Perhaps I Spoke Too Soon

At the risk of straining last week's dubious metaphor to the breaking point, last night's ECW tag match was like extremely satisfying make-up sex. After watching Mike Knox and Test blunder into every delectable high spot Sabu and RVD could dream up, ECW and I snuggled in close, exchanged tender glances, and reaffirmed our love for each other.

Which is not to say I care about ECW more than I do about TNA. The very idea is absurd. One halfway decent tag match cannot wash away three months of Big Shew main events, and Kevin Thorn and his inflatable girlfriend are still skulking around giving each other "very sexual" Tarot Readings.

Still and all, it was quite nice to see Test and Mike Knox finally finding their niche in ECW. Not every performer aspires to be a dull-witted-but-durable punching bag for a pair of pilled-up sociopaths, but who am I to question Mr. Knox's career path? And while Arabian Facebuster would never condone steroid abuse, it's worth noting that Test took some pretty hefty punishment during the match and emerged none the worse for wear. So what if he can't really feel his skin anymore and his testicles seem to have retreated into his cheekbones? Rob Van Dam can throw a steel chair directly into Test's face, and Test barely even blinks. Of course, he CAN'T blink because if he closes his eyes he sees an infinite lake of fire consuming all of existence (I understand Scott Steiner has a similar problem), but blinking isn't exactly EXTREME, now is it?

So thumbs up to ECW for a lovely evening. I particularly enjoyed puffy-faced crybaby Shannon Moore, and I hope to see more of him when I (yes, I admit it) tune in next week.