R-O-C-K IN U.S.S.R.

BY

BOB WRIGHT

AUTHOR'S NOTE: All wrestlers' in-ring personas, including those of NWA, AWA, and other territories' wrestlers, are registered trademarks of World Wrestling Entertainment, Inc. And now, sit back and enjoy this pseudo holiday special...

NOT THAT LONG AGO, IN AN ARENA NOT THAT FAR AWAY...

"Hello wrestling fans, Gene Okerlund here aboard this 747, en route to Moscow in the Soviet Union," the commentator grandly announced into the camera aimed at him, "All around me in the cabin are some of America's finest patriotic wrestlers, who are headed for a clash of epic proportions. In the interests of international sportsmanship, World Wrestling Federation President Jack Tunney and his fellow heads of our great country's wrestling promotions have agreed to a Christmas Eve summit series with the best wrestlers in the Soviet Union. The country that wins the most matches in the series will win this exquisite trophy," he pointed to the giant silver trophy lying on the aisle seat across from him, "and international bragging rights. Take a look around at some of the big names that will be participating," he gestured several rows back, "Over there sits the self-proclaimed American Express, Lex Luger, who will have a showdown with Lavrenti Yezhov, the equally self-proclaimed Russian Brute. And over there is our country's masked hero, the Patriot, who will be meeting Boris Zhukov. And over there, former tag team champions the U.S. Express, Mike Rotundo and Barry Windham, slated to face the team of Krusher Kruschchev and Soldat Ustinov. And across from me there, WWF superstars 'Hacksaw' Jim Duggan and Sergeant Slaughter, to square off with the uncle and nephew team of Ivan and Nikita Koloff."

He rose up from his seat. "But perhaps the biggest match of all will be the final one," he walked forward one row, "one in which World Wrestling Federation champion Hulk Hogan will defend the title against his longtime rival Nikolai Volkoff. Hulkster, for all the fans out there, how does it feel to making your first title defense in essentially enemy territory?"

"Well you know something, Mean Gene, Nikolai Volkoff can claim home field advantage all he wants, but when I step into the ring with him, every full-blooded American will be stepping in and fighting with me," the champion proclaimed proudly, "And on behalf of millions of people watching all over the world, but especially everyone in the greatest country on earth, the land of the free and the home of the brave, it'll be a pleasure to show Volkoff that his so-called Soviet superiority is nothing but a big fat lie, that the power of America is stronger than the power of Karl Marx, in the wrestling ring and the real world."

"All right then, but let us also, Hulk Hogan, remember the stipulation of the match, that in Nikolai Volkoff's corner will be his partner in the self-proclaimed Mega Mercenaries, the Iron Sheik, who still has bad blood with you for winning the title off him almost three years ago now. Fortunately, you also will be backed up by your own partner in the Mega Powers, the Macho Man Randy Savage. Now Randy," Okerlund turned across the aisle to the Macho Man, who glanced up from the newspaper he'd been reading, "You've made it quite clear that you intend to make good and sure that the Iron Sheik does nothing to interfere with the match."

"You can bet ever dollar in the U.S. Treasury on that, Gene Okerlund," Savage declared with a firm expression, "At Summer Slam, my partner in the Mega Powers and I proved that the so-called Mega Mercenaries are nothing but Mega Flops, yeah, and we're prepared to prove it again to keep the WWF championship belt out of the hands of one of the most oppressive regimes in the world, yeah! And as for that blowhard 'Classy' Freddie Blassie, who claims he can manage anyone to the title, well, in the Mega Powers' corner will of course be our manager, the best manager in all of wrestling whether Blassie's willing to accept it or not, my bride, Elizabeth," he put an arm around her in the seat next to him, "She proved herself better than him at Summer Slam, she proved herself better than him at the Survivor Series, and at the International Summit Series, because Blassie's just a glutton for punishment, she's gonna prove it a third time, ooooooooh yeah!"

"Ah yes. Elizabeth, I'm wondering, could you give us a hint at what your game plan in tackling Volkoff solo might be?" Okerlund asked her.

"Now Gene, you know I can't give away match secrets ahead of time," she half-teased him, "But I will say that Hulk, Randy and I have gone over a series of notes on Volkoff, watched numerous tapes of him in action solo, and I think we are more than ready to go by now."

"We're ready, yeah, and the so-called pride of the Soviet Union's going to get hammered and sickled till he wants to emigrate somewhere else in shame, oooooooooh yeah!" the Macho Man delcared. Okerlund had to fight from cracking up. "All right, but even though they'll have the limelight, it won't just be American and Soviet wrestlers that will be competing in the International Summit Series," he continued to the camera, walking up the plane's aisle, "Before seconding his partner Nikolai Volkoff in the main event, the Iron Sheik will be facing off with this man, the British Bulldog Davey Boy Smith. Now Davey Boy," he bent down the Bulldog's level, "How does it feel to be fighting for the pride of British citizens everywhere in this scheduled match?"

"It's a tremendous honor, Gene," Davey told him with a wide grin, "And much like Hulk, I'll be carrying the pride of the British people with me in that ring against the Sheik, who let's remember supported and worked for an oppressive regime before he became a wrestler, and harbors no regrets about torturing political prisoners while in the Shah's employ. So every blow I strike against him I'd like to think will be a blow for international freedom. I'll also," his expression dropped somewhat, "be fighting for my former partner and cousin Tom Billington the Dynamite Kid, whom I hope will be watching from home in Leeds; if you're seeing this promo, Tom," he leaned towards the camera, "we may not always agree on a lot of things, but I wish you could still be here with me, so I'll fight for you as well."

"OK then, and in fact with you here, your esteemed brother-in-law Bret 'the Hitman' Hart," Okerlund leaned past the Bulldog, "who does not have a match in the Summit Series, but has nonetheless joined the Hulkster along with the rest of the Mega Powers Rock 'n Wrestling Connection for the event as support."

"It's Christmas time, Gene; people should be together at Christmas, especially when they're far from home," the Hitman told him, "Besides, we're all a team, we all work together, and any help we can give Hulk or anyone else on the Western team, all the better. A champion has to uphold the highest ideals of the sport of wrestling, and everything a chronic cheater like Nikolai Volkoff does disgraces the sport, so whatever we can fairly and legally do to help Hulk win, we will. And to all of you out there, we wish you a merry Christmas and best wishes in the year to come," he leaned towards the camera, "We hope you enjoy the Summit Series, but most of all hope you can share the season with all your loved ones and enjoy all the love and compassion this time of year brings."

"Thank you, Hitman. One more member of your team does have a match in the Summit Series, and that is this man, Tito Santana," Okerlund walked forward one more row, "He will have the honor of the opening match of the event against Vladimir Pietrov. Mr. Santana, you have made it clear over the years you are proud of both your Mexican heritage and your status as an American citizen; would you say then that you're in fact fighting for two countries in this event?"

"I suppose you could say that, Gene, and it's certainly something I am proud of," Tito nodded with a firm smile, "For all the people in Mexico I carry with me into the ring, and the people of America who've adopted me as a native son, I feel proud to stand against an opponent who stands for tyranny and fight to the last breath like they did at both the Alamo and Chaplutepec Castle. Arriba!"

He raised his hand high. "All right, as you can see, the American team is ready to go," Okerlund turned back to the camera, "Now, there will be one noticeable difference from the usual manner of wrestling you may be used to seeing; as the wrestlers will be going at it Christmas Eve night outdoors inside Moscow's Central Lenin Stadium, they will during the match be wearing these special electrically warmed suits," he reached over and hefted one such suit for the viewers' benefit, "It will serve much like an electric blanket, maintaining a temperature of seventy degrees for each wrestler throughout their matches. In the interest of neutrality, Switzerland has supplied all the referees for the matches, so neither side can have an advantage with the officials. Now the International Summit Series will be airing Christmas Eve morning in the states live on NBC, so set your dials there and prepare for a holiday clash like no other. This is more than your average WWF event; this is global warfare without casualties, all for a good cause. More Superstars of Wrestling will be coming your way after these messages from your local sponsors."

He nodded once the cameraman gave him a thumbs-up and took his seat right behind Hulk. "I must say, Hulk, good luck in the main event personally," he told the champion, "Like the Hitman said, Volkoff really wouldn't make an ideal champion at all."

"You and the rest of the country can count on me, Mean Gene," Hulk assured him again, "And good luck with the call on the microphone too with whoever the Russians put across from you."

"Hope I can adapt, Hulk; it's been a good five years since I've actually called a match," Okerlund looked a little nervous, but he shrugged it off and picked up a magazine right as the pilot announced over the intercom, "Ladies and gentlemen, we are now beginning our final approach to Domodedovo International Airport in Moscow. Please make sure your seatbelts are fastened, all tray tables are in their upright and locked positions, and all cigarettes are extinguished. We hope you have enjoyed flying with us, and enjoy your time in Moscow." Hulk took a deep breath as he leaned back in his seat. "Enemy territory," he mused out loud, "Everything's going to be exact opposite of what I'm used to when we get off the plane. Well, I'm still going to beat Volkoff hands down even if everyone's cheering for him."

"Just one thing though, Hulk," Bret leaned over the seat, frowning, "Promise that if you win, you won't rip up the Soviet flag this time. I agree it's a totalitarian regime that needs to change or fall, and Volkoff's a bad example of all its terrible excesses, but ripping up the flag like you usually do when you face Volkoff would start a riot much like Volkoff causes whenever he burns the Stars and Stripes back in the States. We're goodwill ambassadors for the rest of the world; the least we can do is offer the Russians good will even if they don't return it."

"I'll try, Bret, but it won't be easy," Hulk told him. He leaned back over the seat and across the aisle; something had been bugging him throughout the trip. "Say Hitman, is it just me, or does Sarge look blue?" he inquired, his eyes on Slaughter, who, as he had for most of the flight, had been staring straight ahead with a disinterested expression.

"You know, I've noticed that," Bret nodded with a concerned look of his own, "Well, maybe once we're all checked into the hotel, we'll take him out to the closest bar and buy him a round; maybe that'll cheer him up."

"Oh yeah," Hulk agreed, looking out the window at Moscow getting larger beneath them, "He's as much an American hero as I am-heck, he should be proud he also got his own animated series. Well, anyway, let's get ready, because we're just about to land on the dark side of the moon."

Down on Domodedovo's runway, Volkoff was also staring out the window of his own plane as it taxied towards a moveable stairway set up in front of the terminal. "Look, Comrade Blassie, they have red carpet and full piece band ready for me," he exclaimed loudly.

"Let me see," Freddie Blassie elbowed past his charge to the window, "Well, looks like we do have a big welcome wagon waiting for us," he proclaimed, "Finally, somebody willing to treat you and me with respect, Nikolai."

"We must stop by old gym before checking in to hotel," Volkoff said eagerly, "Comrade Koloff helps run it now; Boris is top trainer..."

"Ah yes, the good old Russian Bear Ivan Koloff," Blassie reminisced, "I remember him back in the good old days, when he finally gave that pencil-neck geek Sammartino what he deserved. Should have held the title longer than he did; he was better than half the guys the WWF had at the time. Well, from what I hear, he and his nephew are doing quite well themselves."

"So I hear, Freddie. Let me see too," the Iron Sheik pushed past both of them to take a look of his own. "Ah, full service," he approved of what he saw as well, "Your countrymen pulled out all the stop for you, Nikolai."

"Of course they did, Comrade Sheik; I am Pride of Soviet Union," Volkoff bragged, "And Christmas Eve, I make them all prouder by giving that bourgeois dog Hogan beating of his lifetime."

"You'd better, Nikolai," Blassie's expression turned icy, "Because over a billion people are going to be watching this match, and I will not be humiliated in front of all them-especially with that lousy skirt Elizabeth naturally being in Hogan's corner, and I will NOT be made to look inferior to that uppity broad again, understand?" he waved his cane in Volkoff's face.

"Hey don't worry, Freddie; anything you want done to ensure Hogan loses, we're glad to help," Mr. Perfect spoke up from across the cabin.

"We'll even jump him at the hotel; since he's the big, bad capitalist, they'll let a full-on attack on him slide over here, WOOOOO!" a riled-up Ric Flair added.

"No, Ric; the cameras of the world are going to be trained on this event, so the last thing we want is attacking Hogan in broad daylight when American cameras would record it," the Classy One shook his head, "Especially when you have your own match against that fool Putski..."

"How'd he ever get roped into this when he hates the Soviet Union anyway?" Perfect had to ask.

"Probably they threatened his family or something. Thank God the flight's over," a green-looking Jimmy Hart stumbled forward once the plane finally came to a stop. "Here, dispose of this," he thrust a vomit bag towards the first stewardess entering the cabin, "I'm getting off while the getting's..."

"No way, Comrade Hart; band and reporters here for me; I'M first one off!" Volkoff took the Mouth of the South by the shoulders and pushed him back towards the rest of the Million Dollar Corporation's managers, excepting Paul Bearer but including Ted DiBiase, who were just getting out of their own seats (the rest of the group's wrestlers had stayed behind, having not being chosen for the event, but DiBiase as the prime money man had insisted on coming, and Flair and Perfect had volunteered to do any dirty work that might prove necessary). The band outside struck up a tune as Volkoff stepped out the door and onto the stairs. With a wide grin, he waved proudly to the onlookers and started forward...

...and immediately slipped on the top step and fell head over heels down the stairs to the tarmac. Blassie slapped a hand to his face in disgust. "Come on, let's get him out of here before he ruins all of us!" he grumbled to the Sheik. The two of them rushed down the stairs and helped a dazed Volkoff up. "Nothing to worry about, folks, Nikolai's just fine," Blassie quickly told the crowd, "He was, um, just doing his best imitation of, uh, Gerald Ford to mock the, uh, decadent American traditions of, um, arriving at airports with, uh, too much pomposity."

"OOOOOOOOh," came the mumur through the crowd.

"Absolutely," Volkoff picked up the ruse and beat his chest, "That is how bourgeois American dogs act when arriving at airports; as superior human beings, we Soviets are even better in mass transportating."

He received a loud cheer. "Comrade Volkoff," a distinguished, well-dressed man in a fur-lined coat was approaching along the red carpet, "You may know me; I am Vasily Menzhinsky, chairman of the Sports Commitee of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. On behalf of all of us, welcome home to Moscow, and allow me to present you with this medal on behalf of your glorious victories for Mother Russia."

He opened the case to reveal a shining golden medalion, which he then slipped around Volkoff's neck. "I thank you, Comrade Chairman," a wide-eyed Volkoff shook Menzhinsky's hand as flashbulbs blinked all around them, "Allow me to introduce Comrade Blassie and Comrade Sheik, who will help me destroy the American dog Hogan for world title."

"All of Russia is pulling for you in your noble quest, Volkoff," Menzhinsky commended him, "Comrade Gorbachev and the Central Committee will in fact be present for your match. If there is anything we can do for you..."

"I've got something in mind, Mr. Menzhinsky," Blassie spoke up, a scheming look in his eye, "See, in order to help Nikolai get ahead, we'd like to make Hogan's life during his stay here a little uncomfortable, so, if you could pull a few strings, you could, for starters..."

He whispered his request in Menzhinsky's ear. "It shall be done, Comrade Blassie," Menzhinsky nodded. "Come, Nikolai," he took Volkoff by the hand, "We have police escort to take you to your old gymnasium as you requested. Comrade Koloff has been waiting to see you for a long time now."