Spain’s WWE SmackDown Report and Results for October 17th 2014: With Lashings Of Ginger Beer

Evening all. A short note before we begin: I’ve been involved in the random act of rediscovering British children’s literature this week and, as a tribute to that weird and now-rather-offensive style of writing I’ve decided that this episode of SmackDown shall be recapped in a very English voice, as if by one of those men or women who made horrifying amounts of money by writing more or less the same book over and over and over again. I’m looking at you, Enid Blyton; not all children spent their summers solving mysteries.

So, pour yourselves a port, stoke up the fire and let’s proceed to the evening’s entertainment. Pip pip!

My word, it seems as though we’ve unknowingly taken a trip in the Doctor’s Tardis; it looks for all the world as though this is Monday night! That Dean Ambrose may be an unsightly-looking chap, but he certainly gave John Cena a fine contest earlier this week. And it seems as though Master Orton has got a taste for competition these days, for all his beastly ways.

Oh blast, it seems as though that scoundrel Seth Rollins has something on his mind. I do hope he refrains from saying anything unseemly; he really does strike me as the most awful sort. He has the ill grace to mock the audience, even boasting of how he cast aside honour and threw his lot in with those dreadful Authority types. He casts aspersions on the good characters of those in attendance, and that’s hardly the way to get a good reputation for his employers, surely. Mr Rollins says that we will never be like him, and frankly I think that’s a jolly good thing too. The bounder even tries to tell us that he is the future of the WWE; I certainly hope that isn’t the case.

Mr Rollins has some words to say on the subject of that odd character, Mr Ambrose, and calls for him to be under the care of a sanatorium. I say; there’s such a thing as poor taste. He makes threats of violence towards Ambrose, and I hope that someone has had the good sense to summon a policeman. Thankfully that charming (if somewhat brash) Mr Dolph Ziggler has the courage to put an end to this tirade, approaching the cad with his jaw firm and his chest puffed well out. He boasts of his popularity compared to that of Mr Rollins’, and cuttingly states that the ruffian he’s addressing lacks any self-respect: Mr Ziggler has always had a fondness for repartee. Mr Rollins doesn’t care for the lesson, and neither does he care for the well-placed dropkick that Mr Ziggler delivers to him! Why, both Mr Ziggler and Mr Rollins are quite wild with rage!

Dolph And Seth Have A Big Adventure

Mr Rollins tries to pay Mr Ziggler back for his dropkick with a clothesline, but Mr Ziggler has the presence of mind to duck quite brilliantly, and just about throws Mr Rollins completely over his head before sending the cad flying right out of the ring! ‘That’s the way, Mr Ziggler!’ calls out the audience, approvingly. Mr Rollins is seized with a passion at his first failure; one can only hope that recovers some composure during our capitalist advertisements!

After some splendid recommendations of products from those chaps in Big Business, we return to this thrilling bout. Oh dear, it seems as though Mr Rollins has somehow managed to gain the upper hand (I’m sure it could have only been by cheating; that’s what his sort are like, you know!), and he sends poor Mr Ziggler to strike the turnbuckle very hard with his chest! Oh, and look at the beast, just climbing on Mr Ziggler and setting about him! And if that wasn’t enough, he performs a suplex and a sleeper hold; one wonders how Mr Ziggler has not thrown in the towel. Oh, but Mr Ziggler has a brave rally…only for that devil to throw the man’s face into the turnbuckle. I’m afraid as though Mr Rollins does seem to have the match well in hand, just bullying that Mr Ziggler with horrid strikes and very hurtful words indeed.

Oh, but it seems as though Mr Ziggler has had just about enough of Mr Rollins’ cheek, and hurls the man quite out of the ring and begins to set well about him! He tries to take advantage of a weak leg on the part of Mr Rollins, but Mr Rollins is wily for all his smart remarks, and pulls poor Mr Ziggler’s face into the metal of the ring post! Oh goodness, Mr Rollins climbs to the top of the ropes, but that courageous and athletic Mr Ziggler is able to scale the ropes like a cat and bring Mr Rollins’ face down to be introduced to the canvas – at some speed!

Following another round of consumer product recommendations, it appears that Mr Rollins is rather losing his thread! He tries to hurl himself at Mr Ziggler, but Mr Ziggler ducks quite handily, and no harm comes to him! Mr Ziggler seems quite revitalised, raining down blow after blow to the smug face of Mr Rollins; even using his elbow! Oh, but that wicked Mr Rollins pulls Mr Ziggler’s face down on the ropes and once again tries to climb to the top of the turnbuckles. Mr Ziggler is quick to stop him once again – hurrah! – but it seems as though Mr Rollins was expecting it, and tries to powerbomb dear Mr Ziggler…only for Mr Ziggler to perform his patented DDT for two counts of the referee’s hand! Mr Rollins seems quite dazed, but is able to counter an attempt at Mr Ziggler’s finishing manoeuvre! A positive string of counter-moves and reversals occurs; at one point it seems as though Mr Ziggler quite has him, but that Mr Rollins’ curbstomp puts paid to any hope of victory. Poor Mr Ziggler!

A wizard bout to commence the evening! 2.5 Stars.

Mr Rollins is celebrating his rotten victory over Mr Ziggler, only to be interrupted by that queer Mr Ambrose (writer’s note: yeah, turns out that word used to be able to be used a lot more before we all developed such immature senses of humour; I’m not trying to offensively out Dean Ambrose). Mr Ambrose makes his way rather eagerly to the ring, only for Mr Rollins to retreat just as easily – tail quite between his legs, I fancy! Mr Ambrose is of the opinion that his athletic contest with Mr Rollins will be whiz-bang brilliant, and is rather talkative on the subject!

My word, now here’s Mr Kane; he certainly has an ill-favoured and brutish look about him. He is in practically a violent mood, and tells Mr Ambrose that he and aforementioned party will have a match later this evening.

Mr Wyatt has one of his televisual recordings to show to us this evening. It’s all well and good that the chap has a hobby, but his work really is a little too what-I-believe-the-French-call avant-garde for my tastes.

The Girls Of WWE In Trouble

Oh I say, it seems as though the girls are going to put on a bit of a show for us! Well, I’m sure they’ll do their very best, but I hope they don’t spend too much time on this little display; the picnic basket won’t make itself, after all! That Paige girl (who has the misfortune to have originally come from Norwich of all places…) is with that (casual 1960’s racism censored) Fox character at ringside; now she is quite the little madam when roused. And here’s Miss AJ Lee: almost as good as any chap, I think we’d all agree. She’ll be having a quick tussle with that dancing girl Layla. Quite about what I’m sure I couldn’t say: dolls and flowers, I imagine.

Well, the girls have a match and it’s very good I’m sure and I’m positive they’ll all make very good wives for a chap some day; I think that’s all that’s what’s most important, don’t you?

They did rather well. You know, for gels. 2 Stars.

There was some unpleasantness after the match, but I’m sure it was all high spirits and friendships will be mended whilst they prepare luncheon together.

Oh, here’s that Kane type again, with his sloping forehead and brutish frown. And Mr Rollins comes in, all smiles and smugness. Mr Kane hardly appears to be in a cheerful mood, and warns Mr Rollins that he doesn’t understand Hell in a Cell. What a thoroughly disagreeable fellow.

That lovely Renee girl is in the company of those two Samoan chaps and that laughable Irish drunkard, Sheamus. She politely asks their opinions on the upcoming match, and is quite assaulted by Sheamus’ atrocious accent and appalling breath, which practically reeks of whiskey. That poor girl.

Miz In A Spot Of Bother!

The drunkard and his identical friends make their way towards the ring, where they’re joined by that overconfident Miz sort and those two very peculiar painted fellows. I really can’t say what to make of this pair; they’re such an odd kettle of fish.

Miz acts like he’s all full of vim and vinegar to take on Sheamus, but then ducks out of the ring immediately: what a beastly trick to play. Instead, that queer Goldust chap intends to tussle with the souse, knocking him down with a shoulder-block. The Irishman, clearly reeling from his foul alcoholic beverages, hits a hip toss in return, and Goldust is quick to tag in his dear brother. Stardust is immediately knocked down by the drunkard, who tags in one of those Samoan rugger-player types. They certainly acquit themselves bravely against the painted loon, but Stardust rallies oddly and tags in that brash Miz fellow. He is taken care of in short order by the Samoan, eventually being thrown right out of the ring! That studious Sandow gentleman appears to be clowning around on the outside, and that beast Goldust distracts the Samoan just long enough that Miz can seize on the advantage like the bounder he is.

We return to one of the Samoans valiantly trying to fight back against that Goldust chap, who uses a show of devilish strength to plant him in a spinebuster! Stardust takes to the fray now, and Sheamus rather takes offence at the blatant interference from the Miz, setting off to chase the fellow away. Meanwhile, Stardust is still quite in control of this bout, tagging in the Miz, who then tags in Goldust to continue the ghastly assault. He is enough of a cad to even strike the illegal Samoan (in the context of the fight, children; in reality all Samoans are, of course, illegal), but his brother rouses himself with true Christian passion, and hits his Colonial Drop! The drunkard and the younger lunatic get the tags! The drunkard attacks the lunatic with great aplomb, and even manages to strike that awful Miz type! A Samoan flies out of the ring! Stardust is thrown into the Miz! Goldust tags himself in and is able to fell the mighty drunkard with a powerslam! The lunatics fight the Samoans! The Irishman drunkenly kicks the painted lunatic to win the day!

Well, that was rather a lot of excitement! Time for some strawberries and cream! 2.5 Stars.

My god, there’s a positive giant walking towards the ring! Apparently he stands for the colonies or some such odd thing, against the vile spread of bolshevism. Well, I think we can all agree that that is a banner worth flying indeed! The giant gets the microphone in his paw and wants to jaw over some things. He waxes nostalgic for a while, remembering the sweet times of youth. He is absolutely sure that this time he’ll do in that rotten red. He also wants to settle things with his (Enid Blyton-esque racial slur omitted) friend, Mark Henry, and calls the man out there to hash things out.

‘Now look here, old man,’ says Mr Show. ‘We really do need to settle this whole thing out. I know you batted a duck there for the yanks, old fellow, but sometimes a man needs to play up, play up and play the game alone, don’t you know?’ ‘Well, I can’t help but agree with you, my good chap,’ Henry replies. ‘But I think I really rather ought to tell you that that beastly Bolshevik really is something a little queer; not quite human if you catch my drift, eh? But see here; if you really do feel like it would be best if I toddle off, then by all means, old chap; by all means.’

This welcome display of civility is rudely brought to an end with the arrival of that just rather awful Russian pair: Comrade Lana and Comrade Rusev. The Red Woman says something, as does the male, but with those absurd accents it really is a struggle to know just what exactly it is that they’re saying. It does seem to be something shockingly disagreeable, because it sends Big Show into rather a wild rage of patriotism, practically roaring at that socialist cad.

The Girls Are At It Again

Ho, seems that the ladies have laid on another entertainment for us. I was wondering why supper was taking so long. That Nikki lass takes it to her opponent, Miss Naomi, laying into her with that American zeal. That Naomi type does lay on quite some resistance, but falls prey in the end to the Torture Rack.

Let me just say that I think the aggressiveness shown by these women really rather is a worrying sign of the times to come; God knows, soon enough they’ll want the vote. 2 Stars.

That charming Renee Young is in the company of Mr Ambrose, asking him quite what is occupying his brain. Mr Ambrose really is in the most frightful lather, and certainly seems prepared to engage in a bout of fisticuffs.

Mr Ambrose And The Big Red Machine

Mr Kane and Mr Ambrose both wander down to the ring and begin their match. That scoundrel Mr Rollins is at ringside, and after coming off the worse in the first exchange he ducks outside of the ring and then back inside: what larks. Back inside, Mr Ambrose tries to fight the devil, Queensbury rules, and manages to clothesline the monster quite to the outside of the ring, and then low-bridges the creature out for a second time and throws his own body out on top of him!

Mr Ambrose certainly seems to be the aggressor at this stage, until Mr Kane’s great strength allows him to lay his oddity of an opponent low, throwing him through the ropes in turn! Mr Kane is almost red with fury, accosting Mr Ambrose with every means available to him; it seems as if it could be a rather unlucky night for that poor fellow, who is again thrown out to the ringside area.

Mr Ambrose suddenly comes through with a sudden rally, crying God for Harry, England and St George! He climbs to the top rope, felling Mr Kane with a front dropkick and a bulldog! When Mr Kane kicks out, Mr Ambrose seems to come over all queer. Mr Rollins interferes, in that awful, beastly, wicked way of his, and ends the bout.

That was rather an excellent fight; if only certain gentlemen had acted like the gentlemen they supposedly were. 3 Stars.

Those dashed awful cads Mr Kane and Mr Rollins continue their vile beating after the match, only for Mr Ambrose to rise once again, taking up the steel against his former comrade! Mr Kane tries to become involved, and pays for it mightily! Justice for all in Birmingham, Alabama!

Well, that really was a rather splendid evening. I do believe that it’s time for me to be off to Bedfordshire, only to awaken in a few hours for a midnight snack. Nothing too grandiose, mind you; perhaps some ham and turkey sandwiches, bags of lettuce, hard-boiled eggs, heaps of tomatoes, and lashings of ginger beer! Tally-bally-ho!

David’s Movie Recommendation of the Week (I’m going to find something I can fucking stick to): Blue Ruin. A modern day noir which is more or less a blueprint for everything the people upstairs look for in a film. Minimal dialogue, excellent use of non-verbal communication and a simple yet compelling plot. Worth a watch.