Wrestling News, Opinions, Etc. 9.10.02


Have you torqued the lug nuts? – Internal Pep Boys sign promoting teamwork

Well, I haven’t recently, but I’m not sure if it’s because my torque wrench is too old or if it’s the Paxil.

Welcome to the post-first-weekend-of-pro-football Wrestling News, Opinions, Etc., where we wrestling fans get to blame Raw’s crappy ratings on John Madden for seventeen weeks.  Never mind that the show has been wheezing up furballs lately, it’s all Madden’s fault.

Let’s start off today with another slice of the perpetual misery that is my life, shall we?


Okay, it’s Friday afternoon.  I know that I’ll be working on Saturday, which is no real problem.  Even though I’m salaried management, I get some OT for weekends.  If you show up, you get a day’s pay.  Cool.  Then my PHB, being the complete and total f*ckstick that he is, comes up with a brainstorm:  have all five members of management under him work five-hour shifts, and only pay them for every other weekend day that they work.  That’ll cut down on the paid overtime.  Naturally, he brings this suggestion to the VP for Operations, who’s an old butt-buddy of his from a previous job.  The VP loves it.  Other members of senior management don’t, on the principle that it would be unfair for those people to have to come in, work half a shift, leave while production’s still going on, and the other members of management who actually make stuff have to stay.  This erupts into a behind-closed-doors argument that results in such a large amount of screaming that I, sitting in my office, decided that discretion was the better part of valor and went out to the production floor to do some work/hide until it blew over.

Of course, this means that I’m losing money, big money now that we’ve entered our busy season.  It means I still have to get into work at 4 Fucking 30 in the goddamn morning on a Saturday or Sunday and leave at 9:30, by which time a good portion of the day’s shot to hell.  It also means that I can’t really recharge my batteries with relaxation either, which is now more important because of the PHB’s latest Plan Nine From Outer Space regarding personnel.

You see, there are five of us in the plant who specialize in technical-oriented non-production activities (quality assurance, process control, research and development, sales samples creation, data analysis, sanitation monitoring, etc.; does that answer your question, Plagiarist?).  Since we don’t make product, we’re all thought of as interchangable parts, even though some of us are better at some things than others (for instance, I’m great at all of the above except for sales samples creation).  My PHB is also in charge of Shipping, and he had the brainstorm of spreading out shipments so that the Shipping people wouldn’t be in until 8PM most nights.  That meant that the one technician on night shift was moved to day shift to train in Shipping in order to take over night shift Shipping eventually.  That meant that one of the other techs was put on night shift to cover for him.  Naturally, who gets to cover for the day shift tech who was moved?  Yep, me.  I’m now doing the mundane stuff of two people’s jobs, and expected to do all of the additional tasks that are laden on me on top of it.  Is it any wonder that I’m excited at the prospect of a recruiter having three positions I’m qualified for, all at much higher pay with less actual work?

Believe me, I wasn’t in a good mood on Saturday morning, so what do I do?  I decide to pretty much blow my whole week’s pay on the Damn Vaninator.  Over Saturday and Sunday, it got a new set of tires, an alignment, some engine treatment, some tranny treatment, a bottle of fuel system cleaner, a new set of wiper blades, a wash, a full tank of gas, and a negative ion air purifier.  It’s now in better shape than I am.  Pep Boys had better send me a f*cking Christmas card for this.

Wrestling connection?  The guy who put my tires on was a dead ringer for David Flair.  He also forgot to do the alignment initially, which means he also has the intelligence of David Flair.  Hell, I was just happy to get out of there just in time to catch the Urbana Bears game, which ended wonderfully with a last-minute bitch-slap to the collective face of the whiny Viqueens.  And Korey Stringer still committed de facto suicide, so go screw yourselves, you purple pod people.


It isn’t enough for the Bears to win, though.  The Packers must go down, and go down hard.  The fact that the Falcons let them slip away in overtime is pissing me off to no end (however, the Bears should express their disapproval of that situation in their own unique way next week as they turn Michael Vick into mulch).  Of course, that’s nothing compared to the frustration that BFM and any Browns fan is still experiencing over Dwayne Rudd’s phenomenal stupidity.  That’s one of the most f*cked-up endings to a football game I’ve ever heard of.  Gotta feel bad for BFM.  He goes from seeing Cleveland f*ck up a wet dream to watching the Rams flounder against the Broncos.  Bad Sunday, bud.

The major impression I got coming out of Week One was simple:  the Siren Song of Brian Billick has worn off.  Now it’s Mike Martz Mesmerism grabbing all the NFL coaches by the short hairs.  Scoring was through the roof, defense was through the floor.  It’ll be fun to watch, but it’s certainly not the kind of ball that we fans in the NFC Central…shit, the NFC North (which, of course, is the old NFC Central before Tampon Bay existed) are used to.  And, of course, Marty is the greatest Booker of them all.  Even better than T, and sure as hell better than the Bitch of the Baskervilles.


Well, we did expect Sister Act III, with Serena winning, didn’t we?  I’m going to prepare for January Down Under by getting a shotgun and planning to blast the TV the first time one of the talking heads says the words “Tiger Slam”.

As for the men…well, he ain’t quite finished yet, is he?  Pete Sampras gave the whole world one gigantic middle finger, as if to say “I’ve got fourteen majors, a hot wife, and I can still play, jagoffs!” (not to mention still pull off a **** 1/2 match like the finals).  Wimbledon may be his personal domain, but for him to pull off one final miracle and win his home country’s tournament, especially after all the doom-saying and the criticism that came his way during the event, bravo.  It just reminds me that the only thing that would have made Nicklaus’ win at the ’86 Masters that much better was if he was paired with Tom Watson that day.  That’s why it had to be Agassi playing against him.  It wouldn’t have had the same impact if it had been one of those anonymous schlubs that have been grabbing majors lately.  Of course, it also didn’t help that Agassi got worn out by Hewitt in the semis.  I’d like to see one of them stuff that little bastard’s smug look through a racket in his home country in January.


Deonandan poses the eternal question, and I give the eternal answer:  these days, yes, it is, with a capital F.

Hyatte got everyone else.


Scott and PK have it all for you.  I just have a bunch of BS.

Match Results:

Lance Storm and Christian over Kane and Bradshaw, Tag Titles Match (Pinfall, Christian pins Bradshaw, Regal-ference):  Well, I must say this match did surprise me a bit.  Okay, so expecting Bradshaw to sell anything may be beyond anyone at this point.  However, he did keep up with the fast pace set and maintained by Storm and Christian, as did a still-visibly-rusty Kane.  A match in which everything clicked pretty decently.  Even the bullshit run-ins worked, because Regal needed something to do after Harvard shoved him out of the way of any angle developing between him and Molly.  Well-executed all around.  A big surprise from today’s WWE.

Buh Buh Ray Dudley over Stevie Richards (Pinfall, Super Buh Buh Bomb):  And this is what’s supposed to substitute for Hardcore?  Dammit, give me weapons and Jim Molyneux instead of Nick Patrick.  It’s foreplay without release, and all of you know that that leads to blue balls.

Trish Stratus and Terri Runnels over Victoria and My Beautiful and Beloved (Pinfall, Terri pins My Beautiful and Beloved, flying bodypress):  Nothing noteworthy from the wrestling front, as expected.  However, the match was designed for two things:  1) To get Terri some revenge for the tar-and-feathering last week and 2) To get Victoria over as a credible women’s wrestler.  It succeeded on the first count and put the second well on the way toward fulfillment.

Trip over Spike Dudley (Ref’s Decision, Sleeper):  Their intention was good:  reproduce the exciting match between Trip and TAKA that all of us who watched still remember vividly.  However, that was tanked in the first moments when Trip flashed back to the Greenwich Blueblood phase and started to ooze the noblesse oblige.  However, Spike still put up a good game and gave himself some cred.  But that’s the only good thing to come out of this match.  And when the hell was the last time a sleeper was used as a finisher?

Test and Billy Brass Knucks over Booker T and Goldust (DQ, Kane-terference):  Just set up to give the Un-Americans a full card at Unforgiven.  Booker and Goldie go after the Tag gold, while Bradshaw and Kane occupy Regal and test.  No harm, no foul.

Rob Van Dam over Chris Jericho, The Big Show, and Jeff Hardy, Fatal Four-Way Elimination Match For The Number One Contendership (TBS DQed when Jericho faked being hit by a chair shot; Jericho pins Hardy, Asai Moonsault; Van Dam pins Jericho, Five-Star Frog Splash):  The winner was telegraphed just by the participants.  With Lesnar/Undertweener occupying the other half of the main event at Unforgiven, they needed an unambiguous heel/face matchup, and the only option they had was Trip/Van Dam.  Decent match once it was down to Van Dam and Jericho, though.

Angle Developments:

Chanson de Bilitis:  Okay, we all knew going in that it was a setup for Three Minutes, but it was fun while it lasted.  One has to think, though, that this was Bisch’s justification for all those nights at the Gold Club.  “Well, gee, Your Honor, I was doing research for a wrestling angle that I wanted to do.”  Sure, Bisch, sure.  How much did one of these acts cost over there?  And did you have to pay extra for Jamal and Rosie?  Also, Rick McBride spotted one of the Lesbians (they got chyron?) breaking kayfabe by giving the Triple Threat sign.  Rick surmised from that move that they were indy workers, which, of course, was the case.  Big props from my end for that.

Fast-Track:  The model is clear here:  Mick Foley.  There’s a slight problem, though:  Buh Buh Ray Dudley doesn’t have Foley’s level of charisma or Foley’s deft ability at cutting a promo.  Can WWE get him elevated to near-upper-card level by having him promo against Trip?  Stranger things have happened, but the potential for backfire is there.  Buh Buh Ray has to play this one very, very carefully, and WWE has to follow through.  Good luck on both counts, because Raw needs some credible high-level faces.

So Who’s Being Turned?:  The Regal-Harvard promo really has me in a bind.  I can’t figure out where they’re going with this.  A face Regal is dull; we’ve all seen that.  Harvard is the wounded party here; if he takes revenge, he’s the heel unless he cuts a pro-US promo (and even then, it has to be better than what he’s done with his mic work so far in order to make the turn credible).  Harvard is needed as a heel to turn Molly Holly face, in order to get her in position to take on Victoria (or a healthy Jazz) in Women’s Title matches.  Yet Regal’s an adjunct to a heel stable.  Unless they’re going to use Regal to turn the Un-Americans face…I’m confused.


Bisch was right.  The Billy-Chuck thing is getting a lot of mainstream press coverage.  The reactions have been interesting to watch.  On Pardon The Interruption Monday afternoon, Tony Kornheiser came yay close to admitting to homophobia.  He objected to the whole situation.  When confronted by Michael Wilbon on why that was so, Kornheiser began to sputter.  His reason was “because they’re not gay”.  Wilbon, of course, applied the sarcasm heavily, saying that it was a complete shock to him that wrestlers were putting on an act.  It’ll be interesting to see whether Kornheiser catches any flak for this one from anyone calling into his nationally-syndicated radio show today.  Unfortunately, I can’t listen, because I’m working.  I’ve got to give the Bitch of the Baskervilles her props when she deserves them.  She’s not only got WWE some massive free pub, but she’s also provided a litmus test for wrestling fans on a very divisive issue.  But what’s next, Steph?  Nidia discovers that Jamie’s too much of a trailer trash to use condoms, she’s preggers, and contemplates an abortion?

That’s it for me today.  Tomorrow…duck and cover.