So You Don't Have To...

Ahem. It has come to my attention that some in the Arabian Facebuster community are not watching WWE’s Friday Night SmackDown. Given that Facebuster caters to only the most cultured and intellectually distinguished wrestling fan (hence the huge crossover with Kamala.com), it is well understood that many amongst us have nary a second to spare on anything but the finest in Sports Entertainment ™. Faced with the abundant cornucopia of spandex-clad athleticism available throughout the week, sacrifices must be made.

However, imagine for a moment a world devoid of digital grappling delights streaming into your home at the effortless touch of a button. Picture a strange parallel dimension, where one must endlessly position a pair of long metal rods over their television, looking to appease the spirits of the airwaves long enough to transmit a grainy approximation of the Boogeyman into their living room. A technology deficient hell on earth that Ted Turner fought so hard to liberate us from. Barring yet another viewing of my ‘87 Jim Crockett Sr. Memorial Cup tape, this is what I must endure each time I sit down to enjoy the pleasures of professional wrestling in the comfort of my home.

Join me, if you will, as I step forward to celebrate a quaint and rapidly disappearing way of life. Free TV kicks, courtesy of Vince McMahon and UPN. Of course, SmackDown airs on Friday night and I have a busy social schedule (read: drinking problem) to maintain. No problem. Another relic quickly fading from our collective consciousness, the Video Cassette Recorder, will ensure hours of hung over wrestling delights come Saturday morn. Some thoughts:

The Good...
Actual wrestling. Ring entrances that last 1 minute and matches that last 10 minutes (as compared to the other way around on Raw). An interesting mix of ambitious newcomers and seasoned journeymen getting their shot at national exposure, thanks in no small part to abnormal liver function amongst many SmackDown Superstars. Finlay and Regal wrestling main event matches!? Certainly not anyone’s dream card, but totally solid and certainly better than anything featuring Umaga. All that, plus the good King Bookah doing some mind-boggling work at the announcer’s table. Somehow, Booker managed to deliver lighting speed play-by-play commentary while never once dropping his Red Foxx lost in Camelot shtick. What more do you want? Oh yeah, there’s a REAL LIVE LEPRECHAUN living under the ring!

The Bad…
Undertaker vs. the Great Khali. Allow me to recap. Undertaker: Punch, punch, punch, punch, punch, punch. Khali: Choke slam attempt. Undertaker: Choke slam attempt blocked, choke slam. End. A match so riveting, Commissioner Teddy Long wasted no time in booking a re-match next week.

The Ugly…
Vickie Guerrero. Ugh. Not as soul-crushingly brutal as Melanie Pillman‘s appearance on RAW the night after her husbands death, but every bit as creepy and repellent. Although I generally encourage as much bad taste as possible from Vinnie Mac and Co., this makes me feel like a grade-A shit heel for even watching. Could the WWE possibly sink lower in capitalizing on Eddie’s death? Look out little Dominic, a Chavo kidnapping angle is inevitable. Fans should also be on the lookout for Kane vs. the Ghost of Eddie in the spring of 2007.

To conclude, SmackDown was, um, not as terrible as you may think. Come Friday night, you know you can find parked in front of the fuzzy glow SmackDown. That, or unconscious in a puddle of my own filth.