Thank you, dear readers. It's good to be back?
Christ. I take a one year victory lap (alcohol coma) after what was arguably the finest Wrestlemania in almost a decade (that would be 'Mania 24, if you give a shit) and what happens?
Wrestling goes straight in the goddamn crapper.
Ladies and gentlemen, there is no excuse for this sort of thing. It's not like our beloved Arabian Facebuster dried up and went away. You had tons of new content provided by the one and only Malibu Sands, the closest thing to a conscience that wrestling's got! You had spiritual advice from the Rev. Von Fury! You even had a shocking glimpse of Hell Unleashed when th' Geek finally sacked up and watched the Chyna sex tape! And yet, and yet, and yet...
One cannot argue with results. And the singular, clear result of my year-long abscence from th' wrassle-blog stage? TNA further mired in misguided whimsy and ass-hatted booking. The double-double E growing steadily more bloated (given the shit sandwiches they're serving up three nights a week, do they really need to go for four?) and complacent. All toppped off by the worst Wrestlemania (possibly) ever.
Every match. I repeat, EVERY MATCH has some grotesque sandbagging waste-of-flesh Heat Vaccuum in it, ensuring that there will be NO CHANCE of any sort of goodness sneaking through the cable wires to thrill and delight the discerning fan. Let's check the lineup:
We've got Chris Jericho, in the middle of an excellent run as a petulant and psychotic heel, shackled to three aging has-beens who he will have to (perhaps literally) carry through the match. If Roddy Piper wants to shit on his legacy, that's his business, but does he have to drag Jericho down with him?
There's a 25-diva Battle Royal, about which the less said, the better. Santino Marella will be on hand to provide "hijinks", but is that really worth yr $40 (or whatever they're charging for this travesty)?
There's the always-reliable Money In The Bank Match. A constant bright spot in recent 'Manias, it could only be ruined by inserting some ponderous oafs into it, some real clumsy behemoths... oh, let's say Kane and Mark Henry. Hilarious! Surely even the hacks at the WWE are too bright to... do what now?
You've got Shawn Michaels vs. The Undertaker. Despite the plodding and lukewarm promo work these two have been doing to hype their match, it should be, y'know... watchable. Still, I'd rather watch HBK wrestle, like... ANYBODY else.
Whoops, spoke too soon. The Miz is in the next match.
Then, Jeff and Matt Hardy wrestle in an "extreme rules" thingy. My thesis sort of falls apart here. This one should be pretty fucking solid.
WOOHOO! JBL will be stinking up the ring against the always-underutilized Rey Mysterio! Thesis BACK ON TRACK!
Edge vs. John Cena equals yawns. Adding the Big Show to the mix is like adding morphine to Vicodin. While wrapped in a fuzzy blanket. And snuggling a baby panda. Minus the euphoria, comfort, and cuteness, obviously.
And then Triple H versus Randy Orton, which could well be the match of the night, if that gives you any idea how much trouble we're in.
God Hell, I hate pro wrestling.