WCW Monday Nitro #2
09.11.1995
James L. Knight Center, Miami, Florida

The arena lights dim to molten amber as Nitro’s theme screams in; camera skates across a sea of handmade signs—HOGAN, STINGER, LEX—before the stage erupts in a zig-zag wall of pyro. The giant block NITRO truss throws off heat as orange and steel wash the entryway; the hard-cam catches the aisle shimmer and the ring skirts snap in the backdraft. Crowd is loud, rowdy, and absolutely wired for Fall Brawl.

​

Eric Bischoff (over the roar):
“Live—live—on TNT, this is Monday Nitro, your last stop before Fall Brawl ‘95 and WarGames! The temperature is red-line tonight: the Hulkster’s camp talking receipts, and the enigma of Lex Luger—whose side is he on come Sunday?”

Mongo:
“I got goosebumps the size of dog bones, baby—somebody’s gettin’ locked in a cage and chewed up on Sunday!”

Heenan:
“Chewed up? I’m thinking carved up. And Luger? He doesn’t blink—he calculates.”

Bischoff:
“Plus—title implications all night, and we’re adding fuel to that cruiserweight fire we lit last week. Surprises in the house, scores to settle, and we are not lifting off the throttle.”​

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Hogan and Sting Kick Things Off!

The arena goes midnight-dark for a heartbeat—then a white-hot strobe snaps to the stage as that familiar guitar sting hits. “Real American” blasts and the roof just about pops. Hulk Hogan storms through the curtain, no posing, no cupped ear—bandana knotted tight, jaw set, black-and-yellow gear cutting a bright line down the aisle. He power-walks, title-less but thunderous, ripping the weight belt from his waist and snapping it between his hands like he’s daring someone to try him. He hits the steps in two strides and ducks in under the top rope, pacing the ring edge, pointing up the ramp with both fists clenched, the veins in his arms standing out under the lights.

Music pivots; the house drops to a cobalt wash and a cold spotlight hits the entrance. Sting emerges with a purposeful stride—no twirl, no playful crowd-work—just laser focus. The neon trim on his ring jacket flickers under the strobes as he peels it off mid-walk and slings it aside without breaking pace. Facepaint is fresh and sharp, eyes burning; he slaps the top turnbuckle on arrival and vaults over the rope, landing center ring in a low stance. Sting paces to Hogan’s shoulder, the two forming a wall—Hogan vibrating with fury, Sting coiled like a spring—both men staring a hole through the entrance as the crowd swells, waiting for the first spark.

Sting:
“Ladies and Gentlemen, I hate to cut right to the chase and not embrace you all with a warm welcome, but I simply could not fake my usual excitement and joy I usually come to this ring with. Let me make something crystal clear before this gets any uglier.

Lex Luger isn’t some stranger who wandered in off the street—he’s my friend. We’ve traveled the roads together, we’ve bled in the same rings, we’ve pushed each other to be better since the first day we laced ‘em up. When I say I know Lex, I mean I know the man behind the muscles—the guy who’s fought his way through every locker room to stand where he is.

So if you’re wondering how he showed up on Nitro last week… you’re looking at the reason. I’m the one who made the call. I’m the one who told him, ‘If you want to test yourself against the best, if you want the whole world to see what you’ve got, then Nitro is the place.’ I invited Lex to be here—because I trust him to stand up, not slink around. Now, whether he proves me right is on him. But I brought him here for competition, for the big stage, not for cheap shots or mixed messages.

Now the reason I requested the Hulkster to come out here with me is because I have a tremendous amount of paranoia rattling through my brainwaves. You see, I have dealt with the crew that Luger may be running with for nearly a decade now and if there is one thing I have learned more than any is that to deal with the horsemen, you have got to play the numbers game. So Hulkster, standing here side by side with you sir, I would just to say thank you for having my back in this moment" ​

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Sting hands Hogan the Mic

Hulk Hogan:
“Let me tell you somethin’, Stinger—let me tell you somethin’, brothers! This is WCW, and this is where the big boys play, jack. And there ain’t two bigger dogs on this yard than the Hulkster and the Stinger, dude. We built these bricks with sweat and we painted ‘em with heart, and every wrestler in the back knows it.

"Now I know what’s eatin’ at ‘em, Stinger. Ric Flair can’t stand to see me carry the World’s Championship, brother—every time this gold shines, it burns his eyes. And Lex Luger? He can’t stand lookin’ across that ring and seein’ the superstar the Stinger has become, man. The spotlight used to be his mirror—now it’s your reflection, and that twists him up inside, brother."​

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​

Sting:
“You know something, Hulkster, you hit the nail right on the head. And I’m not gonna beat around the bush with this one, because I know exactly what’s coming. Fall Brawl ’95 is just six days away… and we don’t even have a WarGames match yet. But let’s face it—everybody in this building knows that’s exactly where this is headed.

"Ric Flair—Nature Boy—you’ve always been a step ahead when it comes to business. You’re a master at pulling the strings, bringing the spotlight right back to yourself. And I’ll give credit where it’s due—you’re smart. But this time… you made the wrong investment.

"You thought poking and prodding at the Stinger and the Hulkster would be a smart move? You thought bringing your muscle and manipulating Lex Luger was gonna rattle the cage? Well congratulations, Flair—you’ve backed yourself right into WarGames. You wanted to light the fire, now you’re gonna feel the burn.

"At Fall Brawl, when that double cage drops down and there’s nowhere left to run, the Stinger’s coming for you, and so is the Hulkster. And when it’s all said and done, you’ll find out that you don’t gamble against the biggest, the brightest, and the best in WCW… and win.”​

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Ric Flair’s music hits and the arena shifts—heat and electricity crackle as the Nature Boy explodes from the curtain, robe flying, hair wild, eyes wide with a manic grin. He paces back and forth on the ramp with maniacal movements.

A few strides behind him walks Lex Luger, a study in control. Luger moves with measured purpose: shoulders square, jaw set, eyes forward. He pauses at the top of the aisle to take in the scene without flinching.

​

Ric Flair:
“Four years. Four long, miserable years. The Horsemen? Extinct — or at least that’s what the fools in the back want you to believe. Four years since the empire marched into battle and stomped on every pretender’s throat... and four years since I walked out of this ring without the big gold wrapped around my waist. Coincidence? Don’t insult my intelligence.

"I am Ric Flair — the standard, the blueprint, the man who made this business look like something worth watching. I am the Real World Champion of WCW, and you can put that on a poster, on a billboard, and tattoo it on the forehead of every jabroni who dares to disagree, WOOOOOOO!. Everyone in the back knows it. Every promoter who’s ever cashed a check because of my name knows it. And WOOOOOO mark my words — the whole wide world knows it.

"You want to call me angry? I’m furious. But I am not angry enough to not be smart enough to have a plan in my back pocket. Hey Luger, I count two of us up here. We were the ~four~ horsemen weren't we?"​

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Flair's laugh peels through the arena — high, manic, a sound that seems to scrape the rafters. The laugh swells, and in that beat of chaos two dark shapes slide silently through the ropes behind Sting and Hogan.

Before the crowd can react, both men are swinging steel pipes with brutal efficiency — the first blow cracks across Hogan's ribs, the next smashes into Sting's shoulder. The two legends crumple, stunned and collapsing to the canvas as the masked assailants rain blows, cold and practiced. Ringside officials and a handful of wrestlers surge forward, but the attackers move like shadows, striking again and slipping behind the ropes.

One of them pulls his hood back just enough for the lights to catch the hard, familiar jaw — Arn Anderson.

He stands for a heartbeat, rifle-straight and expressionless, then secures the fallen Hogan with a final, measured strike. The other attacker remains hooded and masked, body taut and sinewy, faceless beneath the fabric as he delivers one last savage swing on Sting before the duo backs up the ramp and vanishes into the curtain past Flair and Luger.

Blood gleams on the canvas coming from the side of Stinger's blonde hair. Flair's grin hardens as he watches Hogan and Sting writhe, and the arena fills with stunned silence punctuated by shouts and chaos at ringside — the scene a clear, brutal statement that someone just raised the stakes for Fall Brawl.

​

Eric Bischoff:
Oh my God… Hogan and Sting just got absolutely obliterated right here in front of us! Look at the damage — I’ve never seen anything like it! And those men… well one of them was Arn Anderson, but who the hell was the other guy???​

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Bobby Heenan:
“Oh, I gotta admit — I love it! Sting and Hogan getting flattened like that? Beautiful! About time someone taught those two a lesson. But come on, Ric… Arn… really? Not even a little invite for your old pal Heenan to join in on the fun? I mean, I would’ve taken care of both of them for you, saved you a little elbow grease!”​

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Steve 'Mongo' McMichael:
“Heenan, you said you’d taken care of them? Ha! What’d you do, huh, weasel? Sneak around and poke ‘em with a feather? Hogan and Sting just got hammered, and you’re sitting there like a little rat thinking you could’ve done better? Don’t make me laugh!”​

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Eric Bischoff:
"Well I don't really know how to transition from such a thing, but the show must go on. Now ladies and gentlemen, I have been alluding to big news about WCW's brand new cruiserweight division. Well I have entrusted long-time WCW commentator and host of WCW's Main Event, Tony Schiavone, to share some official news that just broke earlier today. Let's kick it down to Tony in the ring."​

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Huge Announcement for WCW's Cruiserweight Division

​

Tony Schiavone:
"Thank you Mr. Bischoff. Well ladies and gentlemen, we have quite the announcement for you in regards to WCW's brand new Cruiserweight division. You are about to witness a brand-new chapter in WCW history — something that will take high-flying action, technical mastery, and the best wrestling from across the globe, and put it all on center stage. We’re talking about speed, agility, daring maneuvers that will make your head spin, and mind-bending sequences that only the elite of the wrestling world can deliver. This is the future of WCW, and it starts right here.

"And to make it official, WCW is proud to announce the

"Cruiserweight Championship Series

"Here’s how it works: four separate match-ups, each contested as a best-of-three series — think of the first round like the playoffs in basketball or baseball, where every match counts and strategy is as important as raw talent. The winners of these match-ups won’t just walk away with bragging rights; they’ll earn a spot in the first-ever WCW Cruiserweight Championship 4-way match at Halloween Havoc ‘95, where history will be made, and the very first champion will be crowned.

"Now WCW faithful here with us in the James L. Knight Center, may I direct your attention to the tron above me to show you the match-ups for the first round of the Cruiserweight Championship Series."​

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Cruiserweight Championship Series Vignette / Match Announcements
The screen goes dark, then explodes with rapid-fire clips: high-flying dives off the top rope, spinning hurricanranas, crisp reversals, and lightning-fast chain wrestling sequences from around the globe. Each move is punctuated with quick flashes of roaring crowds, intense facial expressions, and rings shaking from every slam. As the energy peaks, a global map briefly pulses with dots marking Tokyo, Osaka, and cities across North America, highlighting where the elite talent comes from. Just before the music crescendos, the logos of FMW, WAR, and NJPW blaze across the screen in neon bursts, signaling that the world’s top cruiserweights are coming to WCW.

The first match-up.....
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WCW's Alex Wright!

taking on!

FMW's Great Sasuke!

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the debuting Eddy Guerrero!

taking on!

the debuting Dean Malenko!

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NJPW's Jushin 'Thunder' Liger!

taking on!

WAR's Ultimo Dragon!

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WCW's Brian Pillman!

taking on!

the debuting 'Crippler' Chris Benoit

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Steve 'Mongo' McMichael:
"Holy smokes Bischoff, you weren't kidding when you were talking about packing a punch with this cruiserweight division. They call that Malenko kid the Iceman and if he isn't staring daggers through your soul, he's twisting you into a damn pretzel." ​

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Bobby Heenan:
"I don’t know if you folks have heard, but I’ve got it on pretty good authority that Crippler Chris Benoit — yeah, that little French guy — turns into a werewolf during a full moon. And guess what? Halloween Havoc falls right under a full moon this year. You mark my words, he’s gonna run through this tournament like a wild animal. Somebody better lock up their silver bullets!”​

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Eric Bischoff:
"Boys, I couldn’t be more thrilled about what we’re doing with the Cruiserweight Championship Series. Through our working relationships with New Japan Pro Wrestling, WAR, and FMW, we’ve brought some of the absolute best talent from Japan right here to WCW. That means the likes of Great Sasuke, Jushin ‘Thunder’ Liger, and Ultimo Dragon will all be competing — elite, world-class performers who will raise the bar for what the cruiserweight division can do. The athleticism, the innovation, the pure skill — it’s unlike anything you’ve ever seen, and it’s all coming right here to WCW. And we won't have to wait long as the first matches for the Malenko/Guerrero series and the Liger/Dragon series will be taking place on Sunday Night's Fall Brawl!

I hear our very own Gene Okerlund is in the back with Hulk Hogan and Sting!"​

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Mean Gene Okerlund with Hulk Hogan and Sting

Mean Gene stands between Hogan and Sting, mic in hand, eyes darting between the two legends still catching their breath from the brutal attack.

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Mean Gene:
“Hulk, Sting… how do you respond? Who’s stepping up to join you in WarGames against Flair, Luger, and the Horsemen?”​

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Hogan wipes blood from his forehead, eyes blazing, veins popping, and clenches the mic like it’s a weapon.

Before they can even answer the question, a familiar man in street clothes comes up to the three men and Hulk and Sting immediately get into defense mode, being stricken by paranoia from the four horsemen attacks.

It's Kevin Sullivan

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Kevin Sullivan:
"Hogan, Stingah. I know we've had some tempered past. I don't know if you heard me from last week, but I am turning over a new leaf. No more Taskmaster, no more Dungeon. I want to write the wrongs of my past, and one of those things is taken down Arn and those four horsemen."​

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Hulk Hogan:
“Sullivan? You’ve been runnin’ with the Dungeon of Doom, brother! You’ve been stealin’, schemin’, and runnin’ your mouth for years, dude! You think the Hulkster’s gonna trust a snake like you? You’ve tried to take me down, tried to destroy everything I stand for! You’re lucky I don’t deck you right here in the locker room, jack!”​

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Sting rubs his shoulder, grimacing from the earlier assault, but steps closer to keep Hogan in check.

Sullivan holds up his hands, desperation in his stance.

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Kevin Sullivan:
“I’ve changed! I’m not that man anymore, I swear. I can help you.”​

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Hogan’s eyes narrow, steam practically coming off him.

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Hulk Hogan:
“Changed? Brother, I’ve seen your kind change into trouble a hundred times! You want in with the Hulkster and the Stinger? You better prove it, dude, because I don’t play with snakes and I don’t forgive! This is WCW, and it’s where the big boys play, jack! You step in that cage, you better be ready to stand tall — or get crushed!”​

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Sting steps forward, nodding to Hogan.

​

Sting:
“We really don’t have anywhere else to turn. He might be the only option left to even the odds.”​

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Sullivan exhales, relief mingling with determination.

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Kevin Sullivan:
“Good. I want to talk to you both privately. I’ve got an ace in the hole for our final team member — someone who will ensure the scales tip in our favor.”​

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The camera lingers on Hogan and Sting exchanging tense glances, the weight of Sullivan’s offer hanging heavy as the backstage area buzzes with anticipation. They follow him away from backstage.

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Eric Bischoff:
"Ladies and gentlemen, you just witnessed chaos in the back that will send shockwaves all the way to Fall Brawl! Hogan, Sting… and now Kevin Sullivan stepping into the fray — this WarGames match just became must-see TV.

"But now, let’s switch gears and bring the action to the ring! Our first contest tonight is going to be a showcase of speed, agility, and pure athleticism — Johnny B. Badd takes on Cobra! Get ready, because this one is going to be fast, furious, and absolutely unforgettable!"​

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Match #1:
Johnny B. Badd vs. Cobra

Collar and elbow tie-up both wrestlers feel each other out, testing strength and balance. Johnny B. Badd executes a quick arm drag, sending Cobra skidding across the mat, then follows with a second arm drag, keeping the momentum firmly in his favor.

Johnny climbs the ropes and hits a dropkick, sending Cobra rolling out to the floor. He fires up to the cheering crowd, soaking in the energy, then springs into a somersault plancha to the outside, crashing onto Cobra with precision. Johnny lifts Cobra and rolls him back into the ring, quickly going for the pin. 1…2…kick out!

Johnny doesn’t miss a beat, pulling Cobra into position for the Shooting Star Press. He launches off the top rope with perfect form, Shooting Star Press connects — 1…2…3!

Spoiler

Johnny B. Badd pins Cobra

After the match, Johnny B. Badd celebrates in the ring, crowd ablaze from the breathtaking Shooting Star Press, arms raised as fans cheer wildly.

Cruiserweight Championship Series Preview Tag Match:
Alex Wright/The Great Sasuke vs. Brian Pillman/'Crippler'Chris Benoit

The arena hums with anticipation as the next matchup is set: a tag team contest featuring Chris Benoit and Brian Pillman taking on Alex Wright and The Great Sasuke. The tension in the air is thick — this isn’t just any tag match. Tonight, the men tagging will actually be facing off with one another in the CCS.

Benoit and Pillman enter first, each striding with determination, muscles taut, they come out under the same music, but are very distant and Benoit has a determined and focused look he is known for.

Wright follows with his signature confident stride, a smirk playing on his lips as he soaks in the arena’s applause, while Sasuke slides into the ring with the lightning-fast energy and acrobatics he’s known for.

The crowd senses the underlying stakes: every move, every hold, every counter could foreshadow the high-flying, technical brilliance expected when the Cruiserweight series officially kicks off. This match promises a blend of technical mastery, agility, and daring maneuvers, giving fans a taste of what the tournament will deliver in full force.

They lock up in the center—collar-and-elbow tie-up, feeling for position. Alex snaps into a hammerlock on Pillman, wrenching the arm and turning the pressure. Pillman twists free with a twisting wrist-lock reversal, then Alex answers with a flashy escape: a front handspring, a smack to separate the hands, that flows into a crisp dropkick that clips Pillman and leaves him staggered. Alex flashes to the crowd, selling the crowd before Pillman ducks and tags Chris Benoit.

Benoit explodes into the ring with a running shoulder tackle that levels Alex inside out, and Alex scrambles to his corner to tag in Great Sasuke—you can see the respect-and-fear line drawn between Wright and Benoit; Wright hesitates, eyes on Benoit’s power. Sasuke doesn’t hesitate—he flips through over the top rope from the apron and dives in with the speed of a human missile, showing no fear of Benoit at all.

Sasuke opens with rapid strikes—jumping karate kicks—but Benoit absorbs and blocks them with iron arms, then grabs Sasuke’s mask and clamps down. Benoit grabs a hold of Sasuke and drives him with a snap suplex, keeping the pressure. Pillman, watching from the apron, looks annoyed at Benoit’s heavy-handed control; when Pillman gets pushy, Benoit shoves him off the apron, a clean dismissal that only fuels Pillman’s temper.

Sasuke answers with sudden offense—he nails a huge dropkick that sends Benoit stumbling to the floor. He follows with a Sasuke Special—a handspring into a leaping moonsault over the top rope and to the outside taking both Pillman and Benoit down—and then rolls Benoit back into the ring. Sasuke rebounds off the ropes, springs into a handspring to back elbow, and hooks the cover—1... 2... kick out!

Sasuke drags Benoit toward his corner and tags Alex. Wright climbs to the top turnbuckle and hits a diving splash for a near fall—1... 2... kick out at 2.3! Wright cinches a reverse chinlock, grinding Benoit down, but Benoit powers free with elbows to the gut and fights back into the match. Benoit tags Pillman in and Pillman explodes with a fired-up forearm sequence into a big dropkick. Wright tags Sasuke back in.

Sasuke and Pillman trade quick mat work—arm drag, arm drag, then Pillman slips in a side headlock takedown and grinds with a headlock. Sasuke flips the script with a leg-scissor reversal, and Pillman kips up, only for Pillman to surprise with a huge snapping powerbomb—the crowd jolts. Pillman covers—1... 2... kick out at 2.999! The count is razor-close and Sasuke barely lifts a shoulder.

Pillman, feeling the match coming to it's closing stretches, hits a powerslam to shift the ring to his side; Benoit rushes in and catapults Wright off the apron with a brutal forearm strike, clearing the way and rushes back to his apron. Pillman tags Benoit in; Benoit climbs and lands a diving headbutt that rocks Sasuke unconscious—Benoit hooks the leg—1.......2.......3!

Spoiler

Benoit pins Sasuke after a diving headbutt

As the bell rings, Pillman lashes out verbally at Benoit about the underhanded tactics Benoit had displayed earlier. They square off—Pillman barking, Benoit calm and unmoved. Benoit turns and strolls out of the ring, heading to the back without a reaction, leaving Pillman furious. Pillman kicks the bottom rope in frustration, then turns and shows sportsmanship—comforting Sasuke and Wright despite the heat, helping them to their feet as the arena roars.

WCW The Main Event Hype

Open on rapid-fire cuts from last week’s WCW: The Main Event — Alex Wright’s high-flying sequence, Johnny B.’s Shooting Star Press explosion, Booker and Stevie celebrating their triangle win, and a slice of Jesse Ventura calling the show “must-see muscle.” Each clip is a strobe-snap, not more than a beat or two, building momentum.

A quick snapshot of what is to come on Main Event. Arn Anderson will be in singles action. American Males in Tag Action.

Smash to a black screen. Low synth throb. Neon pink and blue wash up the ramp as the Renegade’s silhouette explodes into frame, backlit and breathing hard. A slow-motion close-up: paint flecked at his temple, eyes locked into the lens. He charges the camera—boots hitting the ramp in time with an electronic drum — then hits a rapid montage of in-ring strikes: running splash, spinning leg drop, a thunderous gutbuster and a corner-to-corner clothesline that flips an opponent to the floor.

Cut to training footage — Renegade sprinting stadium steps at dawn, medicine ball slams, a quick sequence of plyometric hops, then him throwing his head back and howling into the air. Text slams onscreen: “ONE HOUR. SATURDAY NIGHT. THE MAIN EVENT.”

Back to the ring — Renegade climbs the turnbuckle, freezes, and points to the crowd. The camera pushes in tight as he mouths the line, then the audio hits hard: “FEEL THE SURGE — RIDE THE RENEGADE!”

End on the WCW Main Event logo in neon pink and blue with the tagline: “Renegade — Title Defense This Saturday. Be There.”

WCW World Tag Team Championship Main Event:
Bunkhouse Buck and Dick Slater (c) vs. Harlem Heat (Booker T and Stevie Ray)

Bunkhouse Buck and Dick Slater make their slow, bruiser’s walk to the ring—cigar smoke, scowl, and the air of men who’ve fought dirtier fights than most. Harlem Heat’s music hits and Booker T and Stevie Ray explode onto the ramp, fast, focused, and ready to impose their tempo tonight.

The bell rings with Booker and Buck as the opening legal men. Booker circles low, testing distance; Buck uses his size to shove Booker into the corner, but Booker slips out and answers with rapid forearms that snap Buck’s head back. Booker keeps the pace, hitting a crisp dropkick that staggers Buck across the ring. Buck reaches blindly for a tag, but Booker darts to his corner and tags Stevie in.

Stevie sprints in with a burst of power, hitting Buck with a running shoulder tackle and following with a vertical suplex that plants him squarely on the mat. Stevie drives Buck into the opposite corner, and Booker returns to the apron—quick, precise tags keep Buck isolated and under constant pressure. Buck never gets comfortable long enough to mount anything meaningful.

When Buck finally manages to shove Stevie away, he scrambles to tag Slater, but by the time Slater steps through the ropes Harlem Heat have already cut the ring in half. Booker leaps in with a Harlem Sidekick to Slater, knocking him into the ropes, and Stevie hits a neckbreaker for a near fall—1... 2... kick out! The champions’ attempts to steady themselves are met with coordinated offense: double flapjack, synchronized dropkicks, and Booker’s quick scoopslams keep the momentum firmly on Harlem Heat’s side.

Slater tries to rally, but every move is met with a quick tag or an uncanny save—Booker and Stevie read each other perfectly, isolating Slater and preventing any real comeback. Booker hits a suicide dive to the floor, taking Slater out at ringside, while Stevie hammers Buck with stiff forearms inside. Buck staggers back into the ring like a man on borrowed time.

Harlem Heat transitions smoothly into their finish: Stevie plants Buck with a running powerslam to soften him, then pulls him to the center and tags Booker. Booker climbs the top turnbuckle, measures his man, and launches into the Harlem Hangover—a flipping leg drop from the top rope that connects flush across Buck’s chest. Booker hooks the leg and covers—1.......2.......3!

Spoiler

NEW TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS: HARLEM HEAT

A short celebration between the two brothers proceeds a cut back to the announce desk.

Eric Bischoff:
"Wow we just crowned New WCW World Tag Team Champions! Congratulations to Harlem Heat !​

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"Unfortunately ladies and gentleman, that is all the time that remains for Monday Nitro. I have been working diligently with the network over the past week and we have just received word that this coming Thursday at 10/9 central, we will have an hour exclusive studio show that will be the "Countdown to Fall Brawl". Interviews with each of the participants in the Cruiserweight Championship Series. But most importantly, the cards must be shown for each side of the War Games match. Who is Kevin Sullivan's "ace in the hole"? Who is the masked man that rounds out the fourth spot of the four horsemen? Both sides must reveal their pieces as we will also conduct our coin flip to decide who will have the War Games advantage ! All that and so much more this Thursday, see you then"​

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ECW Hardcore TV #125
09.12.1995
ECW Arena, Philadelphia, Pa

Spoiler

Stylish Intro

​

Joey Styles:
“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Extreme Championship Wrestling! I’m Joey Styles, the voice of ECW—and tonight we’ve got more mayhem on deck than a Public Enemy block party. And trust me, at least this party won’t get shut down by the cops!

And speaking of parties, The Sandman’s already been celebrating—though I think he’s been pregaming since 1989. Don’t ask me how he finds his way to the ring; I’m still waiting for my map and compass for the sea that is the ECW Arena.

And Taz? He’s been tossing people around this building like he’s moving furniture—but good luck getting him through a door frame without widening it first!

…Okay, okay, I hear myself. I’m sounding less like ECW and more like I should be opening for Carrot Top. I’ll quit the stand-up act and do my job before I get booed out of my own building.”

leans in, tone shifts more serious

“But speaking of being booed—or cheered, depending on where you’re from—there’s been an intruder in the ECW. A man who says he’s not here to fit in, but to bring what he calls a Mexican Wave crashing through the land of Extreme. His name is Konnan. And to be honest, I had to dust off my high school Spanish just to figure out where he was going with all of this. The message? He’s here to shake things up, to bring his fight, his culture, and his pride straight to ECW.”​

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Spoiler

La Ola Mexicana

Konnan is on the streets of Philadelphia just outside of the ECW Arena​

Konnan:
“Órale, Philadelphia… let me get something straight right off the bat. I didn’t come here to bleed on tables, or to swing chairs, or to roll around in barbed wire like some perro loco. Nah. Ese estilo? That’s basura wrestling. Hardcore, extreme, whatever you wanna call it—cheap tricks to cover up a lack of real lucha ability.

But you know what? I ain’t gonna bury you fans, because I know better. La neta is, ECW fans are some of the smartest in the world. You people have taste. You people know when you see something real. That’s the only reason I even bothered to step into this dump of a building—because I know you’ll recognize class when you see it.

Now let me talk about Mexican pride. For over 100 years, luchadores have been flying, twisting, innovating, elevating this sport into an art form. We don’t need chairs to get a reaction. We don’t need to hide behind garbage wrestling. We are the ones that make wrestling into cultura. We make it matter.

And yeah, I’ll keep it one-hundred with you—al final del día, it’s about the feria, the money. ECW says they want the best? That means me and my crew. Porque when we step in, the matches will blow the roof off this joint, and you all will have no choice but to admit that nobody—nobody—does it better than Mexico.

But there’s one thing that pisses me off más que nada. One poser in particular. 2 Cold Scorpio.

Scorpio, in America, they act like you’re some innovator. Like you’re the first guy who figured out how to fly, how to flip, how to wow a crowd. ¡Por favor! For decades, luchadores have been doing that style, and doing it better. The only difference is you get called revolutionary. That’s the disrespect. That’s the mentira that I came here to squash.

So listen up, Scorpio. You ain’t no innovator. You’re a carbon copy of what my people been perfecting for generations. And if you got the guts to step in the ring with one of my crew, we’ll show you and everybody in ECW exactly why the Mexican Wave is here to drown out all the fakes.

¡Arriba la raza!"​

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Back to Joey

Joey Styles:
"Well isn’t that rich? Konnan strolls into Extreme Championship Wrestling and the first thing he does is take a dump on what made this place famous. Garbage wrestling, huh? Who would’ve thought Konnan would be sharing the same opinion as all those bitter old timers who still sit around in smoky VFW halls reminiscing about the days when a bearhug and a dropkick were the deadliest finishers in the business?

But I’ll give the man his due. Konnan’s no slouch. He’s an international star, he’s traveled the world, and when he says he’s bringing a Mexican wave, he’s not kidding. And if he sets his sights on 2 Cold Scorpio, folks, you better believe we could be in for something very, very special. So whether you boo him or cheer him, keep your eyes on Konnan, because he just might shake up ECW in a way none of us expect.

Speaking of shaking things up… let’s check in on the man who’s been doing just that since the moment he arrived. It looks like Cactus Jack has… well, of course… found himself in yet another ditch somewhere. Let’s hear from the madman himself.”​

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Spoiler

Crown of Thorns

Grainy camera feed – Cactus Jack slouched in a muddy ditch, one boot off, sock torn, hair plastered with sweat and dirt. He’s rocking back and forth, mumbling at first before snapping into bursts of intensity.
​

Cactus Jack:
“Heh heh heh… Do you know what they call it? Do you know what they call it when you chase after something shiny, something that glitters under those hot lights, something that they hold above your head like a prize for the strongest dog in the pound? They call it… a championship.

And oh, the boys in the back, they tell you it’s gold! They tell you it’s glory! They tell you it’s validation! But do you know what I see when I look at a championship, huh?

I see… a crown. And not the kind you polish up for royalty—oh no no no, not that. I see the CROWN… OF THORNS.

Cactus grabs a fistful of weeds and prickers and shoves them against his forehead, digging them into his skin.

Because you don’t wear it to be adored, you wear it to be TORTURED! You don’t put it on to feel like a king, you put it on to bleed like a martyr!”

He pauses, breathing heavy, his voice softens, almost childlike.

“Mother… oh, mother always said, ‘Jack, don’t you go breaking yourself for trinkets.’ Heh… But Mama Foley didn’t understand, did she? She didn’t see the faces. The ECW Arena, those bloodthirsty faces. They don’t cheer because you’re handsome, they don’t cheer because you’re rich… They cheer because you HURT, because you SACRIFICE, because you put yourself on that cross and let them hammer the nails in one… by… one.”

He suddenly snarls, snapping his head back, eyes bulging.

“AND YOU THINK I WON’T, HUH?! You think I won’t carry that burden, that weight, that PAIN on my shoulders for the right to call myself a champion?! I’ll take the crown of thorns, I’ll ram it into my skull, and I’ll wear it with a smile so wide it splits my face in half.

That championship isn’t gold. It’s barbed wire. And I’ll drag it into my ditch, I’ll cradle it like my own child, and I’ll let it tear the last scraps of flesh from my bones, because in the end… the only glory that matters is the glory you EARN through SUFFERING!”

His tone drops again, whispering like he’s telling a bedtime story.

“Championship… crown of thorns… same thing. Same thing. One makes you bleed on the inside, the other makes you bleed on the out. And Cactus Jack? Bang bang… he’s not afraid of a little blood.”

He shoves his fingers in his mouth, bites down until a small trickle of blood seeps, then smears it across his face like war paint. He starts laughing, rocking back and forth as the feed cuts out.​

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Back to Joey

Joey Styles:
"Well… folks… uh… if you were waiting for me to put that into words, forget it! I don’t have the vocabulary for whatever the hell that was! Cactus Jack in a ditch talking about crowns of thorns—ladies and gentlemen, only in ECW! You won’t see that in the land of dropkicks and bearhugs, I can promise you that!

But let’s be real, as chilling as that was, that’s exactly why you’re here tonight. Because ECW isn’t just another wrestling show—oh no, we are the cutting edge, the barbed-wire edge of professional wrestling! And right now, all roads lead to one destination… this Friday night… GANGSTA’S PARADISE!

That’s right—Gangsta’s Paradise, an event so big, so insane, so absolutely over the top, that we’re not just giving it to you once… no, no, no. Over the next three weeks of Hardcore TV, you are going to see every match, every highlight, every ounce of blood, sweat, and chaos from this Friday’s show.

And because I know you’re chomping at the bit, because I know you want the lineup, because I know you want to circle the matches that’ll leave your jaw on the floor—well, I’m not gonna keep you waiting. To break down the entire card for Gangsta’s Paradise, let’s head over to everybody’s favorite ball of hype… Lance Wright at Hype Central!”​

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HYPE CENTRAL

​

Lance Wright:
"Hello EVERYBODY and welcome to the hottest of all recap shows. HYPE CENTRAL. First let's dive into...."​

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As the night gets longer, your attention to this hall-of-fame yapper Lance Wright slowly dissipates. You start looking over to your coffee table where the first ever Powerslam Press magazine you ordered off a hotline is resting waiting to be opened. As you open the magazine, a fairly convenient coincidence occurs when you flip to a page that has the card (subject to change) for this Friday's Gangstas Paradise. You turn down Lance Wright to check out the card.

Spoiler

ECW Gangstas Paradise
09.16.1995

Carnage Cage Match
Public Enemy vs. The Gangstas

Fans Bring the Weapons Tag Match
Sandman and Tommy Dreamer vs. Cactus Jack and Raven

ECW TV Championship Match
Too Cold Scorpio (c) vs. Rey Misterio Jr w/Konnan

#1 Contender Match for the Tag Titles
The Steiners vs. The Pitbulls

International Showcase Match
Konnan vs. Mikey Whipwreck

Technical Showcase
James Maritato vs. Jerry Lynn

You draw your attention back to the television where Lance Wright is finishing up his "hype".

Joey Styles:
“Thank you, Lance! That’s the lineup, folks—Gangsta’s Paradise is shaping up to be one of the wildest nights in ECW history. And speaking of wild… let’s not waste any time, because we’ve got words from two men who live and breathe chaos. Tommy Dreamer… The Sandman… take it away.”​

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Spoiler

Nightmare on Dream Street

The camera cuts to a dimly lit backstage area. Tommy Dreamer stands in his signature ECW shirt, fists taped, eyes burning with emotion. Beside him, The Sandman lurks in the shadows, smoking, beer in hand. Woman is front and center, sensual smirk curling her lips as she caresses Sandman’s chest while speaking.

​

Tommy Dreamer:
“Raven… I don’t care how many times you’ve beaten me down, how many of your little disciples you throw in my path, or how many scars I take along the way. This isn’t about wins and losses anymore—it’s about ending this. Once and for all. You’ve poisoned everything around me, and Friday night at Gangsta’s Paradise… I’m not coming to wrestle you. I’m coming to hurt you. I’m coming to erase you from my life, Raven.”​

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​

Woman:
Moaning slightly as she leans on Sandman “Mmm, Cactus Jack… poor, sweet Cactus Jack. You begged for pain, you begged for suffering. And my Sandman… he’s not just a brawler, he’s not just a fighter—he’s a sadist. He enjoys every second of your agony. He drinks it in like he drinks his beer. The sting of kendo sticks, the taste of blood, the sound of bones cracking… that’s his kind of foreplay.”​

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Woman:
“And when he’s finished with you, Cactus… you’ll be begging for mercy.....”​

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Sandman takes a long drag off his cigarette, exhales the smoke into the lens, and Woman lets out a devilish laugh. Dreamer glares dead serious into the camera.

​

Dreamer:
“Raven… Sandman… Cactus… come Gangsta’s Paradise, it all ends in blood.”​

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Camera cuts to black.

Spoiler

White Boyz-N-The-Hood

​

A shaky handheld camera catches Public Enemy—Rocco Rock and Johnny Grunge—standing on a dimly lit Philadelphia street corner. Broken glass and trash litter the sidewalk, the sound of sirens echo faintly in the distance. Both men are dressed in their usual street gear, hyped up and animated, but with a dangerous edge to their tone.

Rocco Rock:
“Yo, yo, yo—New Jack, Mustafa—you think you the only ones who know about the streets, huh? You think just ‘cause me and Grunge are white boys, we don’t know what it means to grow up hungry, to grow up scrappin’, to grow up fightin’ for every single thing we got? Nah, man. These streets don’t care about the color of your skin—they care about if you can survive.”

Johnny Grunge:
“Damn right, Rocco! You wanna test our gangster, New Jack? We BEEN tested! You look around right now—this is Philly, baby! This ain’t no Hollywood movie set. We were raised in the middle of this madness! We didn’t run from it, we didn’t hide from it—we EMBRACED it! And that’s why the people… the real people… they know Public Enemy’s the only TRUE hood in ECW.”

Rocco Rock:
“New Jack, you wanna talk about bein’ hardcore, bein’ gangsta? You’re looking at two guys who don’t just play it—we LIVE it. Every scar, every bruise, every table we’ve broken our bodies through—that’s our street cred. And come Gangsta’s Paradise, brother, we’re bringin’ all that Philly with us. You better believe, we’re as gangsta as it gets!”

Johnny Grunge:
“And the next time you doubt us, just remember—this hood, OUR hood, bleeds red… just like yours!”

Both men throw their arms up, barking into the camera as it shakes and cuts to static.​

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He's Just Too Cold

The camera cuts to Too Cold Scorpio, leaned back against a brick wall, arms crossed, shades on. His voice is calm, smooth, and measured—no wasted words.​

Too Cold Scorpio:
“Konnan… you come in here talkin’ about a Mexican wave, talkin’ about how I’m some kinda poser. That don’t faze me, man. You say lucha been doin’ this for fifty years? Cool. But ain’t nobody do it like Too Cold.

I don’t need to scream, I don’t need to beg for respect. I EARN it every time I step in that ring. And Friday night… you’re gonna find out the difference between makin’ noise… and makin’ history.”​

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Scorpio smirks, pushes off the wall, and walks off frame, leaving it at that.

Joey Styles:
“Ladies and gentlemen… what a night. We’ve heard from Konnan, from Cactus Jack, from Tommy Dreamer, Woman, Sandman, and even the Public Enemy. The stakes for Gangsta’s Paradise are climbing higher than a Sandman beer count. And if you’re not counting down the days until this Friday… you’re not paying attention.

But before we get there, I’ve got something special for you. Right now, we’re gonna take a look back at one of the wildest, most lawless brawls you’ll ever see. The Gangstas and Cactus Jack… against Public Enemy and The Sandman.

Get ready… because this one? This one’s not for the faint of heart.”​

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Fade out on Joey’s intense stare as the replay begins.

Having already watched this match from the previous week, you start to fade to sleep and ultimately turn off the TV before the Sandman turns you into a Dreamer.

​