I Feel So Weak

This Sunday marks the arrival of TNA Wrestling's "Lockdown" pay-per-view. This, for the uninitiated, is a yearly event in which every match takes place inside a steel cage... or "six sides of steel," due to the ridiculous shape of TNA's "ring." Past Lockdowns have sunk beneath the burden of their (admittedly charming) premise. By putting the same stipulation on EVERY MATCH, you steadily (and rapidly) devalue the phenomenological value of the cage. By the end of the program, the viewer has actually become BORED with seeing grown men grind each other's faces into hamburger against a chain-link fence.

This is clearly an inversion of the natural order.

This year's Lockdown seems especially bloated. It features a whopping two (!) women's matches, one "mixed gender" tag match (made even less watchable by the presence of over-hyped sandbagger Robert Roode), and a match featuring both BG "Mr. Ass" James and his slug-like nemesis Kip "Road Dogg" James. There's also some ridiculous schmozz starring Sting, Kevin Nash, and some other fossils. Toss in some X-Division whimsy (Curry Man?) and some handcuff-related gimmick nonsense, and you've got... oofah.

And yet, come Sunday, where will I be? I will be front and center in front of my televideo box, ice-cold Iron City in hand, accompanied by th' Pencil Neck Geek and th' lovely Valerie, watching this stupid fucking pay-per-view. And why?

Kurt Angle vs. Samoa Joe in a steel fucking cage, that's why.