So. Here's the thing.
Been a busy couple weeks, really.
There was Wrestlemania...
We drove down to my grandmother's place, the day of the show. Rolled into town right around 4 hours before showtime, to chill at my grandma's for a bit before going to the show proper. My grandma, bless her, had been pulling newspaper articles from the Orlando newspaper, and stockpiled them in their spare bedroom. Sweet woman. And, of course, we (meaning my buddy RJ and I) were STUFFED with food by grandma the moment we got there. Which is what she does. You can walk into that woman's place holding a bag of takeout food you got ten minutes ago, and she would insist on making you something to eat.
Roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes, if you're THAT curious.
So, we stash our stuff, and head out to the show, getting directions from my grandma. We arrive at the fairgrounds, where the shuttle was going to the show, and I realize that I left the tickets at the house. So, we call grandma, and she offers to meet us halfway, so we don't have to drive all the way back.
Not an auspicious beginning.
So, grandma brings us the tickets in the Wendy's parking lot. We nip back to the arena, and like a fool, I neglect stopping by an ATM. I'm carrying 30 bucks, and when we roll into the arena proper, we get waylaid by people shilling the official program and the seat cushion. Thirty bucks. So, I did that, thinking that there'd be vendors that would take my debit card.
Uh, no. Not in an arena.
We're making our way through the throng, trying to find our seats, and I hear the announcers bringing people to the ring for the opening battle royal. On the way up, we get a good view of the big screen, where people are coming in. BOOM. The first face I see?
Mark Henry.
NOT A GOOD BEGINNING.
So, we make our way to our seats in time for the final few people in the battle royal, sitting next to some young teenage girl and her boozy, trailer-mama mother, both HUGE Shawn Michaels fans. Not that I mind him, but he was the enemy Wrestlemania night.
I tried to get a good chant going for Tommy Dreamer during the end of the battle royal, but I'm often alone in my love for Tommy, at least in frigging Florida, from what I've seen. It's aggrivating, really.
So, Kane wins the battle royal, which I was certain would happen anyway.
Lillian Garcia was next out, to wind up the crowd, and introduce John Legend. John Legend sang America the Beautiful. I guess he was alright, it's a hard song to fuck up. And thus, began Wrestlemania proper.
Oddly, we start with Finley vs. JBL, which I would not have pegged. A JBL win had me standing at 2-0, with my predictions.
On to Money In The Bank. The first thing that had me laughing my ass off was the entrance of John Morrison, who was mis-identified on the chyron as JIM Morrison. I wish I had a camera, for about the third time that show. I had picked Chris Jericho, and was almost sure he'd pull it off. But unfortunately, CM Punk ended up bringing down the briefcase. Not looking good for my predictions.
Next up, the Battle For Brand Supremacy. Or, as I like to call it:
WORST MATCH OF THE NIGHT. And that included Bunnymania.
Batista and Umaga had to follow Money In The Bank, which is ridonkulous, because they're two big, plodding guys. Umaga and Batista have both had better matches with less talented guys. However, they were, I assume, instructed to keep it slow and ground-based, which made the match really sort of shitty. Batista picked up the win, which puts me at 2-2.
Then came the first of three World Title Matches. And, trust me, if you blinked, it was over. Kane came from beneath the ring and chokeslammed and pinned Chavo Guerrero, putting my predictions at a dismal 2-3. Not good. Also sucky for Chavo, who has probably peaked in the WWE with this run with what is, essentially, the lowest-tier title in the company. Seriously, the US title gets treated better, and MVP almost never defends it. I sort of feel for Chavo, but then, he's never been half as charismatic a showman as his uncle Eddie was. He's a mechanic, solid and dependable in the ring, but not flashy. Flash is what gets you noticed, that, and stumbling into the right gimmick can make you a mega-star.
Then we came to the match that brought me to the show. It wasn't the main event, not to anyone else, really. But it was to me. Career-threatening match: Shawn Michael vs. Ric Flair, if Flair loses, he's forced to retire.
The match was everything I had hoped it would be, and everything I dreaded, all at once. Ric Flair's career is over, but he had one last 5-star match on his way out the door. Shawn Michaels took care of that, breaking a few ribs to make it happen. When Ric rolled off the canvas, and raised his arms to the crowd, and 70,000-plus chanted "THANK YOU, RIC! THANK YOU, RIC!" I got goosebumps. I had tears standing in my eyes. And more importantly, I was able to resist the temptation to throw the woman two seats over down the steps by her hair for booing Ric Flair after his last, final match.
That alone had made it worth going to Wrestlemania on no sleep whatsoever. Yeah, I was too excited to sleep. Like I was 14 all over again. Wrestlemania does that to me every year, even when I'm watching it at home, on Pay-Per-View, with a mouthful of Hogbody's chicken wings (try the teryaki, they're great!).
So, it was onto freak-ville. Playboy BunnyMania, guest-starring Snoopy-De-Dogg (thank you, Santino Marella, the most consistantly entertaining fixture on Monday Night Raw in years). Two Playboy-posers (Maria and Ashley) against two actual wrestlers (Melina Perez and Beth Phoenix). The right team won, and Ashley Massaro is fucking wretched in the ring. The less said about her "contributions" to the match, the better. The girls had the lights go out during their match, and STILL were better than Batista and Umaga. Amazing. I wasn't a fan of the fact that my favorite WWE Diva (Mickie James) didn't get to do much but dance her way to the ring with Snoop Dogg, but hey, we can't always get what we want. After all, Flair lost.
Oh, and the predictions now stand at 3-4. Not a good night for me, but hey, three matches left, maybe I'd break even?
Triple H, Randy Orton and John Cena up next? What the hell? I was confused, and really amused that Hunter Hearst Helmsley's match was going to go out with the main viewscreens dark (there were some electrical issues). But at least they surprised me, with Orton keeping his gold, and stealing a win HHH had earned. Nice. My record now? 3-5. Ew.
The screens came back online for the arrival of the token wrestling celebrity, Floyd "Money" Mayweather. I hear he boxes, but I wouldn't know, because boxing's been a turn-off for me since I payed 60 bucks to watch Mike Tyson knock a guy out in under a minute. Mayweather vs. The Big Show was what I would cheerfully call "entertaining crap". Not a good match, but definitely fun to watch, and more fun to listen to, as the crowd cheered Show more than they ever have. Absolutely right on this pick, the celebrity never comes in for a huge paydays to LOSE. 4-5, and the Undertaker coming up. He never loses at Mania. Thank Godfrey, I'd at least break even, and not seem like a total rube.
Lo and behold, 'Taker and Edge didn't have as good a match as I thought they would. Edge, bless him, at least got to look strong, getting past 'Taker's two biggest moves. I got so bored in the first ten minutes I was amusing myself trying to get random chants for wrestlers who weren't on the show going. However, no one really wanted to get behind a "PETE GAS" chant. Hm.
Philistines.
The Citrus Dome is a bitch to get out of, though. The people in my section were rooted to the effing spot after Undertaker's win, expecting to see...well, God above knows what. We had to hop a low wall and walk down the adjacent section to get out. Thankfully, far and away from where the fireworks came tumbling down. I didn't know a thing about that until well into the next day.
And, of course, once we got back to the house, I was not long for the world. Sleep grabbed me by the throat almost immediately.
I shall add to this tale by explaining about my new car (NEW CAR? EH?) at a later date, as this much typing has already worn out my already tenuous attention span. I am a child of the MTV generation, after all.
There was Wrestlemania...
We drove down to my grandmother's place, the day of the show. Rolled into town right around 4 hours before showtime, to chill at my grandma's for a bit before going to the show proper. My grandma, bless her, had been pulling newspaper articles from the Orlando newspaper, and stockpiled them in their spare bedroom. Sweet woman. And, of course, we (meaning my buddy RJ and I) were STUFFED with food by grandma the moment we got there. Which is what she does. You can walk into that woman's place holding a bag of takeout food you got ten minutes ago, and she would insist on making you something to eat.
Roast beef, gravy and mashed potatoes, if you're THAT curious.
So, we stash our stuff, and head out to the show, getting directions from my grandma. We arrive at the fairgrounds, where the shuttle was going to the show, and I realize that I left the tickets at the house. So, we call grandma, and she offers to meet us halfway, so we don't have to drive all the way back.
Not an auspicious beginning.
So, grandma brings us the tickets in the Wendy's parking lot. We nip back to the arena, and like a fool, I neglect stopping by an ATM. I'm carrying 30 bucks, and when we roll into the arena proper, we get waylaid by people shilling the official program and the seat cushion. Thirty bucks. So, I did that, thinking that there'd be vendors that would take my debit card.
Uh, no. Not in an arena.
We're making our way through the throng, trying to find our seats, and I hear the announcers bringing people to the ring for the opening battle royal. On the way up, we get a good view of the big screen, where people are coming in. BOOM. The first face I see?
Mark Henry.
NOT A GOOD BEGINNING.
So, we make our way to our seats in time for the final few people in the battle royal, sitting next to some young teenage girl and her boozy, trailer-mama mother, both HUGE Shawn Michaels fans. Not that I mind him, but he was the enemy Wrestlemania night.
I tried to get a good chant going for Tommy Dreamer during the end of the battle royal, but I'm often alone in my love for Tommy, at least in frigging Florida, from what I've seen. It's aggrivating, really.
So, Kane wins the battle royal, which I was certain would happen anyway.
Lillian Garcia was next out, to wind up the crowd, and introduce John Legend. John Legend sang America the Beautiful. I guess he was alright, it's a hard song to fuck up. And thus, began Wrestlemania proper.
Oddly, we start with Finley vs. JBL, which I would not have pegged. A JBL win had me standing at 2-0, with my predictions.
On to Money In The Bank. The first thing that had me laughing my ass off was the entrance of John Morrison, who was mis-identified on the chyron as JIM Morrison. I wish I had a camera, for about the third time that show. I had picked Chris Jericho, and was almost sure he'd pull it off. But unfortunately, CM Punk ended up bringing down the briefcase. Not looking good for my predictions.
Next up, the Battle For Brand Supremacy. Or, as I like to call it:
WORST MATCH OF THE NIGHT. And that included Bunnymania.
Batista and Umaga had to follow Money In The Bank, which is ridonkulous, because they're two big, plodding guys. Umaga and Batista have both had better matches with less talented guys. However, they were, I assume, instructed to keep it slow and ground-based, which made the match really sort of shitty. Batista picked up the win, which puts me at 2-2.
Then came the first of three World Title Matches. And, trust me, if you blinked, it was over. Kane came from beneath the ring and chokeslammed and pinned Chavo Guerrero, putting my predictions at a dismal 2-3. Not good. Also sucky for Chavo, who has probably peaked in the WWE with this run with what is, essentially, the lowest-tier title in the company. Seriously, the US title gets treated better, and MVP almost never defends it. I sort of feel for Chavo, but then, he's never been half as charismatic a showman as his uncle Eddie was. He's a mechanic, solid and dependable in the ring, but not flashy. Flash is what gets you noticed, that, and stumbling into the right gimmick can make you a mega-star.
Then we came to the match that brought me to the show. It wasn't the main event, not to anyone else, really. But it was to me. Career-threatening match: Shawn Michael vs. Ric Flair, if Flair loses, he's forced to retire.
The match was everything I had hoped it would be, and everything I dreaded, all at once. Ric Flair's career is over, but he had one last 5-star match on his way out the door. Shawn Michaels took care of that, breaking a few ribs to make it happen. When Ric rolled off the canvas, and raised his arms to the crowd, and 70,000-plus chanted "THANK YOU, RIC! THANK YOU, RIC!" I got goosebumps. I had tears standing in my eyes. And more importantly, I was able to resist the temptation to throw the woman two seats over down the steps by her hair for booing Ric Flair after his last, final match.
That alone had made it worth going to Wrestlemania on no sleep whatsoever. Yeah, I was too excited to sleep. Like I was 14 all over again. Wrestlemania does that to me every year, even when I'm watching it at home, on Pay-Per-View, with a mouthful of Hogbody's chicken wings (try the teryaki, they're great!).
So, it was onto freak-ville. Playboy BunnyMania, guest-starring Snoopy-De-Dogg (thank you, Santino Marella, the most consistantly entertaining fixture on Monday Night Raw in years). Two Playboy-posers (Maria and Ashley) against two actual wrestlers (Melina Perez and Beth Phoenix). The right team won, and Ashley Massaro is fucking wretched in the ring. The less said about her "contributions" to the match, the better. The girls had the lights go out during their match, and STILL were better than Batista and Umaga. Amazing. I wasn't a fan of the fact that my favorite WWE Diva (Mickie James) didn't get to do much but dance her way to the ring with Snoop Dogg, but hey, we can't always get what we want. After all, Flair lost.
Oh, and the predictions now stand at 3-4. Not a good night for me, but hey, three matches left, maybe I'd break even?
Triple H, Randy Orton and John Cena up next? What the hell? I was confused, and really amused that Hunter Hearst Helmsley's match was going to go out with the main viewscreens dark (there were some electrical issues). But at least they surprised me, with Orton keeping his gold, and stealing a win HHH had earned. Nice. My record now? 3-5. Ew.
The screens came back online for the arrival of the token wrestling celebrity, Floyd "Money" Mayweather. I hear he boxes, but I wouldn't know, because boxing's been a turn-off for me since I payed 60 bucks to watch Mike Tyson knock a guy out in under a minute. Mayweather vs. The Big Show was what I would cheerfully call "entertaining crap". Not a good match, but definitely fun to watch, and more fun to listen to, as the crowd cheered Show more than they ever have. Absolutely right on this pick, the celebrity never comes in for a huge paydays to LOSE. 4-5, and the Undertaker coming up. He never loses at Mania. Thank Godfrey, I'd at least break even, and not seem like a total rube.
Lo and behold, 'Taker and Edge didn't have as good a match as I thought they would. Edge, bless him, at least got to look strong, getting past 'Taker's two biggest moves. I got so bored in the first ten minutes I was amusing myself trying to get random chants for wrestlers who weren't on the show going. However, no one really wanted to get behind a "PETE GAS" chant. Hm.
Philistines.
The Citrus Dome is a bitch to get out of, though. The people in my section were rooted to the effing spot after Undertaker's win, expecting to see...well, God above knows what. We had to hop a low wall and walk down the adjacent section to get out. Thankfully, far and away from where the fireworks came tumbling down. I didn't know a thing about that until well into the next day.
And, of course, once we got back to the house, I was not long for the world. Sleep grabbed me by the throat almost immediately.
I shall add to this tale by explaining about my new car (NEW CAR? EH?) at a later date, as this much typing has already worn out my already tenuous attention span. I am a child of the MTV generation, after all.