Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Cut That Cracker On His Stupid Cracker FACE!
Ladies and Gentlemen, a wrestling enthusiast must learn to take pleasure from small victories. The life of a WWE viewer, in particular, closely resembles a barren desert, punctuated by lush oases of quality. An Umaga desert, if you will, with Mick Foley oases. Again, only if you will. The wary traveller will only enter this desert when heavily stocked with provisions, for these must carry him through the wasteland.
So it was that last night found me, well-stocked with sixteen-ounce cans of malted beverage, wading intrepidly through the grim landscape of Monday Night RAW. I had anticipated quite the lengthy slog, and was packed densely with fluids. Then, a-suddenly, I came upon a hitherto uncharted oasis. Super Crazy. Versus "The Masterpiece" Chris Masters (seen in the picture on the left, which is approximately twice his current size). For the second week in a row.
A rematch between two perpetual midcarders, one dwarfed by his legendary past and one dwarfed by his own steroid-addled former self, seemed an unlikely place for quality to nestle, but Lo! I found myself riveted by this match. No, it wasn't quite as intense as their match from last week, but it was notable for two things: Masters displayed his newly adequate work rate, and Super Crazy won. Again.
I admit, Facebuster Fans, that one huge part of my aversion to Smackdown! stems from their mistreatment of Super Crazy and Psicosis (the [shudder] Mexicools). Taking two blindingly fast, savagely insane luchadores and shafting them with an inane ultra-racist gimmick (making them ride to the ring on LAWNMOWERS, f'r fuck's sake) seemed the ultimate insult to true wrestling fans. We at Arabian Facebuster have long lamented the loss of Old School ECW's "international flavor", and The Mexicools were the final insulting nail in an appallingly bigoted coffin. So it was with great surprise that I witnessed my beloved Super Crazy actually winning a match! Against a White Boy, of all things!
Which brings me (at last!) to a bit of advice for the WWE. If you expect me to cross the Racist Throwback Umaga Desert every goddamn week, there's only one oasis from which to sup. The Super Crazy/Masters Oasis. The oasis in which Super Crazy cuts that cracker on his stupid cracker face.