#LET CODY SHOW DICK ON WWE TV AGAIN!!!

[some-triangles]

WRESTLING OF 2018

It was perhaps the gayest year of wrestling there has ever been. 

The Golden Lovers brought an influx of new, excitingly-gendered fans, and set to work normalizing their couplehood by demonstrating that a gay champion can fit as neatly into New Japan’s ongoing story about evil foreigners and the soul of wrestling as a straight one can.   On a more radical front, Hiromu Takahashi made everyone he fought fall in love with him, spreading his ideology of wrestling-as-sex through sheer animal magnetism, in a way that only he could.   It is difficult to resist the urge to romanticize his injury, given the tropes that surround men like him.  I was in the room when it happened and when I watched the replay I felt something die: the possibility of a new vernacular of grappling, one which acknowledges the homoerotic tension that is always present in a wrestling ring and uses it for fuel.  More to the point, though, I saw a young man’s neck break.

We can console ourselves with the idea that even if Hiromu can’t come back to us he left a mark on some of his foes which will linger.  Witness Will Ospreay’s frankly carnal hunger for Kota Ibushi -  Ospreay was Hiromu’s most eager disciple and (should he avoid a similar fate) seems destined to become an avatar of wrestling, such is his big dumb talent.  Hiromu’s influence will spread, albeit gradually.  If you’ll let me rationalize this hurt by making it a story, his legacy is a slow smoldering touched off by a candle that burned too bright.

It was also a gay year in the west, for in WWE 2018 was the Year of Women (undeniably the gayest of the beginner genders.)   The ascendance of Becky, Charlotte, Ronda et al to the main event has been the success story of the year, because it feels organic, like something the crowd wanted, even though it was in part the hard work of the booking committee that brought them to that point.   If WWE had not failed at every turn to get a single male superstar over, the girls wouldn’t be headlining pay-per-views.  

I kid, of course.   Against the many, many reprehensible things WWE has done this year as a company, the rise of women’s wrestling stands as an uncomplicated positive step which they pursued and accomplished intentionally, clumsily at times but with obvious care.  When they’ve made mistakes in this journey they’ve gone out of their way to repair them, reacting quickly (by their standards) and decisively (by their standards) to the demands of the audience, and as a result they currently boast a women’s roster which is the best and most successful the world has seen since the heyday of Manami Toyota and Aja Kong.   It helps that they have their pick of the best talent in the world; there is no IWGP Women’s Championship, no real payday or celebrity outside of the E.  People will say this is because Japan is different, that segregation is natural there, to which I reply: the fuck it is.  The biggest wrestling promotions in Japan choose to be male-only, and as a result the best female wrestlers find work overseas. This is a weakness that WWE will exploit when they launch NXT Japan.

If all this queer yonic energy is upsetting, worry not - 2018 was also the year of the Elite, and they have so much penis for you.   The Being the Elite crew have proven that we now live in a world where a group of wrestlers, if they’re talented and hard-working enough, can get themselves over without the support of any company, particularly if they’re on TV a lot in multiple countries and can get the companies they do definitely work for to promote their web show.   Once that’s done, all you need is some dad jokes, some catchphrases, some sub-SNL sketch comedy, and a truckload of dicks, and you have arrived at Nerd Paradise, the magical zone where Kenny and Cody discuss their favorite Disney amusement park rides in front of thousands of men in black t-shirts.

Again: I kid.  I was there at All In, too, and I got worked just like everyone else, to the point where I’m still half-hoping that the boys are about to launch a wrestler’s union and not some half-baked new TV promotion to slot in between MLW and whatever that thing Austin Aries launched to feel better about himself was. And we do live in exciting times, vis-à-vis the internet: the Elite may have had help, but Pierre-Carl Ouillet proved that all you need to revitalize a long-dead career is a Youtube account, a willingness to endure insane amounts of physical punishment, and a dream.

What I genuinely took away from All In – and from the wrestling I’ve seen this year generally – is an appreciation for wrestling fans, who have demonstrated themselves to be increasingly diverse, enthusiastic, hungry for good content, and willing to support anyone who’s putting in the work, regardless of where they come from or who they are.   I mean, we’re still wrestling fans, i.e. perpetually loud, wrong and angry about it, but we’ve come a long way.   People like the Wrestlesplania team, Spectacle of Excess, TDE and the twitter wrestling GIF community, fanartists, cosplayers and so many others are modeling new and better ways to engage with the product, challenging ideas about who wrestling fans are and how they behave, and generally being great people.  I for my sins am an old-school spiteful nerd at heart (hence the tone of this post) but I believe the community has been immeasurably improved by the contributions of people who aren’t.  Even the newly ascendant vanguard of British wrestling geeks are skating around every opportunity to prove themselves horrible people, led by the beatific smile and cadaverous pallor of Botchamania Maffew, who tries his best.

There’s more to say about New Japan and its eternal return to xenophobia, about Daniel Bryan the sellout and how he reminds us that we’re always being worked, about Roman Reigns and the cloud of missed opportunity that hangs over him even in his absence, about Hiromu.   But the story’s not over yet – the story of wrestling’s never over.  In less than a month the landscape will have changed again and a new year of carny nonsense will stretch out before us, with new meaning to wring from it and new things to get inexplicably, apoplectically mad over. Kevin and Sami will be back.   Hiromu might be back, god willing, even if just to take his Shibata victory lap.  The Elite might change the world.  Someone else we’ve never heard of might do it first.  WWE might succeed in signing every hot new professional wrestler on the planet, and Zack Sabre and a tiny Spanish man will still find a way to have a five star match in an armory in Barcelona.  We might find out that Kim Jong Un has been paying Vince McMahon millions of dollars to suck at promoting and thereby sap American morale.  Wrestling will continue to rule, in spite of this.  Wrestling will continue to be for everyone.  

[dahoodsie]

ROHBITW TV, Lowell 6/24

If you don't realize that there may be some inadvertent SPOILERS here, I don't know what to tell you.

Not a recap. Just chatty.

Doubtless many references to NXT Lowell, considering it was the first time I & sometime rasslin' compatriot Badger had gone to an event together since and it was in the same place.

Also it tickled me that Mark the mark had made a reference to us being there in the same place at the same time again, so WHAT STARTLING TITLE CHANGES WOULD OCCUR?!!

So it had been A. WEEK. for me. Let me be clear, I love my stressy job, I love where I live. There had just been too much needless fuckery -- not, indeed, that fuckery is generally needful by nature. My boss was all "wow, you got so upset you started shaking," which you may be sure did not make me self-conscious AT ALL. I would have preferred to have met Marty Scurll after I was done having a meltdown, BUT THERE WE WERE.

Ran out of work on fire an hour early. (D'ya think I could get a religious exemption or sumpin'? Yknow, "mocking worship at the altar of the squared circle"? It hasn't previously come up, suggestions appreciated.) Poor Badger's ears filled not just with lemme ketch-ya-up on this stuff but here is who I am sending anthrax to next week (note to any interested intelligence agencies: I am not, in fact, sending out anthrax to anybody. BUT YOU CAN'T TAKE THIS PRETEND COMFORT AWAY FROM MEEEEE).

As a side note, it occurs to me that maybe I don't get to make the judgment "wow, rasslers have a weird job," considering that I do too. Just with a lot less travel & kicks to the head.

I was so sadface not to be in Lowell this time last year, but srsly, I and Badger were both so skint last year as it was aaaand had spent the $$$ on NXT. So, alas. Schedules & varying ability to drive (I cannot) also meant no PPV this year. Saturday's the best day of the week anyway!

It was my intention to meet an IPA, Marty, and the Young Bucks, in that order. The very charming young lady in the Cheeseburger shirt (I believe next seen mugging him while wearing a cheeseburger hat -- no, seriously, she had a plush cheeseburger on her head) approached and asked what we were looking for. I said "Beer, and Marty's line." She pointed, "Beer is all the way around the other side," then pointed where I was standing and said "and Marty's line is here." "Oh. Uhh." Look, it was confusing, what with everybody and their dog lined up to meet Cody. Let it be noted that Marty was perfectly lovely and ended approximately every sentence with "luv."

Finally got a beer & my breath, while telling Badger what I stated for the Chyna documentary that is going to have people wanting to come to my house to beat me up. Now is a good time to mention that Dalton & the Boys were actually all dolled up for their portion of the meet & greet, because about then they came swanning down the hall towards the backstage equivalent. That was awesome enough, made more awesome by the incredulous reaction of the cheerful chubby guy across the hall.

"Did I just-?!"

"Yes. Yes you did."

"Did they just-?!"

"Yes. Yes they did. You know... just hangin' out of a Saturday afternoon... I mean, I know that's what I wear around the house..."

(All three were extremely generous with their time & attention throughout the day.)

We finally went the rest of the way inside and everybody was given a Superkick Party 2 DVD. Whaaaaaaat? THANKS! It really strongly needs to be noted that NXT could learn A LOT about how to light this building from ROH. Then we had to get sad and mourn all the glorious lost footage that the WWE is probably too vain ever to show us. Mainly we really REALLY want to see Ciampa vs His-Name-Was-Girard-That-Night again because it was fucking amazing. Dammit!

Speaking of which, I asked Badger "Is that the same kid sitting in the same seat who was LOSING HIS GODDAM MIND when Balor lost the belt?" (While I've always been fuzzy about this kid's gender, I became clear quickly that this was the same kid. Henceforth known as Fat Kid.)

(That's the one)

Then we are told that we will be filming four episodes, also Women of Honor. OH. Oh, my. "What the fuck'm I gonna watch for the next four weeks?!" I demanded, laughing. (Okay really we know the answer to that...) So you know, we were there for siiiiiix hoooouuuurs.

Furthermore, we are all invited to 'upgrade' our seats to face the hard cam. Badger has a good point that if I'd had signs I'd probably be all over that, but I prefer the better view. Cheerful chubby guy is one of the first on it (I'm telling you, I love this guy).

Being that this was the Bataan Death March of spectatorhood -- except, yknow, not in a bad way -- I need to cut the shit on being quite so chatty. If you just want to know what happened, that's easy enough to find out. If you want to get some feel for what it might have been like were you there, I'm your girl. Also, we started having to get super strategic about breaks -- tho as I murmured to Badger at one point "I desperately need to pee, but I am GODDAMNED if I am going to do it during a women's match."

SOME STUFF:

We got some really excellent promo stuff, particularly from Daniels and Cody (as is only proper). Daniels was very up in our shit about loving Bullet Club. "mmmm are we having a bit of a worked shoot?" queried I. "ehh, ehh, I hope the Young Bucks say 'SUCK IT' to me," sez Daniels. "IT'S DAMN TRUE," yell I. Cody got ALL THE LAHV. He eventually said something along the lines -- considering nobody was permitting him to speak -- of "we can do this all night, if you like. Yknow they're gonna edit this, right...?" I told Badger that I've just been really happy that Cody seems so much happier. I mean, sucking chest wound because of WORST CLUB EVER -- that's losing a parent, not Bullet Club, so's ya knows -- but generally in life. Daniels was all "I didn't see that any of you guys were cradling his balls when he was STARDUST!"

Fat Kid was impossible to ignore, tho folks did initially try (at least while on camera). If he had a thought, he yelled it. He was weirdly obsessed with the rip in the shirt of one of the camera guys, it was in his ARMPIT HOLE. Eventually there was a mass decision of FUCK IT. While he was abusing Daniels in particular, Daniels came over to yell "you've never won anything in your LIFE, fat boy!" While I myself would not enjoy this, FK was in his glory. No, seriously, best day evah. (It occurs to me that I really ought to write about the weirdly adversarial relationship between shall we say performers & observers.)

Is FK the Boston-area equivalent of Izzy...? More obnoxiousness, far fewer tears...? It may be so.

I was rilly, rilly happy to see Motor City Machine Guns, who are on the (the) elite list of those who I would watch when I wasn't otherwise watching rasslin (a story of its own).

Rarely have I heard so much primarily soprano cheering since the early Hardyz (OK EdjanChrischun too) as there was for the women's matches. This both ruled and didn't. Srsly guys, are you gonna deny this shit is awesome?! If so, you are cordially invited to suck my dick.

Quoth Badger of Kris Wolf, "The tail was killin' me."

"Oh I get it. If she weren't so EARNEST, I don't know that I'd be in. But she has WHISKERS, for cryin' out loud!!"

(Also I adored that some people were doing little howls for her.)

There were occasional, scattered, funny but sad "awkward silence" chants. These were outright sad when during Martinez's entrance. Ooooouuuuch.

When the crowd would yell "twoooooo" after a near fall, some people started chirping "sweet!" Guy next to me groused "Oh great, we're gonna be hearing that all night." Said guy is a sourpuss. Yet said grousing guy is wearing a Bullet Club shirt. OTAY.

There was a super-friendly Australian (?) ambassador to the smoking patio engaging pretty much each and every one of us in conversation. We had to talk about my shirt.

"What, you haven't heard of Panda Panda, wrestling panda...? Shockingly agile in the ring, easily distracted by bamboo shoots...?"

"Do they have that shirt here today?"

"?!! Noooooo. Really, I just didn't want to leave anybody out."

-----

"So are you with the show?"

“HAH yeahno."

"I'm pretty sure if I ask you, you have to tell me. Like with cops."

"I am positive that's not true. Nor with cops. Also, I'm not."

A fellow who was, shall we say, more petite than Cody came out, wearing a ginormous new Cody shirt.

"Cody gave me this shirt!!!"

Story that ensued was that Cody came out, wearing this shirt, and threw it but it hit the announcers' table. This guy asked for somebody to throw it to him, and somebody did. This is not, strictly speaking, my own personal definition of "Cody gave this to me," but I was weirdly charmed.

......Have I mentioned that there were twooooooo (sweet!) meet & greets? Cos there were. Badger mentioned that Senor Ray was not as large as he'd thought he'd be. None of this kind of thing had ever occurred to me before (but let us be fair, that happens a lot). I said "welllll when I got a picture with him [and D'Von] he was seated. Also [SHRUGGY MCSHRUGPANTS] I've met a lot of wrestlers smaller than me." To be fair, I am a strappin' lass -- the Medium-Sized Red Machine, if you will -- and certainly taller than Badger. Also I don't give a fuck about anything other than "are you awesome & can you rassle?" Allow me to be clear: for ex., Guerrero was TEENY (and all heart).

Marty took part in a match that had us peeing our pants. Badger laughed, "Okay I LOVE this guy, he's a great heel." But I am not the sort to say I TOLD YOU SO. Newp.

Speaking of peeing, entertained that at ONE OF THE FEW TIMES I had company in the bathroom -- srsly that amuses me in and of itself, and I darkly loved that at NXT Boston the boys, for a change, had a serious line whereas I was able to swan right in & right out -- I suspected that this meant there was a match on that I myself might not much care about. This happened to be true.

Silas kept coming out with a sign that it had been ___ days since Jay Lethal had been in the workplace. Certain people kept yelling "IT'S BEEN ONE! DAY!" which was kind of funny, but also a dick move. Look dude, no one thinks you think it's true, no need to prove it. Work with us here.

Got beaned with a mostly-rolled streamer, it was inevitable. I told Badger "Clearly, we are the only LARPers here, cos not that many people understand how to throw a streamer."

Digression: so after NXT Lowell, this girl bummed a cigarette off of me, then inquired:

"So who did you guys come here to see?"

This was such a novel concept to me! Rilly, there are people who go to all this bother, and it isn't "mostly everybody" but instead is just one person or two...?

"Mostly everybody. Well... not 'which one's Dawson, which one's Dash,' haha... not the Drifter... for cryin' out loud not MOJO, but he was pretty good tonight."

With that said, what better way to end an evening than with a hearty FUCK THE REVIVAL?

(This still makes me giggle every time. I know I will reach saturation, but for now I am still giggling.)

On the way home, Badger was all "SWEET CHEESES. I agreed to let you treat me cos I thought it was gonna be like THIRTY DOLLARS!"

"I DON'T MESS AROUND."