If you smell what The Schultz is Brewin'I admit it. I am a full fledged wrestling dork. Yes, I used to wrestle in the backyards of a friend’s home. Yes, we at one point constructed a ring using blueprints found online. Hell, I will even go so far as to admit that we used to film our pugilistic endeavors and air them on public access.
This alone should be reason enough to justify my Cal Ripken Jr. esque streak for sexual ineptitude.
The allure is hard to put into words. I suppose that I just find it truly refreshing to see disagreements handled with burly men kicking the crap out of one another and jawing on a microphone for two hours out of my night. Who knows? Maybe the world would in fact be a better place if this were the case in all endeavors. This rationale did end the Cold War, as far as Rocky 4 was concerned after all. And you cannot tell me that seeing Jesse Jackson and Reverend Al Sharpton pile driving David Duke through a table would not warm your soul just a tad.
But I digress.
One of the greatest aspects of wrestling I always found was how quickly a characters persona could change in one instant. All it took was one well placed chair shot to determine which direction they were headed. Hit the buxom female valet? Bad guy. Hit the obnoxious TV announcer that no one can stand? Good guy. Plain and simple. I have seen wrestlers in the past go from homicidal, homosexual rapists to poetry spouting baby faced ladies men overnight in this manner… Just trust me on this. I assure you that it is true.
And this is why wrestling is great. We distort our impressions of these larger than life icons for the sake of entertainment. In the real world we would never allow ourselves to ignore the major trepidations of another’s past overnight. Do you think that Michael Richards has any network sitcoms in the works right now? If life were like wrestling, he could have his own standup special on BET simply by assaulting Mitt Romney with a lead pipe!
In this society, typically you fuck up once and you are done. Occasionally you will see a celebrity pull a WWE patented move of disappearing for a long time and then returning triumphantly when the heat has died off, but this can take years. Overnight absolution simply does not exist.
Or does it?
Yesterday famed Seattle goat Howard Schultz announced his intentions to rescind his sale of the Seattle Supersonics to the evil alliance that is the Oklahoma investors. This is not unlike the good old days, when Goldberg was kicking the crap out of the NWO. If he pulls this off, he will officially become a God in the Emerald City.
It took him long enough.
Perhaps he was swayed by that walrus of a man, Big Lo’s viral plea (which was only slightly less embarrassing than my student film Tuesday’s with Bozerman.) The Seattle Times sponsored bit in the same vain of the infamous “Shoeless Joe Jackson” quip.
“Say it ain’t so Howie… Say it ain’t so.”
I can just picture the coffee mogul, sipping at his triple grande macchiato. The hot liquid seeping out of the rim of the cup into his lap, because his jackass employees always seem to overfill it.
He closes his eyes.
He grits his teeth.
“No… No it ain’t so!”
He grabs the two by four and makes for the door.
He will not be denied.
Jim Ross' turkey jowel is shaking like a shutter in a windstorm as he screams, "My Gawd! That's The Schultz music!!! Buisness is about to pick up!!!
Hey, in my world, this is how it went down.
And you cannot convince me that this is not the least bit more exciting than the reality of the situation.
The allure is hard to put into words. I suppose that I just find it truly refreshing to see disagreements handled with burly men kicking the crap out of one another and jawing on a microphone for two hours out of my night. Who knows? Maybe the world would in fact be a better place if this were the case in all endeavors. This rationale did end the Cold War, as far as Rocky 4 was concerned after all. And you cannot tell me that seeing Jesse Jackson and Reverend Al Sharpton pile driving David Duke through a table would not warm your soul just a tad.
But I digress.
One of the greatest aspects of wrestling I always found was how quickly a characters persona could change in one instant. All it took was one well placed chair shot to determine which direction they were headed. Hit the buxom female valet? Bad guy. Hit the obnoxious TV announcer that no one can stand? Good guy. Plain and simple. I have seen wrestlers in the past go from homicidal, homosexual rapists to poetry spouting baby faced ladies men overnight in this manner… Just trust me on this. I assure you that it is true.
And this is why wrestling is great. We distort our impressions of these larger than life icons for the sake of entertainment. In the real world we would never allow ourselves to ignore the major trepidations of another’s past overnight. Do you think that Michael Richards has any network sitcoms in the works right now? If life were like wrestling, he could have his own standup special on BET simply by assaulting Mitt Romney with a lead pipe!
In this society, typically you fuck up once and you are done. Occasionally you will see a celebrity pull a WWE patented move of disappearing for a long time and then returning triumphantly when the heat has died off, but this can take years. Overnight absolution simply does not exist.
Or does it?
Yesterday famed Seattle goat Howard Schultz announced his intentions to rescind his sale of the Seattle Supersonics to the evil alliance that is the Oklahoma investors. This is not unlike the good old days, when Goldberg was kicking the crap out of the NWO. If he pulls this off, he will officially become a God in the Emerald City.
It took him long enough.
Perhaps he was swayed by that walrus of a man, Big Lo’s viral plea (which was only slightly less embarrassing than my student film Tuesday’s with Bozerman.) The Seattle Times sponsored bit in the same vain of the infamous “Shoeless Joe Jackson” quip.
“Say it ain’t so Howie… Say it ain’t so.”
I can just picture the coffee mogul, sipping at his triple grande macchiato. The hot liquid seeping out of the rim of the cup into his lap, because his jackass employees always seem to overfill it.
He closes his eyes.
He grits his teeth.
“No… No it ain’t so!”
He grabs the two by four and makes for the door.
He will not be denied.
Jim Ross' turkey jowel is shaking like a shutter in a windstorm as he screams, "My Gawd! That's The Schultz music!!! Buisness is about to pick up!!!
Hey, in my world, this is how it went down.
And you cannot convince me that this is not the least bit more exciting than the reality of the situation.
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