In Memoriam: Bad News, of course. No matter what territorial divide you were on during the last days of the system, there was one thing that you could agree on: Vince’s rampage had a great benefit, namely that it exposed everyone to a little secret that Calgary would have had to itself. Bad News was terrific. Everyone loved him. You also have to deal with the sociological situation in wrestling at the time. Do you realize how rare a black bad-ass cocky heel was during the mid-to-late 80s, especially one in the upper-mid-card? Butch Reed virtually had the field to himself. If a black wrestler was in or around the upper card, he was almost certainly a face, like Iceman King Parsons or Junkyard Dog (and later Ron Simmons). It was a strange combination of racism and proto-political correctness. Bad News broke that mold forever. Today, the color of a heel’s skin is irrelevant. It only matters how bad-ass he is. And Bad News was the baddest of asses. On behalf of everyone at Pulse Wrestling, some of whom have already contributed their memories, thank you.
In Memoriam II: Ernest Gallo, the man who got you drunk for cheap but made you feel sophisticated in the process.
In Memoriam III: Scooter Libby’s time as a free man. Don’t stop here and be satisfied, guys. Rove and Mad Dog are yours for the taking now. Hey, there’s already precedence for a sitting Veep to be indicted, and a Republican at that. Go for the throat and show the world exactly how disgusting and corrupt the Junta is. Maybe this time, the imbeciles will believe you. God knows they don’t believe me.
Okay, so why no Tuesday column? A number of reasons, really:
1) Early-morning four-way playoff on Monday at the Honda. Oh, I’m there. It didn’t last that long, but it cut into my precious sleep time. Hey, Villegas was involved, and we had the spectre of a PGA Tour event being won by a guy named Boo. You really want golf to appeal to a crowd that it hasn’t made inroads into yet? Have Boo Weekley or Bubba Watson win a tournament.
2) The Seroquel is knocking me out like a mofo (and thank you to the readers who told me their experiences on it). I virtually slept all weekend and was still tired on Monday. However, I’m starting to feel a bit more on an even keel because of it. You know what that means: the return of Mellow Eric. Yeesh.
3) Lack of ability to stay awake in between coming home from work Tuesday morning and having an MRI on my crappy ankle at noon. Plus, I took advantage of being at the ortho clinic to get the results from last week’s MRIs. They can’t do anything about the lump on my left knee (it’s bone), but the right one’s going to require surgery. I’m looking at April 9th or 12th for that right now.
4) There was no news at the time. Bad News’ death and the whole Angle/steroids thing broke after what would have been my deadline. In this case, I would have looked like a total ass when my column went up admidst the whole fooferaw regarding Angle. Then again, September 11th, 2001 was a Tuesday. However, I submitted that column at least eight hours prior to You Know What.
And now this one’s in danger of not being done. I have my usual late Tuesday start (since I have to be at one of my plants every Wednesday morning at 4AM), which means I won’t be home until about 9AM. Then at 1PM, I have a phone interview with a plant that I’ve been salivating to get a job at for years. Then I have to meet my dietician at 4PM. Even an hour of ECW is difficult to fit into this. That’s why I’m getting the intro in before I even download ECW.
In point of fact, I actually didn’t get home until after 11AM. That’s because it was just warm enough to get the Damn Vaninator a much-needed wash. Then I proceeded to go batshit at Wal-Mart. I have no idea why this is so, but I have this strange fetish regarding lightbulbs…no, it doesn’t involve inserting them in various and sundry orifices. It’s just that I spend so much time indoors that I want the perfect lighting conditions. I’m also trying to go as green as possible and replace as many bulbs as feasible with compact fluorescents. So I ended up spending about thirty bucks on lightbulbs at Wal-Mart. I have no idea why this is the case. Maybe I should bring it up with my shrink.
I’ll deal with other topics of interest in later Short Forms. Now I have to get on with ECW and the living nightmare that it represents for me…
Bob Holly over Balls Mahoney (Pinfall, Alabama Slam): Regrettably, this really doesn’t further anything, except the perception that Balls Mahoney has become one of the most popular jobbers in WWE (and that includes the obligatory Snitsky run-in during the apres). Balls deserves better than that. There is something, though, that I’d like to mention. As usual, Joey pimped Holly as being a “fourteen-year-veteran”. When exactly did Balls debut as Boo Bradley in SMW? About, oh, fourteen years ago, I believe? How about giving Balls the same recognition?
Stretching your Balls like that can cause real injury, you know
Rob Van Dam over Elijah Burke (Pinfall, Five-Star Frog Splash): This was not only a fun match, but it sure showed a helluva lot of what Burke is capable of. Van Dam in ECW mode tends to go like a bat out of hell, especially when given a little time like this match was. Burke kept up and got in some decent offense himself. He definitely clicked with Van Dam. I’d love to see them given PPV length. The match also did a good job in advancing the Originals/New Breed feud. If the New Breed guys are feeling it, the eight-man might just be a candidate for Match of the Night at Wrestlemania (although it’ll be hard-pressed to top MITB). Yeah, I’m feeling confident about this angle and about the build-up. Strange, isn’t it? Although, I have to admit, it may just be a case of looking for silver linings among rather dark clouds. Or the drugs, take your pick.
His pretty face is definitely going to Hell
Nap Time: When you have a show that lasts only forty-five minutes subtracting commercials, is it really a wise move to start the show with a promo that eats up one-third of the available time? Yes, I know, Road To Wrestlemania, Vince pimping the match he’s involved in, blah blah blah. The thing is, you can do this kind of stuff on Raw or Smackdown with no problem, because they’re two-hour shows. But you just can’t start a one-hour show that’s ostensibly about wrestling with a fifteen-minute promo.
Let me give you a comparison that a lot of you weren’t around for, so you might not know about this. One time, during High NWO, Nitro, which was three hours at the time, began the show with a one-hour vignette featuring Hogan and Nash (which, if memory serves, led nowhere in the grand scheme of things). The reaction of the IWC was…well, it was one of those rare occasions when the IWC actually united behind an opinion. It was loathed, and loathed for many reasons. Yes, it was too much Hogan and Nash for any human being to rationally stand, but it also took an entire hour out of play for, well, wrestling. What we’re dealing with here is the same proportion of promo to show, one-third. In order to differentiate itself from the other WWE brands (and you don’t know how sad it still makes me to say that about something bearing those three initials), it needs to provide more action. This is something they’ve done quite well recently. But Vince and his ego have to insert themselves into the mix.
I’m not going to say that this is pathetic. I’m going to say that this is mammothly misguided. ECW doesn’t have the time available to devote to one wrestler, a man who, only a month ago, wanted to shut the whole project down and refused to acknowledge it for six freaking months, and a special guest serial spouse abuser whom they’re hauling out because his WWE Films project is finally ready for release (as well as being a man that no sane promoter would touch with a twenty-nine-and-a-half-foot pole, a man who, let me remind you, burned them three goddamn times when they actually needed him because his precious ego was bruised).
If Vince really wants ECW to survive, which apparently is his feeling this week, then he can’t pull shit like this, period.
Since I Didn’t Do A Tuesday Column…: Obviously, as someone who grew up in AWA-ville, I’m incredibly pleased that Bockwinkel is being inducted into the HoF. Goddamn, he deserves it. I keep admitting that I really didn’t become a wrestling fan until I was exposed to WCCW when I moved to Dallas in 1982, but it wasn’t Nick’s fault. His problem was his perpetual war with Gagne, who was just too damn old. He dragged Nick down (and forced him to do pure mat wrestling, although there’s no problem with that; it’s just that someone in their early teens is looking for something a little more engaging, and I didn’t get that until the cusp of my eighteenth birthday thanks to WCCW). He was that necessary step of evolution between Gorgeous George and Ric Flair. If any kid out there wants to become a cocky heel, he should be forced to watch a compilation of Bockwinkel promos. The only person who did it at that high a level for that long is Flair, and Nick was there first. And, one might say, did it better.
By the way, has anyone else mentioned that all four of the inductees so far have heavy-duty AWA connections? Is someone sending a message, or is it just making up for lost time with the floodgates now open after Verne’s induction?
Because There’s An Outside Chance That Slayer Will Do A Column This Week:
And A Morally Reprehensible Waste Of Time: Nine minutes. Nine f*cking minutes given over to that motherf*cker Wife-Beater. Nine minutes out of a forty-five minute show. That’s one-fifth of the show in case you can’t do the math, and if you’re a fan of his, you probably can’t, you goddamn mouth-breathing retards. Yes, I’m including fellow columnists in this, along with every other subhuman whiteboard denizen imaginable. The equation is quite simple: if you’re a fan of his, if you buy his merch, if you wear his T-shirts, you’re a repulsive excuse for a vertebrate who doesn’t deserve to tap into the oxygen supply of this planet that rightfully belongs to me and other people of above sub-human intelligence.
Does it need to be more clear than that? With Wife-Beater fans, probably.
No, f*ck you, you wife-beating prick
Tune in later this week for more thoughts about stuff other than wrestling, if only to avoid discussing the shows I’m watching.