mind is by far his deadliest
asset.  He has perpetrated some of the sneakiest stunts ever seen in any
federation upon his opponents.

However, he has just now used his power only.  Lightning wonders why.  He knows
it's not because of lack of wrestling skill; Death is a consummate master of
nearly every wrestling move ever used.  Lightning, for his part, has speed,
likely, and agility on his larger foe.  He also has a good aerial attack that,
if used right, could even things out.  If used wrong . . .

Lightning comes out of the corner, and Death lunges at him.  Lightning drops
back, but Death suddenly ducks and grabs him behind the knees, putting a
shoulder into his belly to send him to his back.  He drags him out into the
center of the ring, begins to spin around, twirling Lightning's entire body
about by his shins, until finally the centrifugal force has Lightning totally
off the canvas.  Death releases his grip, and Lightning hurtles out through the
middle rope, landing badly on the canvas outside.

Lightning stands, and falls again.  The official sees Vader nearby, and warns
him to back away.  Vader stays where he is, smiling at the giant swing that
sent Lightning out here.  But Death doesn't like the presumption of the referee
in assuming that Vader is automatically going to interfere.  He turns the ref
around and argues with him on the point . . . and proves his point to everyone
but the ref himself when Vader runs in and levels Lightning with a beefy
clothesline, sending him flying backwards to the thin mats outside.

Thunder runs around the ring, edgy about brawling with the gigantic Vader.
However, he does draw the official's attention, and Vader backs off to just
look innocent.  Thunder picks his stricken partner up and sends him back into
the ring, hoping that he'll do better against the Doctor.  With a glare over
at Vader, he follows the official's instructions to stay in his own territory.

Death brings Lightning to his feet, snatching him in a front facelock, putting
a close knee lift, sending him into the corner.  Lightning grabs onto the ropes
to get his bearings, sees Death's shape looming over him, and lashes out wildly
with a left.  The blow lands on Death's right shoulder, and he responds with an
expertly executed reverse knife edge that plants Lightning into the turnbuckles
all the harder.  Lightning squints at the strike.  Death looks down, and deals
a knee expertly above Lightning's right knee, striking the reflex that bends
the knee against the grain.  The limb buckles, and the smaller man crumbles to
the canvas.

Death kicks away at Lightning, stomping murderously until the man finally rolls
outside the ring to the floor in instinctive defense.  He backs away from the
ropes at the official's admonition, arguing with him some more.  This time,
Thunder gets between Lightning and Vader to ensure that no more interference
takes place.  The larger Stormer whispers something in the smaller's ear,
bringing a nod from Lightning.  He gets up to his feet and stands on the ring
apron, yelling at the official to move Death away from the edge to let him in.

Lightning feints another collar-and-elbow, burying a knee to Death's midsection
instead.  As Death doubles over, he hammers him with a forearm to the back.
He follows with an uppercut, and immediately takes the opportunity to scoop him
up into a backbreaker!  Lightning waves his index finger in the air with a war-
whoop that brings a sympathetic response from the fans--one that surprises him.

Lightning waits a moment, sizing up Death for his next move.  He clenches his
teeth in anger, not happy with the way it's been going at all.  He snaps the
larger man over the shoulder, backing into the corner as he sits up.  The moment
he is upright on his seating, Lightning rushes up, catching his head in his
hands as he flips overhead, stretching his spine out in a manner most
uncomfortable.  Lightning shouts jubilantly, listening to the echo from the
fans as he watches Death rise to his knees.  Death has played right into
Lightning's hands . . .


 . . . not quite.  As Lightning reaches Death, the larger man abruptly rises
to his feet!  Lightning leaps up reflexively, grabbing with legs for anything
he can latch onto, and gets hold of Death's head in a scissors grip!  He
gambols for balance, before twisting Death around in a takeover, flopping him
out into the corner once more!

Death rises quickly, only to be dealt a rising elbow from the smaller man!
Lightning deals out the hurt, in alternating jabs with speed and tenacity,
until Death is staggering from the corner.  Lightning climbs the second rope
and leaps out, catching Death's head in a flying bulldog!  Death, instinctively
staying on his belly groans in pain from all over his spine.  Lightning rolls
him over for the cover . . .



. . . a jab to the eyes with a pair of left fingers ends that attempt.  The
larger man follows with a hook to the jaw that sends Lightning to the ropes,
holding on for balance while Death agonizingly gets back to his feet.  He comes
over, dishing a chop to the chest that almost sends Lightning over the top.
Thunder cries out foul, mounting the ring apron in anger.  The ref turns, and
together Vader with Lightning's foot and Death his hair move Lightning to the
corner.  A snap over the shoulder puts him back into the middle of the ring,
and Death comes out with an elbow to the chest to keep him down.

Death stands and shrieks in fury, freezing the marrow of closeby onlookers who
are unfortunate enough to hear it loudly.  Vader echoes the shout, and some
hardcores as well, but they are drowned out by boos from the fans.  Death waits
for Lightning to get to his feet, and goes to the ropes as he makes it.

Thunder reaches in and trips him up, sending him stumbling over to Lightning
with his head down.  The smaller man curls him over into a running neckbreaker
before he can recover, and slowly sits up after delivering the shot.  Death
gets to his feet not long after Lightning, only to be floored in a clothesline!
Lightning hauls him up by the mask, and leaps up, uncoiling his legs directly
into Death's chest, sending the larger man skidding to the canvas.  Lightning
sees Death slump to the middle of the bottom rope.  The ref argues with him
about pulling Death up by his mask, and Lightning is happy to shout right
back.  Thunder runs over and snags the Grinch's chair, folds it up, and plants
it upside Doctor Death's forehead before he can evade the shot!

Death's flecked eyes roll back in his forehead, and Lightning turns to him
now, getting him up off the ropes by the arm this time.  Death moans softly,
while Lightning hefts him up from behind into a back suplex, WHAMP!  The
smaller man grins at how he is doing, while Vader glares at Thunder from the
opposite side of the ring.

Lightning gets Death up by his mask and ebon kilt, sending him back through
the middle ropes to Thunder's mercy.  The official shouts at him yet again,
griping about meaninglessly throwing the man out of the ring.  Lightning
raises his hands in mock innocence, while watching Thunder pummelling the
Doctor at ringside.  Vader shouts furiously, finally taking matters into his
own hands.  He tromps right over to the opposite side and engages Thunder in
a fistfight.

The official, at this point, can no longer ignore the two.  Seeing that their
presence is clearly disruptive, he waves more referees from the dressing room
to clear the two combatants from the ringside area.  The fight slowly moves
down the aisle, as Death somehow manages to stay away from the brawling, as
the officials arrive.  Soon, the match ref dismisses them in his mind, and
orders Lightning not to interfere while Death reenters the ring.

Death secretly smiles, for the departure of the two makes matters much simpler.
There are only half as many variables now, and the match is still even, if
you ignore the shellacking Thunder just dealt him.  At this point, a red spot
mars the canvas beneath his mask, and it occurs to Lightning that the leather
is nearly saturated with blood.  He smiles, seeing gold coming around his
waist once again.

As Death reaches the ring apron, Lightning loops one of his arms overhead and
hefts him up by the kilt, letting his sore back slam against the canvas inside
the ring with a resounding THUND.  He points up in the air, and hops up to the
top rope as soon as he is clear.  Waving both index fingers in the air in a
wind-up signal, he points down at Death contemptuously, launching off the top
with a flying elbow . . .



. . . which impacts squarely on Death's sternum.  Lightning's eyes practically
turn gold as he hooks a leg for the cover.  One!  Two . . . 



. . . not now.  Death kicks out of the cover with little trouble.  Lightning
stands, stunned, and clasps Death in a headlock.  If impact doesn't work,
aim for a wear-down.  Even Doc can't last forever if he lays on the lungs for
a while, making it hard to breath.

Death slowly tries to get to his feet, only to be hurled over the hip to the
canvas beneath the smaller man.  He quickly bounces back up and seizes the
smaller man in a leg scissors, freeing himself from the hold.  Lightning easily
escapes from the move, grabbing Death's shins in his arms.  He twists away with
the shins under his arms, stepping over Death and completing the Boston crab!

Doctor Death screams in the agony the move is costing him, for his back has
not yet recovered from earlier moves.  His entire spine is crying out at his
mind, yet he bites his teeth and shuts the pain from his skull.  He looks out,
the flecks in his eyes dancing wildly as he fixates on the bottom rope only
six feet away.  He props himself up on his hands, making headway in a crawl for
the thing that is central in his brain.  Four feet.  Lightning is forced to
step back with him, amazed at his determination.  Three feet.  The hand is
firmly on the rope.  The official calls for the break, which Lightning keeps
until four.

Death immediately rolls out of the ring, deciding that the floor will offer him
better thinking for now.  The offical keeps Lightning in the ring, leaving
Death alone and, for the moment, happy to be so.  He glares up at Lightning
in the ring, flecked ebon meeting emerald a moment.  The fear is gone from
Lightning's eyes, the match is firmly in his favor now.  Death smiles grimly.
That can be used against him.

The Doctor climbs the steps, entering the ring once more.  Lightning moves in
quickly, and Death backs away, his hands up, to the ropes.  The referee tells
Lightning to back off, but Lightning refuses to listen.  Should have listened
to him, Aaron.  That foot between your legs might have let some children live.

Lightning goes rigid, and Death runs from the corner, leveling him in a
roundhouse Russian sickle.  Death catches his breath for a moment, then sucks
in the air and lets it all out in a blood-curdling cry of wrath.  He turns
to Lightning, drawing him up, looping his right arm overhead with the same
movement as Death puts his own left arm around his waist.  He squats, grabs
the right thigh, and lifts Lightning horizontal into the air.  He is flawless
in his movements as he steadies him on his left shoulder, steps from beneath,
and lets him fall, his spine impacting perfectly on all points at once.  Death
doesn't bother to congratulate himself, though.  He stands and backs to the
ropes, the left-handed suplex leaving him able to do so without stepping over
his opponent.

The knee falls on Lightning's head, and Death rolls out into a somersault in
one graceful sideways move back to his feet.  Lightning clenches every muscle
in his body, and goes limp on his back.  287 pounds of knee hurts, it won't
matter if your head is made out of adamant.  Death brings Lightning back to
his feet again with a short, staccato laugh, putting him in a front facelock.

Slowly, Death curls Lightning over until he faces upward, dropping a neck-
breaker from shoulder height to the canvas!  He pauses to breath, then hooks
up a leg and a grapevine behind the head to cover the smaller man.

One!

Two . . .



. . . nope.  Lightning barely manages to get the left shoulder off the
canvas.  But Death still has him right where he wants him.  He lifts the
man's right leg up by the ankle, stepping over it with his own left leg,
setting his shin just behind the ankle.  His right shin over the knee, and
he hops up in the air, landing on both knees with the imprisoned leg between!
The knee curls painfully against the function any creator could have designed
for it, eliciting a shriek of pain from Lightning!

Death shows no mercy.  He brings Lightning up to his feet, looping his left
arm around the smaller man's waist again, lifting him up by the same right
shin.  He hefts him airborne a moment, before sending him crashing down to
a set knee, bringing a shiver of torment from Lightning!  Before the smaller
man even takes his next breath, that same shin is used to support his entire
weight in midair, prolonging the torture before Death takes the foundation out
and drops him onto his back!  Death keeps his hold on the ankle, though not
using that to slow his foe down, and stands over Lightning with it in his hand.

He bends back, and shouts the call to evoke the end.  He spins around the
inside of the leg, bending it at the knee, picking up the left ankle and
setting the right about the left knee, stepping forward with his own left leg
to that his left foot is beneath Lightning's left thigh as a brace, steps
forward now with his right foot to take off his balance, and allows himself to
fall to the canvas, lifting his right foot up as soon as he no longer needs it
for support, setting his own right knee over Lightning's right ankle.  The
smaller man's eyes widen in torturous agony, as the figure four leg lock is
turned over from side to side by his captor, contorting every ligament in that
knee as best Death can!

Death sets a moment, twisting his left foot inward in its brace position,
hyperextending Lightning's left knee, and he rises up into a bridge with the
hold, to put all the leverage he can to press the right ankle down, popping
the left knee out of joint and twisting it backwards.  Lightning wilts to the
canvas, his eyes rolling back in his head.  Blackness creeps in upon his
vision, and he half-prays for blissful oblivion to free him from this pain.

He is dimly aware of a count being laid upon his shoulders, and he knows it
means he has to lift a shoulder off the mat.  He weakly gets his right up, but
even he doesn't know how long he can keep it up.  He tries to sit up, biting
his tongue against the crescendo of pain that doing so means, until he can
get a hand on Death's right leg bracing his ankle down in the hold.  He grabs
with both hands, trying to shove the leg off his foot, to free himself.  The
leg goes nowhere, and Lightning remembers Death's leg strength about now.  His
mastery of the hold compliments his lower body power well, Lightning thinks
grimly.  Now how to get out?

He looks around for some ropes, wondering if perhaps they can save him.  The
ropes are closer to Death than to Lightning, and the Doctor realizes it as soon
as Lightning himself does.  He slides back with Lightning in the hold, moving
back to the ropes by sliding on his left foot and tail only, not letting his
right foot move an inch in proportion to Lightning's legs.  If that slips, the
hold weakens.  Death reaches the ropes, and Lightning cringes in despair and
pain as Death grabs them, letting all his weight all against Lightning's legs.
He crumbles to the canvas again, and the referee counts the shoulders.

One!

Two . . .



No!  Lightning refuses to give in!  The official asks for a submission, only
to get wordless defiance.  Lightning angrily tries to get his right foot on
the canvas, get some stance to turn this thing over.  He slowly lifts his
right knee into the air, but Death simply grabs onto the ropes and flattens it
back out.  Lightning, driven by anger and pain, takes it out on the official,
shouting at him to pay attention to Death.  The official turns, sees the
middle rope shaking, albeit Death's hands on the mat, and asks if he has used
them.  Lightning's eyes roll skyward.  Nice going, ref.  "Sure, I used the
ropes.  Go ahead and disqualify me!" he thinks sarcastically.  Death, of course,
puts on the baby face, and the ref turns back to Lightning to ask for a
submission.

Death rises into a rope grabbing again, and Lightning manages the words "Look
at him!" before wilting to the mat.  The official turns, seeing Death in the
process of letting go and moving his hands back to the canvas.  He glares at
the ultra-heel, and lays on a DQ count to break the hold.  Death grumbles,
but complies at four.  Lightning weakly grasps his knee, and asks the referee
kindly to watch a little more carefully, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Death cuts off the conversation when he aims to reapply the hold.  Lightning
reaches up, curling him over into an inside cradle!!

One!

Two!!



No!!  Death surges from the hold, growling!  He kicks viciously at Lightning's
knee, as he crawls to the nearby ropes and uses them to lever himself back to
his feet.  He turns to Death after one shot too many (or many shots . . .) and
deals a blatant chop right to the larger man's larnyx.  Death staggers back,
falling to the mat, clutching at his throat.  Lightning limps over to him,
trying to get some feeling into his legs that is not painful at this moment.
He risks a glance out at the fans, seeing that most of them are actually at
the edge of their seats watching this.  The Grinch abruptly makes an announce-
ment:

"THIRTY MINUTES HAVE GONE BY IN THE MATCH.  THIRTY MINUTES REMAINING."

He's lasted thirty minutes?  That's all?  It seems a h@!! of a lot longer.
He brings Death up to a stoop, hooking him in a double armbar from above his
head, hooking him up into a butterfly suplex, sending him landing on his
still-aching lower spine.  There's no stops left to be pulled out.  Lightning
doesn't know if he really wants to let thirty more minutes go by with this
hurt leg of his.

He aims a shot at Death again, rocking him into the corner.  He quickly rushes
over and sets Death on the top turnbuckle, dealing another shot while he's at
it.  He climbs to the second rope, grips Death in a waistlock, and hefts him
out of the corner, sending him sprawling on his back in the center of the ring!
Lightning waves a finger in the air with a whooping war-shriek, and gestures
to his waist before covering the Doctor!

One!  Two . . .



Death's shoulder jerks slightly upward just as the official's hand hits the
canvas for the third time!  Lightning rises, both fingers in the air, crying
out in jubilation, thinking that he's won the World Championship.  The official
dispells the shouting with two upraised fingers.  Lightning rounds on him,
following every step back while slowly raising his first three fingers.  The
ref shakes his head angrily, clapping his hands twice and patting himself on
the shoulder, shifting it forward, pointing at Death and ordering Lightning
to finish his man if he's able, but affirming that he hasn't done it yet.

Death manages to get to his feet before Lightning is done beefing with the
ref, and slowly staggers up to him.  When Lightning turns around, he finds
himself curled into a small package!

One!  Two . . .



Lightning manages to roll over on top of Doctor Death, turning the move around!
One!  Two . . .



Death gets out of the hold, getting to his feet quickly, ignoring the pain in
his back.  Lightning is a bit slower, and tries to punch Death as he approaches!
Death sidesteps the move, stepping between Lightning's legs with his left leg
while moving around to curl his left arm under Lightning's right shoulder!  He
hops up, putting his weight backward in the hold, rocking Lightning's shoulders
to the mat!

One!  Two . . .



Still not working!  Lightning teeters sideways, managing to wiggle his way
out.  The official isn't sure what's going on, as Death gets to his feet just
as quickly.  Lightning turns, and rolls Death into yet another inside cradle!

One!  Two . . .



No!  Death rolls on top of Lightning now!

One!  Two . . .



And three!!

Lightning surges out of the hold, yelling at the referee about a fast count.
The official responds in the negative, furious at the heavy-handed treatment
he's gotten throughout the match.  He makes the announcement to the timekeeper
as Death exits the ring, and the Grinch makes it official.

"THE WINNER OF THIS BOUT, AND STILL WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION . . . DOCTOR
DEATH!!"

Death slings his belt over his shoulder, slowly walking back to the dressing
room.  Lightning looks like he wants to go after him, but his leg isn't in good
enough shape to run after him and catch him.  However, another day may well
find Aaron "Lightning" Murphy challenging for gold . . .

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


And so it is.  Doctor Death walks into the Clash of the Masters with the FWF
World Championship, ready to put pride on the line against his PWA counterpart.
For now, this is the Stilt Man, signing off.
 __________________________________________________________________________
|Stilt Man --Never ask a mortician to go out and bring you back a cold one.|
|  foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu	                            		   |
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