Mom: Billy? Billy, stop watching TV a second. We have a special visitor.

Billy does as told and turns off the TV.

Mom: You remember when I told you your daddy died in that one-hour NWA marathon match? Now, this here is Dusty Rhodes. He was in the NWA with your daddy.

Dusty: Hello, littul man. Boyee, ah sho' heard a loff abouf you. See, ah waff a good friend of your pops. We were in dat dere NWA pithell of pure rasselin' for five long years, if you wheeeel!! Hopefullee, you'll nevah have to experience this here, buf when two men are in a situashone like dat dere foh as long as we were, you take on soitain respontibilidies of the othah. If id be me that not. . . made id, ah'm sho' Poppa Goldberg would be talkin' to mah boy now, Duffthin. Buf da way it toined ouf, ah be the one doin' da talkin' to you. . . Bill. I got somefang foh yah.

He takes out a watch.

Dusty: Dis here watch right here was foist poichased back by your great-grandpops during de foist rasselin' boom. He bought id from one of de foist companies to evah make watches wiff second hands. See, befoh dat, folks just knew they match times in minutes. Id waff bought by midcardah Efraim Goldberg right befoh he waff abouf to go up against Bruno Sammartino. Dis here waff you great-grandpop's match time watch, an' he wore id when he waff in dat dere match. Aftah he lost da match by submithion aftah Bruno had 'im in de same hold fo' toity minutes, he went home to your great-grandmomma an' put dis here watch in a ol' coffee can, if you wheeeel. An' in dat dere can id stayed until your grandpops, Eugene Goldberg, waff called into da bidniss to fight de champ. Bruno again. Dis here time Bruno waff almost de only rasseler around, yah see, an' he waff champ foh a looong toim.

Eugene Goldberg luck watn't as good as his pops, and Eugene waff killed after he ran out off breath aftah two minutes in dat dere match. Your grandpops waff facing deaff if de match went longer dan three minutes, an' he know dat. None of de Goldbergs nevah had any illuthions of leavin' a marathon match alive. So, three days befoh' de toitle match, your grandpops gave dis watch to a Japanese rasseler named Inoki, a man he had nevah met, to delivah, to his infant son who he'd nevah seen in de flesh, his match time watch.

He holds up the watch again.

Dusty: Dis here watch. Dis here watch waff on your pops' wrist when he waff in a shootmatch wiff Ric Flair. An' he knew, dat if de bookahs saw he waff plannin' on doin' a shoit match, they waff gonna take dis here watch from 'im. So, he shined id up reeeaaal good, toined id sideways and hid id in de only place he knew he could hide somefin', his candy ass. Five long minutes he hid dis watch up his candy ass. Den, when he died of exhaushion in dat dere Flair match, he gave me de watch. Ah waff curious, so ah shoved id up mah candy ass as well. Foh' two years ah hid dat dere piece of metal up my ass. You see, ah'd forgotten all abouf id. Den one day, ah got a punch in mah belly an' id popped out, jus' like dat, if you wheeeell. Now, littul man, ah'm givin' de watch to you. . .

The adult Goldberg wakes up abruptly in the backstage area of an arena. He was dreaming about that special childhood occasion in his life when he was given the family's match time watch. He is dressed in wrestling trunks.

His trainer, a rather large red haired man, comes in.

Vader: It's time! It's time! It's match time, Bill.

Goldberg starts hitting his head a lot, and walks out for his match and we fade to black.

When we come back, the match is apparently over. We can hear two commentators being very excited.

Tenay: It has been confirmed, David Flair *is* dead!

Shiavone: Well, Mike, that has to be the bloodiest and hands down the most brutal match Nitro has ever seen. This is the greatest moment in the history of this great sport! Goldberg was out of there quicker than I've ever seen him. Do you think he knew Flair was dead?

Tenay: I don't know, we never get scripts telling us the storylines.

Shiavone: Do you think this, the greatest tragedy in the history of our sport, will affect the sport?

Tenay: I still don't know how I'm supposed to be selling this. Was this a face turn for Flair? Is he really dead? Is Goldberg a heel now? I mean, should we get *some* info beforehand? Nevermind, because in the main event tonight--. . .

We see a cab parked on the street, with a dark haired man with an evil goatee behind the wheel. He has been listening to the match on the radio, but turns it off. At the same time, Goldberg jumps out of a window of a near-by building. . .

We cut to Kevin Nash and Scott Hall walking through corridors. They arrive at a door, knock, and it opens. Inside, Hollywood Hogan, obviously PO'd that Goldberg didn't do the job, stands with his back to them. Eric Bischoff should be in this shot as well, but has been edited out.

Hogan: What you got?

Hall: He booked.

Hogan: His trainer?

Hall: Says he don't know nothin'. I believe him. Think Bill surprised his ass--. . .

Hogan: No, we don't wanna think, we wanna know! Take him to the Kennel in a Cell and sic the Boss Man on his ass, we'll find out for God-damned sure what he knows and what he doesn't.

Hall: The search, how do you want it done?

Hogan: I'm prepared to scout the Earth for that brotha, sucka. If he goes to New Japan, I want a jobba hidin' in a bowl of fruit ready to put some crap in his bag.

Hall: I will take care of it.

The dark haired cab driver with the evil goatee has picked up a very peculiar passager: Goldberg. Goldberg is sitting in the back seat, all sweaty and exhausted, in his wrestling trunks.

Undertaker: Mister? Hey mister?

Goldberg: What?

Undertaker: You were in that match. The match on the radio. Are you the wrestler?

Goldberg: Whatever gave you that idea?

Undertaker: No come on, you're him. I know you're him. No one else would be as exhausted after two minutes of wrestling. Tell me your him.

Goldberg: I'm him.

Undertaker: You killed the other wrestler man.

Goldberg (surprised): He's dead?

Undertaker: The radio said he was dead.

Goldberg (to no one in particular): Sorry about that, David.

Undertaker (sounding rather excited): What does it feel like?

Goldberg: What does what feel like?

Undertaker (grinning): Killing a man. Beating a man to death with your bare hands. . . Feeling the life sucked from his twitching carcass and seeing his eyes go blank. Being up close when his mind realizes that he will no longer--. . .

Goldberg: What are you, some kind of weirdo?

Undertaker (rolling his eyes back into his skull and laughing manically): No. It's a subject I have much interest in. Much like riding Harleys in the desert and attaching people to cross-like symbols. You are the first person I have ever met who has killed somebody. Without setting fire to them or burying them alive, that is. So. . . What does it feel like to kill a man?

Goldberg: Well, I'll tell you. So. . . (reads the Driver Identification note). . . "Undertaker, Lord of Darkness". Is that Russoian?

Undertaker: The name is by Pat Patterson, but I'm from McMahonland.

Goldberg: Well, that's some name you got there.

Undertaker: Thank you. And what is your name?

Goldberg: Bill.

Undertaker: "Bill". What does it mean?

Goldberg: I'm from WCW, buddy. Our names don't mean crap. So. . . Moving right along, Undertaker. . . What is it you wanna know?

Undertaker: I want to know what it feels like to kill a man. To be face to face with him as the Dark Side moves in and the life force fades out from--. . .

Goldberg: I couldn't tell you. I didn't know he was dead until you told me he was dead. And now that I know, you want to know how I feel about it? I don't feel the least bit bad about it.

Goldberg is in a phone booth, talking with some bookkeeper. Undertaker, Lord of Darkness is waiting in the cab.

Goldberg (very happy): What the heck did I tell you? As soon as the word got out that it was gonna be a stupid booking move, the odds went through the roof. . . I know, I know, fricking unbelievable. . . Ah, screw him Hector, if he was a better wrestler he'd still be alive. If he'd never put on that robe, which he shouldn't have been given an opportunity to do in the first fricking place if it wasn't for the fact that nepotism runs wild in wrestling, he'd still be alive. . .Yea, well, who gives a heck, it's over now. . . Yeah, enough of the poor and uncharismatic and lousy and pathetic and unfortunate Mr. Flair. Let's talk of the rich and prosperus Mr. Goldberg. . . How many RSPW award voters have you got voting for David's death as best promotional move? All eight?. . . No, I understand, some diehard Russo and Ferrera-voters aside. . . Aw, heck, Hector, that's good news. That's great news, man. . . Uh-huh. . . No, me and Steve are gonna leave in the morning. It'll probably take us a couple of days gettin' down to Memphis. . . Alright, brother. . . You're right. You're sure-as-heck right. . . Alright Hector. Next time I'll see you will be on Tennessee time. Cool, brother.

He hangs up the phone.

The cab is pulling up outside a motel. Bill jumps out of the car picks up his wallet to pay the Undertaker for the fare.

Undertaker: 45.60.

Goldberg gives him the money, then takes out another bill and holds it in front of the Undertaker.

Goldberg: And here's a little extra for the effort. Now, if anyone asks who your fare was tonight, what are you going to say?

Undertaker (grinning evilly): The truth. Three well-dressed, slightly toasted Mexicans and Billy Kidman who are neither faces nor heels and quickly got really tiresome.

Goldberg seems pleased with the answer and hands Undertaker the extra money.

Goldberg: Bye Undertaker, Lord of Darkness.

Undertaker: Rest in peace. . . Bill.

Undertaker drives away.