I missed last year's P-boi meetup in California, and that got me pretty bummed (a ":-\" thread), so I made sure I took the necessary steps so as not to miss this year's meetup in Florida.
Step 1: Get to Florida.
This part was crucial, and I didn't want to fuck it up, so I drove down from Jersey five months early for it.
I like to be prepared.
As such, Step 2 was Learn About Wrestling.
I almost wrote "Catch Up With Wrestling," but I was going with B, Pholby, Hanstock, B, Pholby, B and B. Simply catching up wouldn't be good enough to attempt to keep up just a little bit with their discussions and, more importantly, jokes. Those guys grew up watching wrestling. I was a kid watching wrestling. The last time I remember paying attention before Step 2, I was young and impressionable enough to think it was all real. All of it. Not just outcomes of matches real, or making contact when you punch real. Like thinking the Undertaker knew where I lived and saw where I slept real.
So I started by making a list of Baseball Wrestling Stuff to Remember:
- The Great Bambino?
OK. Now we're getting somewhere.
- Wrestlers stomp when they punch.
- Heel turn is not a wrestling move. It means becoming a bad guy.
- JAPAN
- CM Punk is not yet big or established enough to win the Money in the Bank ladder match.
- "Cut off someone's hand."
Perfect. That should be enough knowledge for me to keep up in an intelligent conversation and pass along to others!
Step 3: Get My Girlfriend To Willingly Accompany Me To Wrestling
Someday, she's going to want me to take her to an opera or some shit, so I'm cashing in my dumb live event card now.
Just kidding. I just told her watching B and Lindy's reactions to everything would be entertaining in itself. And it was. That's the entire reason why I like being friends with them. It's the reason I've ever been friends with anyone, really, but with P-boi, it's heightened, like
like wrestlers stomping when they punch!
The circle is complete!
Karen and I further bonded as a couple at Friday night's Ring of Honor show by making fun of ugly people. Aren't we just adorable?
Pholby once prescribed that every time you feel sorry for yourself, you should run a mile, or do push-ups.
Lindy's off-shoot (a wrestling term meaning "off in real life") to that is a bit more expensive, but involves less physical activity. Every time you feel sorry for yourself, you should go to a Ring of Honor show.
I didn't feel out of place because I didn't know a lot about who was wrestling. I felt out of place because I had decent enough looks and a girlfriend. Tell me what you don't like about yourself. Now go to a Ring of Honor show. You are guaranteed to find some super-exaggerated editorial cartoon version of that minor flaw in the form of an actual, living, breathing human being. There is no such thing as the ugliest guy at the show. Look across the ring on the other side of the room. There will always be someone uglier than the uglier guy at the show. Or fatter. It's like they had a who has the most chins contest before we came. It was right after the who has the saddest looking Kenny G man-perm contest. I don't remember half the wrestlers I saw, but I fucking remember the guy there who had Harry Knowles from Ain't It Cool News' face on a much thinner body more vividly. He looked like the world's worst bobblehead. Ring of Honor is entertainment and therapy.
Step 4: Form Actual Opinions About Wrestling.
It was important to me to actually take something home with me from the ROH show and not just nod and agree with everything the other guys said. So here is a not quite budding yet wrestling enthusiast's list of opinions formed at Friday night's Ring of Honor Match:
1. I prefer quick wrestlers who do a lot of crazy, all over the place moves over the big guys who just do and take a series of huge hits. So my favorite match of the night was a tag team contest of SpeedMuscle vs. El Generico (Spanish for "the Generico") and a guy B and I agreed should be called Jon Bois the professional wrestler.
Right down to the wrestling outfit featuring a silhouette of a wrestler performing a wrestling move.
His real name is Kevin Steen, best known as a short summary of the plot of the hit TV series "The Wonder Years." His partner, El Generico, was a pasty redhead in a luchador mask shouting "¡Olé!" before every move, and came out to the matching Bouncing Souls song. No really you guys I am from Meheeco.
SpeedMuscle — Naruki Doi (left, doiiii) and Masato Yoshino, pictured here with YOU NO BIG PAAAPI — despite losing, were my highlight of the night, because — excuse my technical, insider jargon — they did stuff like this,
and this,
and this,
and this.
Which isn't to say that the other two didn't do anything like this.
But those two were more sparing about it. SpeedMuscle, from what I observed, weren't sparing about anything the entire time. The high-flying stuff makes more of a show to me than look out I'm gonna chop this guy reeeeal hard!
Speaking of I'm gonna chop this guy reeeeal hard,
2. My second favorite highlight of the night was Roderick Strong hitting back B's heckling with an oh, so snappy "No YOU suck!"
I couldn't form an honest opinion about his actual wrestling ability, because I was laughing too hard at B's audible-in-the-entire-arena disdain, but the moment I remember the most is B yelling "OH MY GODDD YOU'RE TERRIBLE" after Strong does some move involving a big, loud stomp that totally misses. It was the main event of the night, and that was the first time I got taken out of the enthusiasm of what was going on in and around a fake fight.
3. Ahahaha look at this guy
Jimmy Jacobs showed up before his match to do this Emo Statler balcony plea to Austin Aries — a rather popular guy whose name I thought legally ended in Clap-clap-clapclapclap — to joinnn ussssss. I didn't really know what was going on, but one of the benefits of being in Jimmy Jacobs' secret club is you get to hang out with Everyone In The Audience's High School Ex-Girlfriend:
Holy shit, even mine. Despite the really bad acting from everybody during the entire scene, Lacey made me laugh, especially just now when I saw that her list of general interests as listed on MySpace start with Cemetaries [sic] and Vampires [also possibly sic depending on what kind of goth she's supposed to be].
4. Erick Stevens, a lower-key white guy teamed up with Japan's Go Shiazaki and CIMA, will always stick out in my mind, not because of his actual wrestling skill, but because his mohawk and trunks means in my head I kept calling him "Bomb Man."
Jon once said that B once said "There's nothing like a good old wrestlin' match between Hulk Hogan and Randy Savage." Especially when you're watching it with your friends who make huge reactions to everything. I love that. That's where the real fun was to me. I can put on WWE on the TV at home, by myself, and watch it and smile, but some things are just better under certain circumstances. Disney World is better when I'm with Karen, and wrestling is better when I'm with P-boi. I may never make pro wrestling a true passion, like I like to do with things, but I don't have to in this case. Sometimes, observing the passions of others is good enough. It's like going to an art gallery.
Only pretend the artists stomp when they paint.
— Mike
Mike is crazy. Chopping is way better than high-flying.
TEACHING LAURA TO CHOP
parts 1 and 2
— Lindy
The thing about some people is that they think there are more important things in life than fake fighting. Things like spending time with friends and loved ones, and deep friend sandwiches. Not me though, and thankfully not B or Lindy either. We all value our pro graps, so come Saturday night we found our way to Ring of Honor.
I've been to about 3 dozen ROH shows at this point. I've been to most of the recent big ones too, Joe vs. Kobashi, the ROH/CZW Cage of Death, Glory By Honor 5. Weighed objectivly, without hyperbole, this was the best show I've ever seen ROH put on. There wasn't a bad match on the card and a lot of them were pretty great. So without any additional delay, the matches:
1. Go Shiozaki vs. Delirious
I remember when Delirious first showed up in ROH and he was fresh and new and exciting. What he did was different from everyone else in the company, and since a lot of ROH wrestlers and matches are similar stuff, it's nice to have that kind of variety. The funny thing about the lizard man, though, is that he showed up, did something different, and then did that different thing over and over and over again until everyone had seen it too many times to count. He's still over and worth having him around, but a lot of people are tired of him and putting him in serious spots hasn't gone well lately. Delirious vs. KENTA was pretty bad, and his grudge matches with various members of the Hangman 3 (Hangmen 3?) fell flat. (That's not entirely his fault, I mean, I'd like to see YOU get heat against Adam Pearce.)
This, however, was not serious. It was Delirious doing what he does best, a short comedy match. He chanted Go's name and used that to transition into a game of red light/green light. He acted wacky and Go eventually hit him really hard. It's good fun for the whole family.
2. Young, Rich & Ready for Action (Kenny King, Sal Rinuaro, & Chasyn Rance) vs. Bushwhacker Luke, Alex Payne, & Dingo
Can you afford a monogrammed robe? Heh. Didn't think so.
The YRR are being introduced to the ROH audience in small pieces, they were at a recent Boston show, and since they're based in Florida, they were on this show. They're good at what they do, not exactly great but they're young and they have potential or moxie or heart or something. The thing about what they do, though, is that it isn't what ROH tag teams usually do. Sometimes it seems like they're more concerned with interacting with the crowd and getting over a sense of their "character" than doing huge moves and being really stiff. Frankly, at an ROH show that can seem bizarre and out of place. They still get their dives in because at the end of the day indy wrestling is indy wrestling, but it's different than what you would get from bringing in another indy tag team. I hope the audience takes to it, because as previously mentioned different in ROH is a good thing.
The forehead scars. The gut. The glamor of the semi-retired professional wrestler.
On the other side of the ring is Bushwacker Luke. I don't know why he's there. He's been coming to the ROH shows and signing autographs and they just put him on the card because hey, dude used to be a Sheepherder and those guys were pretty hardcore. And he's teaming up with Dingo (a guy who used to have a tattoo of Sabu's arm on his back but apparently covered it with some stupid design. That is a downgrade of almost unfathomable scale.) and Sugarfoot (a blond kid who is not particularly interesting, sympathetic, doesn't strike me as especially tough and is built like Daizee Haze.)
Is you scared? Hell yeah you scared. THE MAN THEY CALL SUGARFOOT.
The match itself plays out with the YRR insisting at various times that the crowd is envious of them and they are attractive and successful in life's pursuits. Their opposition goes through various old Bushwacker mannerisms and spots, and then it's discovered that they are a team of one old man and two scrubs and they get put away in short order. YRR celebrate with the girls who accompanied them to ringside.
It's a fair trade: She accompanied him to ringside, and he went to her junior prom.
3. Rocky Romero & Davey Richards vs. Jigsaw & Ruckus for the World Tag Team Titles
Davey Richards has been a lot of people in ROH. At first he was a Serious Junior Heavyweight Wrestler and then KENTA's American Protege and then he was a funny heel and then for a few weeks after Chris Benoit murdered his family he was impersonating him a little bit. At the moment he seems to have settled on just being a mean guy and I hope he sticks with it because it fits him. What I'm getting at here is that I only remember one distinct spot from this match: Davey Richards whipped Jigsaw into the corner, followed him in, and proceeded to slap him across the face a bunch of times, really really hard. It was awesome.
The rest of the match went like you'd expect it to go. Romero & Richards do some kicks, Jigsaw and Ruckus fly around, Ruckus landing 8-12 inches from where he's supposed to land, etc etc. I think Romero might have jacked some offense from somewhere, but honestly who has time to keep up with who and where Rocky Romero is taking stuff from? This was taped for the next PPV, which meant I was surprised when the No Remorse Corps won, because I'm used to tag team title matches that go and go and go and go. More on the Briscoes later, though.
4. Roderick Strong vs. Erick Stevens
This is where the card really started to pick up. The opening matches were fun, the tag title match was good, but this match was great. I am not a Rod Strong fan, not by a long shot. I liked some of his tag matches with Aries & Evans, but I have found his singles work pretty underwhelming. I like Stevens well enough. Hanstock asked me what there was to like about him and I told him that he's got fire and good offense. That's really all there is to it, but sometimes that's enough.
Honestly when you see this in real life it looks more violent and less like a sissy slap.
The best way to put it is that Roderick Strong and Erick Stevens beat the shit out of each other. This was not an official match, the ref was knocked out before the bell could be rung and no one ran out to replace him. This was just two guys with a grudge settling it via violence. That's all I ask from professional wrestling and one of my more frequent complaints about ROH. There is too much respect and too much parity and too much back-and-forth 1-2-NO nonsense and not enough simple hatred.
Stevens hit Rod with a chop and he bled almost instantly. It was done with a little Stunt Granny style, but most people didn't notice because they were too busy going OH SHIT WE GOT A FIGHT GOIN' ON. And that's all this was, a fight. There was nothing complicated, they both have good chops to throw, Rod has his running boot, Stevens has his CHOO-CHOO in the corner and they both have a bit of power offense where they throw the other guy around. They kept it simple and just laid into each other with stiff strikes, taking their time and making it mean something. There was no ref so nobody went for a pin. Eventually Davey Richards and Rocky Romero ran out and they beat on Stevens, then shaved his head in the middle of the ring.
Looking back this is probably my favorite match from the weekend, and that says a lot given the quality of the rest of the matches and how much I dislike Strong. This was just a simple, honest fight and that's all I need.
No seriously this was really awesome violence and the two men did not hold each other they hurt each other, okay?
5. Jimmy Jacobs & Tyler Black vs. Jay & Mark Briscoe in a Relaxed Rules Match
There, there is some honest hetero violence.
The Briscoes have this thing that they do. They wrestle these huge matches and they throw out all kinds of crazy moves and the matches are generally about ten minutes too long and they don't really sell too much and the moves they throw out for near falls could damn near kill Superman. And I love it. It's awesome. I completely understand why it is retarded and I think every complaint people make about what the Briscoes do is valid but I love it. Jay and Mark Briscoe go a million miles an hour and they never ever stop and I cannot get enough. It's not that they can't wrestle a sensible, classic tag match, it's that they don't want to. The backlash is underway though so y'all get your "this again?" ready now or you'll look like a Johnny-come-lately.
The particular style that the Briscoes wrestle works better with some opponents than it does others. Briscoes vs. Kevin Steen & El Generico lit up gymnasiums and rec rooms in like, 6 different cities. Briscoes vs. No Remorse Corps was underwhelming. It's simple: If a team has huge moves and will run around and die and stuff, the matches come off well. If a team doesn't, the whole thing is kind of boring.
Luckily for us Tyler Black is willing to land on his face and bump to the floor more than once in a match, and Jimmy Jacobs can be talked into doing just about anything. So this match was big and fun (unless you don't like the Briscoes in which case it was big and stupid.) There was a spot early in the match where Mark threw Tyler and Jimmy into the third row. He looked under the ring and found a trampoline. He used it to jump over the guardrail and crash into Tyler and Jimmy. Why was there a trampoline under the ring? Who put it there? Because they're the Briscoes, that's why. Other match highlights include Tyler Black taking that lariat bump where you spin all the way around and landing directly on his face, and Mark Briscoe diving off of a balcony. It's worth noting that Mark dove off with a splash and not a Shooting Star Press, it appears he has abandoned his former habit of putting his ass under his head (with disastrous results.) The dive took a lot out of him though, and it took him about ten thousand minutes to get back to the ring, eventually costing his team the match. Well, it was a Doomsday Device that got countered that cost them the match, because "Mark fails to break up the pin" doesn't include nearly enough springboarding.
6. BxB Hulk & Shingo Takagi vs Kevin Steen & El Generico
BxB Hulk is a pretty Japanese man. Shingo is a less attractive Japanese man who has styled his hair in the manner of a hawk. Kevin Steen is a fat, violent asshole, who could charitably called homely and El Generico wears a mask. BxB Hulk has a spectacular entrance that includes a fairly elaborate dance routine, and he went through the whole thing to the delight of the crowd. There's always the question of how many people in the crowd are going to be familiar with a wrestler's work and how they're going to react, but even if you'd never seen Hulk do his thing with his backup dancers he's a pretty man in white vinyl cutting it up in the ring. Why wouldn't you cheer? Kevin Steen responded by doing a sloppy soft-shoe number and then the Charleston. Beyond the range of handsome fellows in the ring and their dance skills, this was a very, very good match.
Now see Hulk, he pretty. Kevin Steen, he just ugly.
Indy 2.9 wrestling is a much maligned style. (For those of you unfamiliar with the term, it's basically wrestling that's over reliant on big finishing moves and really close kickouts.) I get why people don't like it, I get why throwing out super death moves for 10 minutes isn't the right way to end a match, but in the end, it doesn't matter. Indy 2.9 wrestling is the foundation of ROH and it's what a lot of the fans pay to see. And that's what this match was. It was two teams hitting each other hand and running around for big double-team moves and kicking out of those big moves. There's a natural flow to these kinds of matches. There's a point where they exceed a normal match, where they go from "well that's the end of that" to "okay, he kicked out." From there they go to "Well it's kind of silly to kick out of that, but okay" and then something magical happens and you begin to react with genuine disbelief. Kevin Steen and El Generico got a couple of those big "well ho-lee shit" kickouts but in the end they didn't have it and BxB Hulk danced his way to victory.
7. Nigel McGuinness vs. Austin Aries
Austin Aries has been on something of a roll lately. He had an excellent Best-of-Three with American Dragon, a phenomenal match with Nigel in New York City, and now he was going to have his title shot. Nigel, for his part, is now a full heel, defying the ROH fans by taking an interest in his long term health.
I have seen Austin Aries at 2 in the afternoon and 1 in the morning. His hair always looks like that. It's gross.
Aries is a really good big-match guy. He's firmly entrenched at the top of ROH and the fans believe that he belongs there, so when he has one of these matches it's a big deal. ROH runs a lot of shows, and the way they run is to have a title match on almost every show. That means that sometimes you give shots to guys that aren't ready for them yet or who the fans don't see as a legit contender. You can run Nigel vs. Roderick Strong, but It's just a match. ROH fans accept matches for the sake of matches, it generally doesn't bother them, but those matches don't mean anything. This wasn't one of those matches. This was Austin Aries coming for what was his. Nigel did his thing, threw his lariats, worked the arm, but when Aries hit that Brainbuster/450, most people in there thought it might be it. That combo is a very well protected finisher and people believe in it. But it couldn't get it done and Aries eventually went down to the jawbreaker lariat.
8. Muscle Outlaw'z (Naruki Doi, Masato Yoshino & Genki Horiguchi) vs. Typhoon (CIMA, Dragon Kid, & Ryo Saito)
MUSCLE OUTLAW'Z: They hold little regard for the laws of muscle.
Dragon Gate Wrestling is more of an elaborate dance than two guys fighting. They're very very good at what they do, but it's more a spectacle than anything else. They express their hatred for each other by moving really fast and spinning a lot. I'd prefer more fists to the face and bleeding, but it has it's charm.
By charm I largely mean tassels, masks and jacked, hairless Japanese guys.
And that's professional wrestling. Men in masks and men beating on each other and blood and violence and elaborately choreographed flips. It is stupid and I cannot for the life of me stop loving it.
— Pholby
The first time I went to Orlando I was one year old. My Mom, my Dad, my Aunt, and my Uncle piled into my parents' car and drove from Virginia to Orlando nonstop. My parents hadn't had me for very long so they were excited to take me to Walt Disney World, and because my consciousness at one was basically "GIVE ME" and "YAY" I was excited as well.
We got to the park super early and parked. Since we had a lot of time to kill we walked to a nearby strip mall and got some food. We bought a few essentials that we'd forgotten at a drug store and I got my first souvenir: a pair of Mickey Mouse ears.
When it was time for the park to open we walked back to the parking lot to find the car. We never found it. My Uncle had SOLD THE CAR FOR DRUGS.
I type that in capital letters so you can absorb the gravity of the situation. My Uncle (by marriage, not by birth... thank Christ) had been a drug abuser and dealer his entire life, and several years later was arrested and put in the vague yokel Virginia equivalent of prison for selling pot to elementary school kids. He has faded green tattoos and just a little too much sunburn. You know the type. Or hopefully you don't. Anyway, my fucking retard Uncle sold my parents' car for drugs and we were left stranded in the Walt Disney World parking lot.
Of course, not having a way home meant that we had to use what money we'd brought to get bus tickets, which meant no actual amusement park. We loaded up and headed home. I never stepped foot into Walt Disney World, and twenty-seven years would pass before I got another chance. All I had to show for it was this picture:
Aw man. That makes me as sad as something I can barely remember possibly could.
THEN
TWENTY SEVEN YEARS LATER
AAAAAAAAAH
Somehow they decided to have a Wrestlemania in the place where I have friends living in a year when I am an adult but am not enough of an adult to not frivolously quit my job and go on vacation! Walking into Walt Disney World was an emotional experience made less pressing by the Monorail ride onto the grounds where we passed the Grand Floridian and I got to point out all the important places where the Tanners did things on the Disney episode of Full House. "That's where they all got mad about Danny's itinerary! LOOK!"
The first thing I did upon -=INVADING DISNEY=- was head to the welcome center and get my 1st Visit pin. The second thing I did was notice that Disney employs two people:
- homely nerds
- THE HOTTEST WOMEN FROM AROUND THE WORLD
You turn left and see someone who might use the word "haxor" in casual conversation pointing out where you should go to get a whole thing of cheese fries. Then you turn right and MALIA the MOST BEAUTIFUL FLOWER OF PARAGUAY is ushering five year olds into the Winnie the Pooh ride and your HEART BREAKS FOR HER but your love can never be because you are on vacation and she is just living in a moment between missionary work and fucking Greek shipping heirs. At one point I bought a large orange soda from a Thai girl who made me want to hump the wooden Wendy on Peter Pan.
Without going into extreme detail, "everything at Disney World is awesome." I think I took a picture of every single thing I did, but picture and captioning it seems like I'd be cheapening it. Basically I got to live out a dream I dreamed when I was one. The rides were relatively thrilless but they made me feel like a little boy. The food was great and pretty reasonable compared to local theme parks of my life like King's Dominion where a Snagglepuss-themed hamburger tastes of stone and cost 28 dollars.
To be more succinct, my... let's say, seven favorite things about my (one and only) trip to "The Mouse" -
7. Meeting the Foam Persons
One of my stranger personality quirks is my love of guys in mascot costumes. The Phillie Phanatic, the Disney All-Stars at the character breakfast, even random guys dressed as food or Ronald Reagan at Indians games (go rerish). I was looking forward to meeting all kinds of obligated strangers in costumes in the park, but through some kind of bad luck or overcrowding I only got my picture taken with one. Buzz Lightyear.
i look thin in this picture everyone compliment my recent weight loss
I bring up the meeting with Buzz Lightyear because the brief line to meet him featured probably my favorite moment of the day, and the one I'll tell people about when I'm out of stories and am seventy. People walk up to Buzz, shake his hand, and pose for a picture. Some just smile and stand beside him, some point gun fingers, whatever. So right before we're up a family with a little boy meet Buzz and they're all excited about it. The little boy stands in front of Buzz for a picture and his family is all SMILE COME ON SMILE FOR THE CAMERA NOW.
Unfortunately, the boy is UNABLE TO SMILE. Not that he doesn't want to, he's clearly trying very hard. He just doesn't understand the mechanics of it. He closes his eyes tight (so tight he has crows feet), opens his mouth as wide as he can (so wide you can see all four-ish of his teeth), and tucks his head. So he's basically the screaming guy in your 90s alternative rock album cover/video, and each time the mom goes SMILE HONEY he raises his head in agony and then lowers it again. Eventually Buzz pats him on the head and sends him on his way, and holy shit what I wouldn't give for that family to read this and send me the picture they took. That kid is my hero.
6. Seeing Scotty 2 Hotty After the Parade
Not a joke. We watch the SPECTRO-VISION (or whatever) parade and while everyone is filing out, former WWE wrestler Scotty 2 Hotty walks by with his kids. For a second I thought about approaching him and asking for a picture (ask Bill Hanstock about our friendly wrestler photo competition), but I refrained for two reasons. One, he was with his daughters and it was late, and I would've felt bad bothering him. Two, because I honestly don't think I could stand within a foot of Scotty 2 Hotty without screaming at him for being FUCKING TERRIBLE.
5. The Tea Cups
Before we got on it was announced that two princesses in line were celebrating their unbirthday. My brain goes from "Aw, that's cute, way to go, employee" to "shit it's my unbirthday too, hey, hey lady" to "it is pretty unfair for little girls to get a Disney classification, what am I supposed to get to be, a pirate, why would my dream be to be a pirate, why don't I just dream about being a rapist." But then I'm okay with it, because if I got to be a Disney Princess I wouldn't want to share it with all the other little girls and would demand my picture be posted around with park with PRINCESS FOR THE DAY below it.
I had the luxury of sitting in a tea cup with two girls, so I got to spin it all by myself and spin the balls off of two girls. The tea cups are custom made for asses like me with upper arm strength.
4. Believe it or not, The Hall of Presidents
I am from Virginia, which is the Land of Presidents. I have seen where Presidents lived and were born. I have written articles about me acting like a shithead on the GRAVES of Presidents. However, you can take the Boy out of the Boring Educational Field Trip but you can't take the Boring Educational Field Trip out of the Boy. I freaking LOVE the Hall of Presidents, even though I feel slightly gypped that it didn't start with George Washington extending his hand and saying "Welcome, to the Hall, of Presidents."
It was like sitting through a particularly awesome hour of seventh grade History and I LOVED IT. But hey, if you ever get to go, check out the terrible job they did on the Bill Clinton robot and tell me he doesn't look a little bit like Rutger Hauer did in Blade Runner.
3. Space Mountain
Having sex with Ric Flair was just as great as I imagined it being. The only downside is that I spent the whole time trying to keep my glasses from flying off.
2. The Jungle Cruise
Hahah, anybody who has ever talked to me or read my writing on this site who also possesses knowledge of the Jungle Cruise and knows exactly what it is should've KNOWN the em-effing Jungle Cruise was right up my alley. It's basically "sit in a boat and hear some puns."
We got lucky, too, because our Jungle Cruise guide was THE MOST BEAUTIFUL WOMAN from some amalgamated Brazil Russia hybrid country where they suck out part of my brain and build people to my specifications. She spoke in a doofy accent and made the worst jokes in history and by the end of the ride I almost asked her to marry me. I guess she'd lose some mystique if our honeymoon didn't involve animatronic bushmen.
Seriously, what is the deal with the women at Disney World. I mean, come on.
1. The Motherfucking Country Bear Jambaroo
You know what? I can't remember the Country Bear Jamboree. All I know is that I'm sitting in a small theater between Lindy and Laura and the lights go down, and this... this BEAR from the bowels of Chuck E Cheese starts talking and I just LOSE IT. I could not stop laughing. If it was just a Showbiz Bear I could've handled it, but the show got WEIRDER and WEIRDER with fat lady bears and hyper-sexual baby triplet bears and a bear with a doll who I think farts and then disappears and I just CANNOT HANDLE IT and then ON TOP OF THAT this FAT BEAR comes out of nowhere and starts singing BLOOD ON THE SADDLE.
I guess I can remember the Country Bear Jamboree but I CANNOT BELIEVE THE COUNTRY BEAR JAMBOREE. This is the look I had on my face the ENTIRE TIME:
What I want to know is how the people who saw this when it first started got any enjoyment out of it whatsoever. Was it enough that they were robots? Did it not matter what they said or did? Is it like today where you can make a computer animated movie about ANYTHING from the absolute depths of terror shit and kids will still go see it and love it because it's computer animated? Was the Country Bear Jamboree the "Hoodwinked" of its day? I can't imagine there being a lot of writers from the Internet obsessed with bad puns and super-irony wandering around with Walt and Ol Satchmo when the park opened.
I hope the people who got to sit with me during the show enjoyed watching me as much as I enjoyed watching metal bears act fucked up. I hope each and every one of you gets to sit with me the next time I do it, and more than that I hope the next time I see it it is COMPLETELY DIFFERENT and just blows my fucking mind.
Maybe my deadbeat Uncle did me a favor. I sure did enjoy the shit out of the Disney World.
Professional wrestling is a strange thing.
Once you get past all of the stuff that actually makes professional wrestling what it is (pyro, ballyhoo, et al), you start getting into the nitty-gritty: professional wrestling fans. For example, three people who can insist that six other people join them at like five wrestling events in Florida for a weekend. IT WILL BE FUN YOU GUYS WE PROMISE
Now let's all go meet Goofy.
We were all in Orlando for a weekend of professional wrestling and Disneyana that would leave even the most ardent fanny pack enthusiast shook with trepidation. But of course the hub around which every corn dog eating spoke revolved was the crowning achievement in professional wrestling, the "grandfather of all of them," WRESTLEMANIA
Yes sir we promised you a great sh
ANDRE, THE GIA
ARRRRETHA FRANKL
Gimme a Hell Y
Unfortunately, since we arrived three whole days before we would be seeing the trainers, referees, EMTs down, the first Wrestlemania-related activity we were privy to was a THQ video game tournament at the House of Blues, which was located in Downtown Disney. The advance press we saw indicated that there would be "tons of WWE Superstars appearing". We got to said House entirely full of Blues and got searched, ID checked and sent to the door, where some ticket-taker was apparently asking for tickets. When we went back to the box office and saw that the tickets were something like $23.00, most of our party declined. But B and I were determined to get photos with wrestlers, god dammit, and the Internet's own Mike Fireball joined us (with his friend-joinin' net).
Inside the "House" (which was really more of a live entertainment venue!), we beheld a stage full of WWE wrestlers playing Smackdown vs. Raw against one another and I realized that I was watching a play within a play. The event was being M.C.'d (maestro of celebrations, for those of you not "in-the-know") by evil high school teacher Matt Striker, and behind him stood such luminaries as Matt Hardy, cocky Puerto Rican Carlito, masked hispanic Rey Mysterio, affable Jamaican person Kofi Kingston, and Layla.
As we struggled to find the line for autographs, at the end of which sat my personal "favorite" wrestler, CM Punk, who should come out onstage but WORLD CHAMPION RANDY ORTON. Since the signs posted indicated that the wrestlers would be rotating every 25 minutes or so, we were like "oh shit we will get a picture with world champion wrestler of the world randall keith orton". But sadly, that was not the case, as we were instead stopped while we were the next group to meet CM Punk, and then Punk was taken away to a back room. We stood in one place for like twenty solid minutes as Shelton Benjamin, Michelle McCool, and SAMOAN SAVAGE UMAGA (dressed in a red polo shirt and backwards baseball cap and followed by like twelve pudgy children) walked back and forth past us to said back room or up to the balcony, where no doubt there was an open Soma buffet. (CM Punk will politely decline and get heat from the road agents for being a mark for himself.) There was discussion that maybe they were bringing out another wrestler, maybe not! That's the wrestlin' business!
Finally the WWE sent forth an emissary they deemed as a suitable replacement for CM Punk: one half of the World Tag Team Champions, Cody Rhodes and his pinprick nose piercing. I finally got to the front of the line and waited uneasily as Cody monkey-pawed a Sharpie and took an agonizing 25 seconds scrawling his signature on a commemorative Wrestlemania 24 piece of glossy paper. He was flanked by an enormous man in a fine suit of choice cloth, and a smaller weasely man who guided the paper under his unsteady fist. I asked the enormous man if I could take a picture with this awesome spectacle of a man, and the behemoth informed me, much to my dismay, that I couldn't take a picture WITH him, but I could take a picture OF him. So I shrugged and said "Hey Cody, can I take your picture?" Without a verbal reply, he looked in the direction of my camera, held aloft, and allowed me to capture visual proof that Cody Rhodes is shoot retarded:
But anyway, WRESTLEMANIA~!
The thing about Wrestlemania is that every year, it brings in people from just about every part of the world imaginable. There is literally every type of person present that you could ever hope to meet, but there are a LOT of a CERTAIN type of person.
For example, the late-middle-aged man who wore his best, crisp Gravedigger The Monster Truck T-shirt tucked into his finest Sunday slacks.
Gravedigger and Undertaker are frequently confused.
Or the man in line for the ATM who shoved a woman and tried to fight her for bumping up against him. Or the woman who took no less than a minute and a half and six different attempts before managing to point her Finlay sign toward the ring, right side up.
And then there we were, a full row of nerdlingers, rolling nine deep.
It was really incredible being there for Wrestlemania, an event I figured I would never attend, only one of two outdoor Wrestlemanias in the event's twenty-four-year history. It was a really incredible feeling, made even moreso when one of our non-wrestling-fan colleagues leaned over to me and inquired during Lillian Garcia's entrance, "Who's this slut?"
The slut in question, in case you were wondering, is the ring announcer for the WWE's RAW brand, noted for being marginally attractive, marginally Latina, and exceptionally horrible at her job. For example, when "wrestler" Gene Snitsky comes to the ring, Lillian announces him as "SNNNNNNNNNNITSKEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH". When WWE Champion Randy Orton is about to fight, she loudly proclaims, "RRRRRRRRRIIINDY OR-TAHHHHHHHHHHHH". Never once has she pronounced the last letter in that poor man’s name.
We were all buckled in and waiting for Wrestlemania to start, and luckily, we had pretty awesome seats.
Oh no, Wrestlemania! Look out for that blimp!
Yes, it was somewhat overcast at times, and we did get some light showers throughout the event, but luckily Florida is a godless horror of a state and said rain was warm and calming, like taking a water bottle into the steam room.
LUCKY LUCKY US we were treated to a "Freeview" (portmanteau of "free preview") of Wrestlemania 24 which aired live on wwe.com prior to the event itself. This was a
24 Man Battle Royal
The winner of this match would get a shot at the ECW "title" later in the event proper. We were all pretty excited because we had been walking around all weekend yelling "BISCUITS AND GRAVAYYYYYYYY" (well okay, mostly me), and were looking forward to cheering for wrestlers’ entrance themes (and to a lesser extent, the wrestlers themselves). Sadly, all 24 men came out to a generic theme, and not the supremely awesome Wrestlemania Theme, which sounds like the Entertainment Tonight theme as covered by, I don’t know, Eddie Money?
SNNNNNNNNNITSKEHHHHHHH
Kane came out last, and holy shit do people like Kane. He wasn’t even coming out with his music or elaborate entrance or anything, but when Tony Chimel said, "Kane!" like forty thousand A-shirt clad farmer tans curtailed their sips from Bud Light tall cans to nudge their buddy and go "SHIT yeah, it’s Kane! WOOOOOOOOOO KAAAAAAAAAAAAAANNNNNE!"
Kane won with a ginger kick to Mark Henry which lightly grazed Henry’s beard, causing him to leap over the top rope for some reason. The highlight of the match was Jamie Noble getting thrown out onto prone wrestlers and climbing up them back to the ring apron. Then he got punched off onto the floor. Your former ROH World Champion, ladies and gentlemen. Anyway, Kane wins, and people are emphatically like "YYYYYYYYYYYYYYYAAAAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY" and I am so bewildered.
NOW IT IS FINALLY TIME FOR WRESTLEMANIA
Belfast Brawl: JBL vs. Finlay
So the story here is that Mr. McMahon died
I mean the story is that Chris Benoit killed his
Rather, Ken Kennedy failed a steroid
So Vince McMahon discovered he had an illegitimate son, which turned out to be leprechaun/homeless midget Hornswoggle, and then he wanted to beat his son up, but JBL showed up and beat the shit out of the midget and told Vince "nuh-uh that mofo Finlay he baby daddy" and Vince McMahon was like "peace out this angle is the drizzling shits and best of luck in all your future endeavors" so in the space of three weeks we went from a Texan badass handcuffing a dude to the ropes and making him watch while he lariats the living shit out of a three-foot-tall dude to the opening match of Wrestlemania that even the most hardcore fan couldn’t be bothered giving a shit about. When the owner of your company comes up with an idea and then is like "welp, I shat the bed, clean that up for me" you know good times are comin’. This match ended up being a technical showcase with a ton of chain wrestling and fastpaced near-falls and
Money In The Bank Ladder Match
In 2005, a new Wrestlemania tradition was begun: The Money In The Bank Ladder Match. In this match, somewhere between six and eight combatants will be fighting for a briefcase hanging above the ring. The contents of that briefcase are a guaranteed contract for a match against any world champion at any place, at any time, within the next calendar year (the point of expiry has occasionally been identified as being the following year’s Wrestlemania). The big deal is that all three times the briefcase has been cashed in before, it was resulted in the casher becoming new world champion. So there is a precedent that this match makes the winner a bona-fide A-list wrestler, and there is also the precedent that Shelton Benjamin will destroy his poor body so they can be like "JESUS CHRIST LOOK AT THIS PHENOMENAL ATHLETE" for a week before remembering that he’s black.
The other big deal is that Jeff Hardy was on an unstoppable roll for the past four months coming into Wrestlemania and was being pegged by anyone with a brain as set to win "MITB" but then with a couple weeks to go, he failed a recreational drug test for the second time, resulting in a 60 day suspension without pay. Then his house (triple-wide trailer) burned down and his dog died. Seriously.
So we’re left with Shelton Benjamin vs. MVP vs. Mister Kennedy vs. John Morrison vs. Carlito vs. CM Punk vs. Chris Jericho. The only people in the match who anyone was remotely picking to win were Kennedy, who has been on the cusp of megastardom for a year or so and won last year’s MITB; MVP, who is going to be the biggest heel in the world in a couple years; and Chris Jericho, who is sometimes on VH1. John Morrison is not a guy ready to win a match like this, Carlito is only in this match because he decided to renew his contract, CM Punk has spent the last two months losing clean in the middle of the ring on every TV show and PPV because he probably nailed the wrong dude’s lady. And Shelton Benjamin, as noted, is there because he will do this:
So this was a pretty great match. CM Punk keeps coming in and takes three different guys’ finishers either onto or off of a ladder. I spend the entire match explaining to the non-fans why Punk and Carlito are the two people least likely to win out of all seven guys. Everyone kills themselves pretty great until there’s no one left but Chris Jericho, so he goes up and HOLY SHIT CM PUNK WINS IT ARE YOUFUCKING KIDDING ME
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME
Oh man pretty much the most genuinely shocking and exciting thing I have ever experienced. I was honestly unable to shut my mouth for like three minutes.
Batista vs. Umaga
Oh man, and then this. Batista has what I like to call "the Kane phenomenon" where people fucking LOVE the guy regardless that he is one enormous, throbbing vein. This match was so completely awful, but thankfully short. The highlight of the match for me was when Umanga goes for the Samoan Spike (basically he jams his taped-up thumb into someone’s throat real hard and fast), and Batista grabs his wrist to block it, but Umaga keeps trying to POWER THROUGH, like "if I can just make it a couple more inches!" Batista wins with basically the worst powerbomb ever that Sid Vicious wasn’t responsible for and it looked like he tore every muscle in his entire expanse of back doing it. I groaned and ate a hamburger and we moved on.
Chavo Guerrero (c) vs. Kane
I cannot stress this enough: PEOPLE LOVE KANE
Kane won the ECW title with a chokeslam in 8 seconds. Seriously. Then he made fire come out of things. Say, this Kane fellow has moxy!
Pictured: people loving Kane. Not pictured: workrate.
Ric Flair vs. Shawn Michaels
LEAVE THE MEMORIES ALONE
I have been alive for nearly 29 years. I have been watching professional wrestling in some form for at least 20 of those years. At no point in my lifetime has Ric Flair not been an active wrestler and one of the best, if not the best in the world. I will leave extended thoughts to B, who is better at elaborating on matters such as these, but the emotion in the arena was palpable. People were sitting rapt the entire time, all 75,000 of us, and it was an unbelievable atmosphere. Sometimes all you can say is thank you, Ric.
BUNNYMANIA
And from the most emotional and significant retirement match in the history of professional fights, we go to a women’s match featuring Snoop Dogg in which the lights went out. The highlight of this match was me being creeped out by Snoop making out with Maria.
WWE Championship Match: Randy Orton (c) vs. Triple H vs. John Cena
John Cena came out to a marching band playing his theme, which was unbelievably awesome but I think only our row actually got what was happening, because it was the most anemic reaction to anything all night. When Triple H came out, two different people in front of us pantomimed his entrance poses along with him, including his water spit, and then high-fived their friends. Oh man, HHH did the pose he does every time he comes to the ring? WHAT ARE THE ODDS
Randy Orton didn’t get any pyro whatsoever, which we attributed to the lights being out. I figured that was the only explanation for there not being sparks showering the entire audience. They waited until the end of the show to do that (a joke about several dozen people being injured by fireworks at this event).
The lights came on halfway through the match, and some crazy shit went down in that Randy Orton shocked the world and actually won. Half of my group was like "whoa no way" and half of my group was like "FUCKING AWESOME" and everyone else in the arena was like "THIS IS FUCKIN BOOOL SHIT MAN BOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"
The moral of the story is that Randy Orton is seriously one of the best wrestlers in the world right now and you should be thankful he is YOUR champion.
Floyd Mayweather vs. Big Show
Shit yes, son. I was so excited to see this, because it had the potential to be seriously the worst match of all time. Just imagine my delight when it ended up being SHOOT AWESOME. Seriously, it’s hard to do it justice but there was no part of this match that was less than "righteous". Watch it immediately.
World Heavyweight Championship Match: Edge (c) vs. The Undertaker
Since my group was mostly comprised of savvy old cynics who read insyder nooz, we knew that since a bad guy won the other world title match, the Undertaker (not to be confused with Grave Digger) was going to win the title here to make sure that Wrestlemania gets the required happy ending. We watched the Undertaker’s entrance, and when Edge came out, my friends looked at me to see whether we could go. I held up one finger, because I knew something special was about to happen. And sure enough, Vickie Guerrero was wheeled out to have a short make-out with Edge and then she was whisked away to the backstage area once again. I turned to the group and nodded. Now we may go. Our Wrestlemania is complete.
And then a ton of people got first-degree burns.
For the past eight or nine years, the WWE has built Wrestlemania into more than just another pay-per-view. They have solidified it as their yearly Super Bowl and World Series rolled into one. They pay off their biggest stories, have their most important matches, and create their biggest stars here. I never thought I would be able to go to Wrestlemania, let alone one of the only two outdoor Wrestlemanias, but I got to see it with some of my very best friends. I saw my favorite wrestler win the biggest match of his career to date. I saw Ric Flair’s last match (until his next one). I saw Randy Orton shock the world. And I saw a woman disgrace the memory of her dead husband. It was one of the best weekends of my entire life.
But man, nothing can top this:
— Hanstock
I've spent a good deal of time discussing my dislike of ironic humor with B. As adults we go for sarcasm, but as kids we'd whip out "orange you glad you didn't say banana" and think it was hilarious. Sarcasm is too easy and Jesus Christ, I'm sick of irony. You have to be brave to make the dumb joke. That's why I love Disney. It's the one place that I know for sure isn't saturated with irony. It's a park for children and families almost separate from reality that lets you forget cynicism and your worries if you just let go and accept it, and take it all in. Once I stayed in the park with my family and forgot about everything else going on in the world. That was the week Chris Farley died and a tiger escaped from the zoo.
After hearing B's tragic childhood story about missing out on Disney World, I made it my goal to get him down there some way or another. Thankfully, that was made easy by Wrestlemania being in Orlando. I'm sure if given the chance, I could've spent the entire time in Disney World. It's an impossibility for me to do that with the boyfriend/friends I have while Ric Flair is retiring and while I have a chance to giggle about a beautiful Japanese wrestler who dances. I started talking with Mike ahead of time about how much time we'd be able to swing in the parks and what other things we could do with B to give him a great experience. As always, Disney has about 50,000 different things you could do for a fun time, so I took B's love of people in big silly character costumes and suggested we do a character breakfast.
For those not familiar with the concept, it's very simple: you attend a special, themed meal at a restaurant in either a Disney park or resort hotel and while you dine, people dressed as various Disney characters walk around and periodically visit you while you're eating. They will play around, give hugs, shake hands, take pictures, and then visit the next table. Every character dinner has different themes and characters so it's never the same thing. My first character dining experience was during my second visit to Disney World in 1997 at the Crystal Palace in the Magic Kingdom. My second and third visit to the resort happened before Christmas, so not only did we enjoy holiday themed festivities, the parks were nearly barren, including the restaurants. The Crystal Palace in the Magic Kingdom has the A.A. Milne characters. Since we were one of the few families dining we had frequent visits from Winnie the Pooh (and Tigger too), Eeyore, and the like. They sat with us, mimed eating, made sure to play around with the large foam Mad Hatter's hat I had bought and had been wearing and made it such a fun experience that we visited the character breakfast at the Grand Floridian and had breakfast with Mary Poppins and characters from Alice in Wonderland too. Mary Poppins made my mom mark out like she'd met a celebrity.
This trip's character breakfast started with Mike practically driving myself, Ryan, and Laura into the Magic Kingdom because, as he puts it, he is a parking lot retard. He can't navigate parking lots. The big squares. They kill him. We all arrived (eventually) to the Contemporary Resort, which, if you've ever seen any pictures of video of Walt Disney World, is the hotel near Space Mountain that the monorail goes through.
It also happens to be the place that I begged my parents to stay at when I was 3. Before we were seated we took a group picture with our arms crossed like CM Punk, which means we're better than you. When the photo girl brought the finished product to our table she called us "a bunch of X-Men!".
The table where we were seated had a window view of Cinderella's castle. Most of our time at the table involved me sitting and smiling at B, waiting to catch wind of his excitement and enthusiasm. Without turning this into a livejournal post, everyone got pictures and, in some cases, hugs and handshakes with the characters and enjoyed delicious breakfast foods like cheese potatoes, vegetarian breakfast lasagna, and, for B's biggest moment of excitement at breakfast, cornbread cornbeef hash. I think the cornhash was a solid number #3 on the list of things he was looking forward to, ahead of Walt Disney World proper, but after Wrestlemania and Muscle Outlaw'z.
I've enjoyed every trip I've been fortunate enough to take with my friends from Progressive Boink. This trip to Florida was unlike any other one because of the variety of things I got to experience. I got to cheer for my two favorite Japanese tag teams in a small armory, I giggled and tensed up as I met and shook hands with them later, I shouted and celebrated while CM Punk hoisted a briefcase above his head, and later cried when Ric Flair sobbed his way up the ramp for the last time, And, best of all, I got to be one of the only people in the world to see Peter Holby screaming for someone's blood one day and getting a shit-eating grin on his face while taking a back-to-back photo with Donald Duck the next.
— Lindy
I hate you. I don't understand you.
I'm six years old. I'm sitting pretty high up and far away in the Greensboro Coliseum, back when nowhere in the Greensboro Coliseum was high up or far away. But I'm little. I've got little hands and little feet and a contextually little head. Okay, the head is still pretty big. I've got a Rock n' Roll Express collectable mug in one hand and bandanas tied around my legs. Down below under the spotlights are Ricky Morton and the NWA Heavyweight Champion Ric Flair. One is in the Rock n' Roll Express and has bandanas tied around his legs. One is the Nature Boy Ric Flair.
I want Morton to win. He wrestled fairly and tried his hardest to win matches. This usually involved him getting the ass whomped out of him for twenty minutes while his partner, the cross-eyed but still valiant Robert Gibson waited on the outside, arm outstretched for a tag. Eventually the boredom of constant violence would set in on their opponents, leading to a momentary lapse in concentration and enough of an opening for Morton to bound across the ring like Barry Allen taking out an antimatter cannon and smack Gibson's hand for the tag. Gibson would rush into the ring, a literal house afire, and punch the bad guys a couple of times before making Morton turn back around (after like two seconds of rest) and help him out. Things would evolve as they normally did (three choices: double dropkick, dropkick to the back while somebody's holding Ricky for a bodyslam, or tennis racket to the back when the ref was away).
Here, Ricky was alone but passionate about his chances. Flair never seemed to do anything too devestating. The most heinous thing he seemed to do was put your leg on the bottom rope, jump, and then land with his butt on the leg. Sometimes he'd go up to the top rope for a move and get thrown off because he was moving too slowly. But he ALWAYS WON. He wouldn't stop winning. My Mom and Dad told me that he was paying off the referee, and that sure seemed like what was happening. Referee Tommy Young would count pretty fast for Flair. It took him 2 1/2 minutes to count to ten while Flair was on the outside. He would be caught looking away or unconscious every time Flair would be doing something nasty. And then sometimes when Flair was trying to hold onto the ropes to avoid being sunset flipped, Tommy would run over and kick away Flair's arm, and Flair would fall backwards and almost lose! I couldn't figure it out. He was doing something to win. Something.
Dropkick. Clothesline. Punch! Well, kind of a punch. It hit more air than head, but it was enough~! and Flair was down. The crowd was on their feet. Okay, I don't remember what the crowd was doing, but I was on my feet. Jumping up and down on my seat, yelling "C'MON RICKY YOU CAN DO IT!" Tonight was the night! Morton's going to win the World Title! And then like the ebb and flow of the tides or the rising and setting of the sun, here comes Flair with a foreign object in his tights and a handful of the other guy's pants and his feet on the ropes for the cheap victory. Tommy Young didn't seem to see it. He was underneath Flair's legs! HOW COULD HE NOT SEE IT.
I sniffled for a while. Mom and Dad told me everything was going to be all right and that Ricky was going to get another shot. He can't help it if Flair has people helping him. Flair always had people helping him win. They lead me down the stairs and out of the smokey old concrete and rail arena and into the backseat of our car, where I bury my head and sleep away the long drive home.
I don't understand you! Flair is awesome.
Wrestling is "popular" sometimes. It's never really as popular as the popular things, but enough people watch it and enough people are into it to let interest swell every decade or so. The last time it was popular enough to admit you liked it in public was the late nineties. In 10th grade my wrestling shirt wasn't cool, but in the 11th grade it WAS! Friends came over to watch with me. They asked me questions and I was the only person they'd ever meet who could answer. Who is Raven? Where did he come from? He's pretty cool. I like Goldberg. Who is that ninja in blue and why does it start snowing indoors when they play his music? Why is a ninja a professional wrestler? Shouldn't he be a NINJA? Is he going to stab Raven with a sai?
His name is Glacier. And you don't stab people with a sai.
And this one: "Why do you like Ric Flair? He's so old!"
Yeah, he's pretty old. His hair is shorter now so he looks like he should be selling real estate. But he used to have long flowing hair and ride in limousines with ... uh, with three other guys who had the most manicured chest hair you could ever imagine. I don't know how they grow it. They have to grow it out in bushels and then trim it down to a tuft that covers your entire chest in a weird round-edged rectangle. No, he's not gay. He steals kisses from women! No, seriously, he's not gay.
I didn't like Flair when I was little. That's when I was a "mark!" That means I don't know anything about wrestling. I thought wrestling was real. Can you believe that? Now I'm what they call a "smart." I know what's going on behind the scenes. I can tell you what they're going to do on the next show. Raven is going to beat Chris Benoit because Benoit never wins. (Benoit should win more! He's really good.) Actually, I don't like to call myself a "smart." I'm more of a "smark." That's a smart-mark. I know a lot about wrestling but I can still enjoy it for what it is!
That's why I like Flair now. I see what he's doing. I get it. He's a great heel. (That means "bad guy.") He's the one who cheats. It's fun to cheer for a guy like that because what he's doing is so underhanded and dastardly. Look, he's got his feet on the ropes, that's hilarious. That's what the face (the "good guy") gets for acting like such a cheese. Slapping hands on the way to the ring is lame. One time when I was ten I stood in corner of two front rows with my hand out while Sting slapped the hands of every single person on one side, skipped the corner (me), and slapped the hands of every single person on the other side. It made me cry. Haha I'm just kidding, I didn't care. I was cool back then, I got it pretty early.
My favorite wrestlers were Cactus Jack (because he was crazy and would do anything to his body! He's now wrestling as Mankind in the WWF, but they aren't using him right) and Big Van Vader (who had better matches in Japan). Heels and faces are the dynamic of a wrestling match. It's all a business. Have you seen my new Raven shirt? You think my Raven shirt is cool.
So yeah, you're dumb for not liking Flair. Flair is like, the God of wrestling. He cheated to beat everybody. I remember watching him pin Magnum T.A. with his feet on the ropes. My Mom almost had a heart attack. She threatened to stab Flair with her shoe. I remember one time he pulled a roll of quarters out of his tights and bashed Dusty Rhodes in the face with it. Busted him wide open. He still won the match and didn't get caught even though the ref counted the pin in a ring full of scattered quarters. Hahahaha! I was live for a match where he pinned Ricky Morton with a handful of tights.
Actually, that still kind of pisses me off.
(I'm just kidding. It's not like they didn't plan it that way. They wanted to get a reaction out of the crowd. You know, I-)
Oh shut up, Flair rules. Flair rules you!
Augh, I hate you. Why do you have to write about this?
I'm twenty-something. My life hasn't gone where I thought it would. I wanted to go to law school, but something about girls and bohemianism snapped and I started really liking foreign film and black and white. I didn't like church as much and the girl with the olive skin made me turn my head more than she was supposed to. I wanted to be an artist, but a cadre of art teachers found a way to kill it dead. I wanted to be a writer, I think? I don't know what I want to be.
What I do know is that I'm sick to fuck of you writing about wrestling on the Internet. I don't care about how D-Generation X got you into wrestling when you were 14 and how wrestling just isn't as interesting as it used to be. It's exactly the same as it used to be. The only difference is that now they devote 10 minutes of the show to plastic bitches in bikinis instead of 20. There are slightly more headlocks than cookie sheets to the head. Deal with it. Watch it or don't. Shit or get off the shitty pot. The pot has been covered with shit for like forty years. The pot wasn't clean when you sat down. It was covered in shit. Fuck you if you didn't notice.
You know what I miss? Flair. I miss back when they took him seriously. When wrestling stopped being about "wrestling" and being more about sports entertainment a guy like Flair and a talent like Flair's stopped being so important. The ability to make an armbar look real took a backseat to how many flips you could do before landing, or how many hand gestures you could make. The jumping ass to the leg became a jumping ass off the top rope to the outside through a table while holding a chair under the ass. Flair just kinda stood around going "what" while it changed. He stayed around because he's either got nothing better to do or we won't let him leave. They could've been letting him wrestling but they were asking him to kiss a donkey's ass on television (an actual donkey) or putting him in a mental institution for a funny joke or shaving his head for somebody's gratification. He was just a joke now, but a handy joke because he used to mean something. And when he's gone the people just chant WE WANT FLAIR, WE WANT FLAIR. So what're you going to do?
And when the cookie sheets stopped reigning down so hard and the headlocks started coming back, Flair was too old to be "Flair." He was a step slower and his hair just kept looking worse. I'm twenty years old (or twenty-four, I can't remember) and I'm reading about why he needs to just retire. I see you've typed a paragraph or ten about how he needs to put on a shirt when he wrestles because he looks so flabby! He's got tits! Ric Flair has man tits. They bounce like rubber when he falls down. I get it. I know what you mean. You don't want him around.
And when he's gone, you chant WE WANT FLAIR. WE WANT FLAIR.
What's wrong with you? I don't understand you. Do you love it or hate it? Is it both? Is it neither? You can't muster up anything but "meh" to describe the things you're dispassionate about and you can't feel passionately about anything else. These guys put their bodies on the line to entertain you. They kill themselves for you. Don't you get it? You can't get it. You'll never understand. I get it. I know what they're doing for me, and I appreciate it.
You want Flair. You want Flair. Fuck you. You don't deserve Flair.
Just stop writing about it. Write about old television shows you remember. Somebody surfing the internet will see it and say "hey, I remember that" and you'll bond over something neither of you created. It'll just be a shared experience. You'll feel like a part of the world. You are a part of the world. You can't identify with anybody you meet and you can't say what's in your heart or feel what's in your mind, but you're a part of the world. Just log off of the forum, back away from the computer, and stop feeling things about the things I love.
This isn't where I thought I'd go. Where the hell have I gone?
"Just do it already."
I'm twenty-eight years old. A few months ago I got to meet Ricky Morton at a local Cleveland independent wrestling show and show him the picture I took with him when I was six. His skin is heavier now and the years of drug use and physical abuse have slowed him, but his hair is exactly the same and the bandanas are wrapped around his legs and he smiles about it. He shows the other wrestlers and asks them if they can believe this was twenty years ago. He looks young in the picture. He doesn't look young anywhere else.
And then, wherever the story leads, I'm at Wrestlemania. I'm twenty-eight years old and I've lived every moment of my God forsaken life, and now I'm one of seventy-five thousand people in the Citrus Bowl watching Shawn Michaels wrestle Ric Flair. If Flair loses, he has to retire. I'm easy to find. I'm the one sitting down.
The most amazing thing about the Wrestlemania match was the audience. Wrestling is spectacle and bullshit pandering and some people like some things more than others. When the wrestlers were jumping off of ladders to fall through ladders and land on ladders I was going OOOH with my friend Bill and cheering when my favorite won the match. Some people in the crowd were getting up to buy souvenirs or food. Kids sat restlessly. People talked. Fireworks went off. Blimps and airplanes soared overhead. When slower, fatter, more tree-like wrestlers were plodding away with clubbing forearms I took a walk around the arena. Others sat glued to their seats. COME ON BATISTA, GIVE HIM THE POWERBOMB. YOU CAN WIN BATISTA! And here I am, caring about how much the chicken fingers are.
Then, Ric Flair.
And somehow nobody cares about food. Nobody needs a T-shirt. Seventy-five thousand people are standing in silence, watching the match. A father a few rows down stops a child from leaving, telling him this is important, you should be here for this. The child listens and stands up on his seat to get a better look. When Flair hits a big move the child jumps up and down on his seat. I've been there. I'm there right now. But I can't feel it.
The years take something from you. They take the effortless motion of your back. They take the sharpness of your eyes. They take the big fat taste bud from your tounge that only likes french fries and replaces it with a bunch of little ones that like onions and sprouts and dijon mustards, and then later takes those back and puts in a big fat one that doesn't like anything anymore. The years take your clothes and your trends. They take the shows you thought were funny and make them bad. They take the people you knew and make them old. They take the beautiful girl you loved and turn her into someone you can't believe you dated.
I think what matters most is being able to stand up after those things have been taken from you. Life is not a test or an obligation and I'm not sure it's a gift. But it's there, and it's happening to you, and everybody has it. It is inevitable. It's going to kick you as hard as it can in the face because it wants to beat you. And even if it backs off for a moment and considers letting you go you can't take that easy way out. You have to ball up your fists and let your fucking heart burst open and stand on your own two goddamned feet and tell it to come on and do it already.
I hate you, Ric Flair.
Why do you hate Ric Flair?
I don't care why you hate Ric Flair.
He's got the World Title held above his head as Tommy Young leads him out of the Greensboro Coliseum as I'm sitting there in my seat crying. He stands, arms outstretched in a glittering robe as guys in black trunks and masks come into my life and leave as quickly as they do. He struts and yells out WOO in a mental institution because somebody told him I'd think it was funny. He's on TV while I'm writing about what sucks about TV and he's still there when I'm damning you for doing the same thing. He's there, somewhere, for every moment of the most important thing in my life during every moment of my life. He's a video package about memories. Is he? He's not yet. Shawn Michaels is slumped in the corner and won't make the pin.
When my friend Nick Dallamora wrote four years ago about the Montreal Expos moving and changing he compared it to a funeral. When you're putting on the tie to go to the funeral you're fine, and then you see the body and you want to shake them until they wake up. You see Mike Mordecai settling under the foul ball and you want to rush out onto the field and tackle him, keep the game going on forever. When I heard about the match I accepted it. Flair is old, it's time for him to retire. Sure been a hell of a ride! When I handed over my ticket and walked into the arena the acceptance began to slip. I could see myself sliding into the ring to block the final kick. I'd be a hero. I'd keep it going.
When the match started it kept hitting me in reverse. I couldn't accept it or stop it because I didn't know what was going to happen. The wind picked up and it rained a little. Seventy five grand stood up through inaction and action alike in complete silence. The shared experience. This is important. You should be here for this.
I wasn't braindead and I wasn't numb. I didn't really accept it, either. I hated it but it was a part of life. The part I'd finally played enough to see. The end. He, or whoever, let me be there for the end.
So just do it already.
Kick him, put him down. Let us chant "Thank you Flair, thank you Flair." Let him cry and kiss his children and hold his hands high as he leaves. I'm terrible at writing these and you come into my paragraphs knowing I'm going to feel too much about everything, and I'm going to remember what it was like to feel exactly the same way when I was five. I'm going to make you think that what I feel is "right." Talk in declarative statements. At the end I'm going to come to a philosophical conclusion and life will go on, and wrestlers will die, and people will roll their eyes. And I keep going, and when they die I feel like I've got to say something about it. Who am I to do that? They aren't my friends. They might've met me but they don't remember me. They don't know me. If the world dies and nobody cares, who really made up the world?
Shawn Michaels kicked Ric Flair and pinned him. I took off my glasses so I could see it with my own eyes. The match ended, Flair retired, and the night went on. Snoop Dogg came out with a big throne and made out with girls in bikini pants. We laughed and shook our heads because we couldn't believe how fucking ignorant it was. I started to smile because I guess my friends knew what it meant to me, even if they're never going to know what it means to me.
I'm sorry. I love you.
I hate it. But I guess I understand.