This past Thursday, World Wrestling Entertainment was outdone in the “Holy Shit” category by one of the most bizarre and notoriously compelling characters in pop culture history: Michael Jackson.
What usually makes pro wrestling distinct from other facets of popular culture is the fact that the wrestlers tend to stand out as cartoon-like, eccentric, hardworking characters who sell real emotions to millions of fans worldwide. Love him or hate him, Michael Jackson would make one hell of a wrestling character based on the above criteria, especially considering the volatile responses he receives wherever he goes.
He obviously wouldn’t make a good in-ring technician, but I could see the King of Pop showing up to do things like purchase Al Wilson’s remains from Dawn Marie, thereby increasing her and Torrie Wilson’s hatred for one another. I could see MJ backstage plotting with Chris Jericho to get the upper hand on Test by secretly kidnapping Stacy Keibler so he can inject his racially confused sperm into her body via artificial insemination. After 9 months – which is about 2 weeks in wrestling time – MJ would come to the ring with a surgical mask and reveal that he himself is to be the father of Stacy’s baby. The Bizarre One would then discuss how he kept Stacy under lock and key so that when she gave birth he could surreptitiously take little Prince Michael III with him to a hotel in Berlin and dangle him over the ledge by his placenta for the world to see. He would clarify, stating, “It was a blessing, and he enjoyed it.”
You may think my imagination is running a little wild at the moment. My point is that for two hours last week, Michael Jackson consumed the attention of the entire country by providing shocking and unfortunate insight as to how he views himself, his life and his love for children. He called himself Peter Pan, and he wants to live forever; he likes to sleep with children, and he keeps his children in masks at all times to protect their identities; he really did rush his second child home with him, placenta and all; and he actually thinks it was fun to take his newest baby and “share his spirit” by holding off a building ledge. Oh yeah, and he said he’s had two surgeries in his life. Okay, and Stephanie McMahon’s breasts are all natural, right?
The scariest part about all of this is that the documentary was so real and so surreal in so many ways, I actually said to myself, “If only wrestling can be this compelling.” In fact, I found it very hard to switch to UPN to watch A-Train wrestle Shannon Moore or see Rikishi face the likes Nunzio with any type of enthusiasm.
I’m not saying that SmackDown! was a bad show, it’s just that more often than not these days there are things that pop up on the airwaves that are just more intriguing than half of each brand’s characters and storylines. I know they can’t give us Hogan or Angle or Benoit for two hours straight, but at one point in WWE not so long ago, there used to be the mentality from fans that every minute and every wrestler on the card – except X-Pac, of course – was worth watching. There was a time where anything truly could happen at any moment … today, the “anything that can happen” usually is a gift-wrapped Brother Love, boning a mannequin or a shill to buy RAW Magazine.
Just where did the attitude go?
Aside from his regular columns with 411Wrestling, Chris Biscuiti also writes for MoodSpins Online.
