WIRTB Review: The XFL

Okay, so after shitting on TNA for a bit, it's time to go back to my bread and butter: pointing out Vince McMahon's horrible ideas and questioning were they really that bad. I'm Speed on the Beat, the man who'd also beat my kid's ass on national TV if it meant keeping him from getting fucked up by police thinking he's 'bout that life if/when he really isn't, and this is another edition of WIRTB Review. So, let's review the crap, so you don't have to.

The XFL is something that you'll find less information about in a WWE history book than Chris Benoit. Bad-tasting joke aside, the XFL was almost doomed from the start because of its WWF/WWE connection. But, based on what I remember, and a slew of oral histories, I can say this much on it: In 2001, Vince McMahon thought it'd be smart to fuck around and go up against the NFL, head-to-head.

He would do so with a mix of sports, sports-entertainment, and sports "entertainment" tropes, add in actual football, add in some "xtra fun" to counteract the "no fun," and run with it. Also, lots of NFL slandering (on a network which hoped to, at some point, get the NFL back on its airwaves). Vince, however, had about as much experience running a (legit) sports league as I have running a wrestling promotion. It was akin to me, after playing a bunch of WWE Universe Mode, saying "hey, holy shit, I can manage WWE. Let me go get a couple million billion dollars and let's do it...right after WrestleMania." Also, let me call a team in Birmingham the "Bombers," but that's another rant for another blog.

The set-up was easy. This is due to the fact that Vince, NBC, UPN, and TNN smartly chose to launch right after the NFL season and before the Arena Football season. The execution, however, was shit. It was unmitigated, debauchery-filled, silly shit. For instance, let's look at the second game.

Since this was the X-fucking-FL we're talking about, we don't believe in pussy-ass coin tosses. "That was that fuckboy NFL shit," announcers et al uttered in so many words. The XFL had players scrounge and fight for the opening possessions and whatnot, kind of like rugby scrums. But, to make it "eXtra fun," the players were in full pads and helmets and usually didn't/never would do rugby scrums.

With that said, the first injury of the XFL happened during the opening scramble of the second ever game of the damn league.

Orlando Rage CB Hassan Shamsid-Deen suffered what pretty much amounted to a career-ending injury by separating his shoulder. What's worse is this: the XFL, much like its parent WWF/WWE, didn't provide health insurance for its participants. And they say the NFL is lower than dirt when it comes to protecting its players. 

The games themselves were a mix of sports-entertainment fuckheadedness (including having Jerry Lawler call games, Vince sending in a cameraman to perv on the cheerleaders--which led to said cameraman knocking himself out and having a PG-14 sex fantasy about said cheerleaders, the cheerleaders looking like Trish Stratus circa No Way Out 2001, and mic'd up players, coaches, etc.) and sheer stupidity. The players were mostly NFL, CFL, and Arena League rejects who wanted one last taste of glory (and were paid about as much as a semi-pro-leaguer would be). The camera didn't really allow for viewers to comprehend what was going on. And the rules changed--or seemed to change--as they went along. 

It was like Any Given Sunday meets The Replacements meets Sunday Night Heat, but no Jamie Foxx or Keanu Reeves to (somewhat) save the day.

After the first game, ratings and appeal dropped--and hard. People within NBC were distancing themselves from it. By the time we got to the final game, everyone was pissed at the end result in some way or another, and the league died a quick death.

So, was it really that bad? Yes and no. 

The XFL itself was a horrible experiment by VKM to expand his empire. It was potentially, aside from his steroids debacles, the biggest blunder he and his team have undertaken. The league cost WWE and NBC at least $35 million--each.

However, we got some long-standing standards that have been integrated into the NFL, potentially because of it. The use of sky cams and "wired" teams have become norms and added to the authenticity of the NFL. Players such as Rod Smart (a/k/a "He Hate Me") were able to make a mainstream splash due to their unique, sports-entertainment-esque personas. Smart himself went on to play in a Super Bowl. We got the resurgence of Tommy Maddox, who helped lead Pittsburgh to a Super Bowl victory (somewhat) and to playoff wins. And, we got Ricky Ortiz out of the deal. That's something, right?

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Eyes on the Ring 11:51 AM  No comment

WIRTB Review: Victory Road 2011

Alright, you know gotdamn well that if we're going to look at crappy reviews, we've got to look at this one. It's me, the guy who tconvinced Paul Heyman that Sabu versus Sandman at November to Remember would be a good idea (after the acid), SOTB!!! back with another edition of WIRTB Review, the review-centric gobbledygook where I review the crap so you don't have to. So, this one was recommended to me by Nathan a while back, but I hadn't been able to get to it until now. But, without dwelling too much, let's get into it.

So, backstory, right? Hulk Hogan came in and took over shit, as Hulk tends to do. And a bunch of other pre-Destination America TNA fuckery. Sting returned to win Jeff Hardy's belt, and take back control of TNA. In other words, it's late 90s WCW, only fifteen years late. Our show opens with fizzy little pyro and our first match.

Bully Ray versus Tommy Dreamer
One thing I can say is this: TNA tried their damnedest and succeeded in making Bully into a legit badass. He came off as Steiner-like at times, but he was one of the reasons I could halfway tolerate TNA between 2011 and 2014. He starts off delivering your typical "heel ass-kissing the Powers that Be" promo. Dreamer interrupts with some pretty generic music and they just talk. They talk. A match that's supposed to be a fucking slaughter (a no DQ, falls-count-anywhere match) begins with promo on top of promo on top of promo.

After they finally get going, the match fails to excite. Sure, we get some decent SPOTS (such as Tommy driving Bully's face into a plant's chair at ringside), but the early going is kind of meh. Tommy then grabs a bottle of water to go all Triple H on Bully. Taz, not even hiding his sarcasm/disdain for this, remarks "not the dreaded bottle of water" as Dreamer sprays. Water bottles: causing more damage to wrestlers than Abdullah the Butcher since 1998. But, you know what's worse than a water bottle?

A minion.

Yep. Tommy Dreamer, in a No DQ, FCA match, decides to beat the stuffing out of Bully Ray with...a stuffed animal. Now, you know that I try to keep the final decision to myself until the end of the first match, at least. But, fuck this company. Taz(z) asks if that's Spongebob, and I can't help but shake my head at the idiocy on display right now.

And of course they start brawling outside the ring confines and into the stands. We get "TNA" chants right before Tommy almost gets his nuts cracked by a guard rail. Bully goes all Bubba Ray, and Tommy responds by going all Sandman and grabbing the Kendo stick. We get some shit selling by Bully, and a blow-up doll, which Bully lands on in a 69 position. Of course, TNA fans being the awesome bunch they are, start chanting for a 69. Dreamer gets a near-fall and gets a trashcan lid for his troubles.

Bully, for whatever reason, turns his attention back to the gotdamned blow-up doll as Dreamer gets another near-fall. A "we want tables" chant breaks out, because Dudleys. Tommy obliges but doesn't get to use it. Honestly, you can fast forward through most of this match at this point, until the end. Devon comes out with his kids, sets up Bully for a 3D and Dreamer gets the win. I hate when the 3D is performed by someone who isn't Bubba/Bully and Devon.

Next up? LESBIAN POLLEN!

Knockout Tag Team Championship Match: Rosita and Sarita versus Angelina Love and Winter
Our announcing team starts out gushing over how hot (rather "caliente," because diversity) Rosita and Sarita are. Interesting sidenote: Rosita apparently appeared on Love and Hip-Hop New York at some point this past season. Winter comes out looking like she just walked off the Fifty Shades set. The Americans get "USA" chants as RoSa (yay WWE team names) are "foreign" or something. I know that TNA gets the shoutout for being better than WWE at women's wrestling, but not this time. Match was sloppy and just straight boring. RoSa get the win and the lesbian pollen wears off...kinda (mainly because Velvet Sky let the pigeons loose at the wrong time).

Jeff and Karen Segment(s)
Aren't these just a slap in the face to one of TNA's top talents, Kurt Angle? Eh.

First Blood Match: Hernandez versus Matt Morgan
The match starts off hot with a lot of action. Morgan and Hernandez are beating the holy shit out of each other. It's wild that this match is almost more "extreme" than the Bully/Dreamer match. The crowd is insanely into this one, chanting "we want blood." Say what you want about TNA storylines: the wrestling and sequencing of matches in the cards are one of the company's strong suits in my opinion. If this were WWE, we'd probably follow the Divas match with some Santino squash.

And then we get Hernandez trying to blade on the hard camera. Thrice. Or is it?!

Kind of. Because, yes, that happens, but...the match ends when Hernandez sprays food coloring or something onto MM, the replacement ref sees the "blood" on MM and calls Hernandez to be the winner. It was a decent match until the end. The end just negated all that awesomeness.

Ultimate X Match: Karzarian versus Robbie E versus Generation Me (a/k/a The Young Bucks)
TNA was the first time I'd seen The Young Bucks in action, in this very match. I always liked the Ultimate X match: it has all the craziness of a MITB match, the fast-paced nature of a championship scramble or a multi-man tag match, and the originality of TNA (when they're trying to/given the chance to be original). This match, however, is a beautiful train wreck. I can't even describe what I've seen. So, I'd say just YouTube it.

TNA World Tag Team Championship Match: Beer Inc. versus Ink Inc.
This match was alright. That's kind of all I can say about it. Wasn't good, wasn't bad. It just was.

A.J. Styles versus Matt Hardy
It's prime era A.J. versus later era Matt. The end.

Number One Contender's Match for TNA World Heavyweight Championship: RVD versus Mr. Anderson
So, what was a somewhat blood feud ended with a double countout? Ooookay, TNA. I'll go with it.

Main Event
TNA World Heavyweight Championship Match: Jeff Hardy versus Sting
You already know the backstory to this match. If not, just look it up. Jeff stumbles out higher than the nose of an elite piece-of-shit looking down at Baltimore. He damn near rips a fan's arm off. But, the crowd seems none the wiser as we're finishing introductions. It kind of just looks like "oh, shit, Jeff Hardy is being an aloof badass." Kind of. But, then Sting comes out full of energy, kinda looking like "the fuck is this shit," you see that something's up.

Hardy starts walking outside of the ring as Jeremy Borasch announces the contestants. At this point, we should've had a Jake Roberts-esque audible. However, you do that, and because Jeff is on one, you'd run the risk of setting him off further.

After a bit, Bischoff comes out and actually puts over that everything is going according to plan. He says "The Network" has something up their sleeve, goes over to Jeff, mutters something (possibly "you fucked up. You are in no condition to wrestling"), and makes this match a No DQ (the forth of the night).

Jeff spends most of his time doing his best John Cena at ECW ONS 2006 impersonation before getting scolded by Sting. A few punches and a Scorpion Death Drop later, Sting retains.

"This is bullshit," a fan chants.

"I agree," Sting...agrees.

"As do I," I type.

So, the PPV started off promising. Until we saw one of Gru's minions.

Fuck this bullshit.

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Eyes on the Ring 1:24 PM  No comment

WIRTB Review: The Souled Out Series Volume One (1997)

Apparently, I have a death wish with regards to shitty PPVs. After going through Greed, WM27, Backlash, Superbrawl, Mayhem 2000 (ya fat asses), and others...I've taken on the unenviable task of reviewing all four parts of the Souled Out PPV tetralogy. I am Speed on the Beat, and this is WIRTB Review, the review series (sometimes wrestling, sometimes movies, sometimes Chris Webber's rap CD) where I review the crap, so you don't have to.

Our first volume falls on the date of January 25, 1997. Our descriptors indicate that "Hollywood Hogan defends [his] WCW Title versus The Giant, Hall and Nash defend the Tag Team Titles vs The Steiners [and more]." So, at least I'll get some Steiner here, right? Eh, let's get into it.

We open to a grainy B&W video of the nWo army being driven into the city on trash trucks. Syxx lets us know that this is going to be sweet (I'm not sure about how "too sweet," it'll be, brother. Gotta be specific) and Eric Bischoff says nWo's going to change the world. Let me remind you, before I forget (even though WCW doesn't let you), this PPV is branded as the first nWo PPV, because nWo took over a WCW PPV in a way that'll make you beg for the Anonymous GM. In reality, it was a marketing plan to see if a two-PPV month plan could work and if nWo PPVs had any draw. 

We spend the first four minutes or so with the nWo outside and outside of the arena, looking like old white guy rejects from the Straight Outta Compton movie. We're given something which resembles a long take meets a home video recording, then our logo. But, of course, we're given more promos for the PPV, with Bischoff talking about the nWo like some sort of authoritarian monstrosity. Five minutes in and I already feel like my brain cells are dying.

Oh, hey, it's Fake Sting.

FINALLY, we're taken ringside with a boatload of overhead pyro (not 2000 WCW-levels, but pretty bad still) and Bischoff speaking again and introducing the nWo big three. This feels so cartoony. Hall, Nash, and Hogan talk back and forth to each other via big-ass screens and tell us that WCW sucks and doesn't exist anymore, because nWo has "souled out." I'm going to go out on a limb and guess we're gonna get a lot of "soul"/"sold" puns tonight. "Trillionaire" Ted DiBiase is shown in his first WIRTB Review appearance on commentary with Bischoff and we're finally under way with our first match.

The "mysterious announcer" calls Chris Jericho into the ring to face off against Masahiro Chono. The crowd is dead. The camera is wonky. And this feels like someone just smuggled their 1990s camcorder into the arena and recorded a house show. I get that that's the gritty feel they're going for, but for fuck's sake: if you've got a trillionaire beneficiary backing your wrestling coup, would it kill you to actually shell out some cash to make your product look better than that which you are splintering from?

Bischoff tries to put over the "nWo Beauties," but they look more like they fell off the side of a dope fiend's stolen Nova. And just like "Children's Story," this match serves up a cautionary tale. WCW was one of the only American federations who didn't (always) make their Asian wrestlers into Hong Kong Fuckheads. If you were Japanese and wanted to get over in America, you'd say "fuck you WWF. Let me get my money, ECW. I'm going to WCW." When WCW went under, you got Kung Fu Naki and Engrish Yoshi Tatsu doing their shtick. Thankfully, WWE has learned the error of their stupidity and is letting Hideo Itami actually be KENTA, aside from his name. But, in 1997, there'd be no real way Japanese talents'd get big in America unless it was WCW.

With that said, more of this match than needed is spent focusing on the WCW crusaders and the like and shitting on WCW than the match itself. Camera angles tend to not capture some of the action (at least they may've inadvertently invented Selfie Sticks). On top of that, nWo has their own ref. So, pretty much, we already know that nWo will win--even if they lose--pretty much every match.

Anywho, Chono starts out on top and takes it to Jericho. "USA" chants start out (for a wrestler who's from Winnipeg, you idiot) and Ted puts over Chono's STF hold. This match is pretty interesting, since I've seen a limited amount of Chono's work. I'll be honest: for me, it'd be a decent introduction to Chono's work. But, please, for the love of pie, watch this son-of-a-bastard-maker on mute because fuck Bischoff's commentary. Chono, after some slow counts, and a rebound, gets the Yakuza kick for the quick count win.

I think I've gotten the quickest "fuck this company" going in WIRTB history. Sadly, they all seem to be coming from WCW.

Next, we get Hugh Morrus versus Big Bubba, which ends with Bubba running Morrus over with a bike. A fucking bike. Out of all the wild and crazily fucktarded things I've seen in WCW, and I've seen monster trucks drive off sides of buildings, this takes the cake. Why? There's no real rhyme or reason behind it. It's just like "hey, I'm nWo. I break the rules. Lemme try to kill this fat fuck with a bike just because he's WCW." Not only that, the sell job of Hugh Morrus on the bike hit was horrible, compounded by the atrocious camera angles.

Artist's rendition.

We go back to the "nWo Beauties," one of which looks like what you'd get if you crossed Luanne Platter with some rum and a glory hole (in other words, Mama Platter for the KOTH fans out there). When asked what she'd do to get into the next WCW movie, she responds with "whatever it takes."

Can you shoot me so I don't have to watch the rest of this goddamned PPV?

The next one up, this derp-faced blondie (see a recurring theme here, guys?), is asked what her price is, since our intrepid interviewee has about "$1.50" on him. Her priceless response? "You can walk away with a big bill." Afterwards, we get some fifty-seven-year-old looking silhouette dancing to generic grungy hair metal as we prep for our next match. But, first, nWo has a website! On NETSCAPE! Man, I miss the '90s.

Jeff Jarrett and Mr. Wallstreet are our next competitors. So, we have Bray Wyatt's dad getting ready to kick Double J's ass because this is the nWo--oh, wait what's this? Mongo comes out and hits Wallstreet with his briefcase for a Jarrett win. Lemme get this straight: your faces of the evening (WCW) have resorted to heelish tactics to win because...why exactly? Eh. It's WC--I mean, nWo in 1997. Nothing makes sense anymore, but it's still drawing ratings, so it must be right, right?

Scotty Riggs and Buff Bagwell battle next. This match lasts almost fourteen minutes. That's all I want/need to say about it. Most of that fourteen minutes is spent having Ted and Eric man-gushing over Bagwell in some way or another.

Anywho...DDP and Scott Norton get into the ring. DDP smokes a cigar and looks like a drunk. Norton decides to beat the crap out of DDP. We get the millionth "loser" chant from the anonymous fucktard in the back. This match was a lot of nothing, until the end. Every nWo lackey comes out and tries to recruit DDP. DDP accepts, but just like Cena with The Nexus, he says "fuck you heels!" and double turns, runs into the crowd, and tears off his nWo shirt in the process.

FINALLY! After more fuckery, we get some wrasslin' gawds. Hall and Nash versus THA STEINA BROVAHS! This is going to be...oh, never mind. Not even Scott Steiner can save this shit show. In some overbooking, the Steiners win because the nWo ref was knocked out. The WCW ref comes out and then counts the pinfall for the Steiners. Bischoff then says "hey, tomorrow, on Nitro, I'm going to make this shit not happen" (or something along these lines) and lo and behold. Monday comes around and the Steiners are stripped of their belts. Yep. Sounds like something out of the WWE in 2015 playbook.

Eddie and Syxx square off against each other for the U.S. Heavyweight title. Here we go: the only match which doesn't end because of interference. Why? It's a ladder match. Syxx has some sort of Redneck Kung Fu meets X-Pac thing going and it's kind of badass. And our announcers put over Eddie's Mexican background--by being racist. Yay! A solid match between Syxx and Eddie, but the selfie stick camera angles make me want to vomit something fierce. They really fuck up the match. But, eventually, Eddie gets the win after Syxx gets KTFO with the belt (since they'd both grabbed it at the same time).

After the nWo Beauty Contest (spoiler: no one wins in reality), we get Hollywood Hogan with lifts in his boots squaring off against The Giant for the Heavyweight Championship. And, because WCW, we get a schmozz to end the goddamned thing. The Giant had the belt won, but nWo comes out and starts attacking Giant. This is probably the tenth of a couple hundred face/heel turns by Paul Wight in his career (even though it wasn't really a turn) thus far.

Yep, that bad.

Join me next time for either Souled Out 1998 or a bonus episode TBD.

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Eyes on the Ring 2:10 PM  No comment

WIRTB Review: Mayhem 2000

Holy shitballs, Batman! If Mayhem 1999 struck fear into my heart, its follow-up just straight-up would make me crap my pants...if I were either:

a) incapable of holding my poo or...
b) wearing any pants.

Anywho, now that you know I'm writing this in boxers while eating some of the freshest cereal, I'm SOTB!!! and welcome to another exciting (and excitingly sober) edition of WIRTB Review, the Eyes on the Ring review series where I look at some of the worst PPVs and review the crap so you don't have to...all in an effort to determine "was it really that bad?" So far, I've been batting 1.000 (or would it be 0.000?), as every PPV I've reviewed has been, well, that bad. But, will this one be any different?

2000's edition of Mayhem was tagged as the night where "The Genetic Freak Of Sports Entertainment [was] UNLEASHED," as seen above. So, simply put, we're gonna get Scott FUCKING Steiner! But, this is 2000 WCW, so in addition to Steiner da GAWD!, we've got a slew of jackasses, slack-jawed fatasses, and white trash-being, liver spot-having, bald spot-loving fuckheads that could never measure up to Big Poppa Pump, the GENETIC FREAK. This is going to be fun, and to make it even more so, this review will be reviewed in STEINERVISION (patent pending). It will be in bad taste. So, viewer discretion is advised...and shit.

In Steiner We Trust...Ya Fatasses.

We open with that black (suit-wearing) bastard Booker T coming in and having a bunch of pencil-headed basement dwellers run up to them like he's the second coming of Black Jesus. They're asking for autographs and he obliges. Next, THE BOOTY DADDY with his moundacious beauty comes in with a pipe of some sort, signs in, and starts killing technology. Why? Because COMPUTERS ARE STUPID AND STEINER SIGNS IN FOR NOBODY! 

The show opens and pans around the crowd. None of these flat-chested bimbos can even hold my jockpiece. We get a Ric Flair, CEO promo package. And this old, decrepit, "I'll-bleed-five-seconds-into-the-goddamned-match" son-of-a-bitch tries to put over the event. Afterwards, we get our first match, a Cruiserweight title match between Kwee-Wee and Mike Sanders. 

Kwee-Wee, this pink-pants-wearing, stringy-haired assclown has Paisley on his arm because, I guess, diversity or something. Why is this jerkoff in a dress? Why is he with Paisley? Why is he in WCW (yes, he could "wrestle," but he still kind of sucked at getting people into it, in my opinion). Anyway, Mike Sanders, this midget moron, calls Kwee-Wee a "beeyotch" like some sort of wannabe black kid in 1997. This asinine ineptitude is what is considered quality wrestling material by 2000 WCW, by the way, ya fatasses. Our play-by-play men then state don't wanna hear Paisley talk about nothin' because she's got VERY BIG BREASTS. Yay sexism.

Even though...they are quite nice.
Maybe I can make her scream twice
if she let's the thot form from anger...

This match is atrocious. Mike Sanders seems like what'd happen if you mixed Curtis Axel with Billy Kidman and subtract those one or two things that make even those two fucks watchable sometimes. He eventually gets knocked out the ring and rolls halfway up the walkway. You'd never see BIG POPPA PUMP doing that sort of flippy-do, overselling, overrated, overdone bullshit. This is why Mike Sanders, Mr. "Above Average," is now a stand-up comedian and FREAKZILLA is the greatest wrestler of all-time.

And, OFC, we get a run-in from Sanders' stablemates, because WCW, which leads to Meng coming out and chocking out everyone, which leads to Ric Flair and "security." In other words, everyone in WCW who wasn't booked tonight, these insignificant imbeciles are here to get paid. Looking at this shit, I have absolutely NO SYMPY for WCW's failures. The announcers botch calling Sanders' hold, but Sanders eventually gets the win.

After some backstage stuff--including Ric Flair saying "no more interference" (lulz)--we get our second match of the evening and what's this?! We have a first-time WIRTB Review appearance by...JIMMY WANG YANG--err...I mean Yun Yang and the Jung Dragons. The Jungs are going up against 3 Count and Noble and Karagias (a/k/a the rejects of the Jungs and 3 Count, respectively).

Like ANYONE would've thought "Jamie-San" was Asian.

WOW WHAT DO YOU KNOW?! That midget Jamie Noble was actually pretty good before WWE started using him as Seth Rollins' bottom bitch boy. I've seen this match (and their ladder match) before in compilations, but never this whole PPV. It's SPOTS! SPOTS! SPOTS! That's really all you can say about this match. It's lots of SPOTS, put together in the attempt to tell a real wrestling story. But, the SPOTS just make it impossible. See, this is why little people shouldn't be in grown mens' business and THE BIG BAD BOOTY DADDY gets all the ladies.

"But, who won the match, Speed?"

SHADDUP! It doesn't even fucking matter who won this match. They are inferior to the greatness that is I. Oh, and by the way, 3 Count got the win.

Mancow, this gas-pumping white trash pencil-bodied son-of-a-bitch, is out next.

He's some sort of shock jock and he's brought his entire cavalcade of fuckboys with him to face off against Jimmy Hart. Mancow shits on that hanger-on Al Gore and compares himself to that other hanger-on Dubya and says he's going to kick Hart in his "hanging chad." Jimmy hits Mancow with a crutch, but Mancow's fuckboys come and hit Jimmy. 3 Count comes out for the save...and beat down "Turd the Bartender" and "Freak," while Mancow rips Jimmy's cast off. The cast gets used as a weapon for the win by Mancow. Mancow celebrates by seemingly trying to thumb Jimmy's ass and tossing the cast out of the ring.

More backstage stupidity, including fuckery with Bill DeMott that doesn't involve potentially sexually assaulting trainees and Rey Mysterio with his devil horn foolishness. He looks like a duck. I HATE DUCKS!

Now, remember that crowbar from last year's edition? He's grown up into a real boy who wins the Hardcore Championship. Crowbar, as you've seen in Superbrawl, actually has a pretty sizable part in the lower-midcard over WCW's last year or so, since David Flair and Daffney needed another loon in their stable.

We get a lot of backstage gobbledygook, including Mean Gene looking like an old perv, and we're finally back in the ring for our next match. It's the FILTHY ANIMALS (I always had a problem with that name) featuring that incorrigible small bastard Rey Mysterio versus KRONIK and Alex Wright with Glen--I mean DISCO INFERNO. Apparently, WCW thought it'd be a good idea to have KRONIK be WCW's version of, like, APA and other badass stables. But, unlike Bradshaw and Farooq...KRONIK is chronically meh.

Disco, the stupid son-of-a-bitch hired KRONIK for, get this, seven-and-a-half minutes. So...you're already giving away the time and probably the ending of this match. Why? Because, if we go back to last year's Mayhem and some of the events leading up to this one, Disco is, in kayfabe, kind of broke and has gambling problems and shit (just like in real-life, I guess). So, we know he'll either not be able to pay or KRONIK will walk out on him halfway through the match at the "seven-and-a-half-minute" mark.

Jeezus. Someone get WCW a watch, because six minutes is not seven-and-a-half. So, for a minute or so after the "walk out," we get the Animals stomping out The Wunderfuck. Tony and company, they just give no fucks and it shows. Animals get the win, the duckfaced bastards that they are.

More backstage clusterfuckery ensues, none of it funny. It's like they got the worst parts of Russo, Bischoff, and the 2015 WWE creative team, meshed them together, and let their FAT ASSES run amok for three hours. Next up, we've got MISS JONES and those lovely mammaries...and The Cat. Cat's got a match against Shane Douglas featuring Torrie Wilson.

Long story short, Douglas gets owned by everyone in the ring and out of it. Mark Madden screams until he almost chokes. Cat wins. Miss Jones dances. The End. But, somehow, the Brain Trust backstage allowed this shit to go on for about eight minutes. Eight minutes. You know what THE BIG BAD BOOTY DADDY could've been doing in eight minutes? I could've gotten out some foreplay, but...that's neither here nor there.

Oh God, more backstage shitfests, complete with a GLACIER promo. Glacier. The knockoff, cheap, Made in Cambodia, dollar store, what-the-fuck-were-they-smoking rip-off of Sub-Zero somehow found his way into the 2000s. Luckily, Mark Madden does something right (by doing something wrong): he just straight up buries the living beejeezus out of the gimmick, the promo, Glacier, and the man behind Glacier.

WCW in 2000: Where Burials are Swerves, Swerves are Well-Known, Kayfabe is Dead...except when it isn't, and Nothing Makes Any Goddamned Sense.

We then get some shit involving Bam Bam Bigelow beating SERGEANTTTTT A-WOLLLLLLLLLLLLL which involves BBB botching his finisher. YAWN! This is followed by Bill DeMott's Hugh G. Rection no-selling a knee injury after selling it for five-to-ten minutes, then winning, in a match versus Lance Storm for the US Title (see, DeMott did something right. This is where Cena got his usual selling skills from). THEN, we have Jeff Jarrett and Buff Bagwell circle jerk for eleven minutes over a fucking guitar...or something. I think we already know the answer to the end of this post. Yes, it's that fucking bad. It's poison. This is the PPV you wish on your worst enemies when you want to give them the equivalent of an arsenic and hot sauce-laced enema. But, lo and behold, we've got three matches left to go.

Our next match features one of the biggest pops of the night (that's not saying shit) in The Outsiders versus Stasiak and Palumbo. There's still not much to see here, unless you're looking for Shawn Stasiak's asscheeks. Yeah. Stasiak gets pantsed in this match. He also takes the pinfall from DDP, causing The Outsiders to get the belts.

Next to last, Golddddddberrrrrrg, on another streak (for no real fucking reason), trots himself out to face off against Lex Luger (again). Why? Because WHOTHEFUCKCARESWHY? So, of course, #GOLDBERGWINSLOL because Luger doesn't give two shits. You know who else doesn't give two shits? Me. But, guess who's out for the main event.

It's MISTER COMPUTERS ARE STUPID! SCOTT FUCKING STEINER!

Finally, this shitshow is saved by our genetic freak savior. He's in a straitjacket "cage match" (read: Hell in a Cell, but because licensing, we can't call it that) versus Booker T for the WCW title. I think. I forgot.

Anyway, this shit goes back and forth (kind of?) until Steiner gets a chubby for the straitjacket. Instead of pinning Booker, winning the belt, and saying "fuck you Booker, you white trash black bastard," Steiner becomes obsessed with the jacket. He even rips the thing to fucking shreds because why the fuck not? There's something about chairs (no tables, ladders, or stairs, sadly), and then Steiner slaps on the Steiner Recliner for the win and the belts.

In typical Steiner fashion, he just goes apeshit and beats the holy Beetlejuice out of Booker's knee--and a ref. And the crowd. they fucking love it. So, aside from that moment, this pay-per-view was death. I didn't even have a twenty-five percent change of getting through it without wishing death on someone. I did have a 66.6% chance of jumping out the window onto the pavement, somehow popping back up with a 33.3% chance of survival...which gave me a 141.66% chance of having to do another one of these in a couple days.

So, until next time, this is SOTB!!! saying peace and love and remember: I review the crap, so you don't have to.

Ya fatasses.

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Eyes on the Ring 10:49 AM  No comment

WIRTB Review: Superbrawl 2000

Good day, Ringers. It's I, the guy who told Maffew to include more video game music, the Mustafa of Hip-Hoppa, except I don't literally die halfway through, the one and only SOTB!!! Today, we've got a doozy of a shitshow lined up. Straight from the suggestion box, we've got Peagle's suggestion of Superbrawl 2000. Other suggestions included: "Die Speedy Die" and "CM Punk!" And since those are out of the question...on Febrary 20, 2000, we were told that there's "nothing they won't do to hold the gold" and that the main event is a "three-way dance for heavyweight gold." So, judging off that, we're either going to have:

a) a legit triple threat match
b) some sort of porno with lesbian pollen
c) a WCW-circa-2000-level PPV

The opening promo is hilarity. First, we get the "Death Match" between Ric Flair and Terry Funk. Since this isn't 2015, the death probably won't be literal. Next up in the promo reel, Hulk Hogan and Lex Luger try to make people give a damn about their feud and the promo for the Heavyweight Title, complete with Jeff Jarrett calling someone "slapnuts" and hitting Kevin Nash with a guitar.

As our show opens, f'reals, we get the pyro equivalent of Pinky bonking herself. It just...won't...stop. As an aside, to keep my enjoyment level up for this event, since I'm assuming it's going to be a clusterfuck of epic proportions, I'll probably be throwing in random adult entertainers' names in, just to make sure you're paying attention. For instance, Mean Gene and Ron Jeremy look like they could've been separated at birth. There are as many black guys in the audience as there are, apparently, in adult films: five to ten.

Oh good lord...I don't think I'm going to be able to hold my tongue on this one already. And we haven't even gotten to the first match. The stilted gifs accompanying the match card, added in with the LULZ-worthy "Never Gonna Stop" cover have the effect of drinking a bottle of bleach and chasing it with 151. Oh, wow...The Demon! Now I know that I'm in for a treat.

Thirteen minutes in and we're finally getting to the first match. The Artist (formerly known as Prince Iaukea), with Paisley, versus Lash LeRoux for the Cruiserweight Championship. These assholes are in here two-stepping and we're supposed to take this match seriously? Paisley's get-up reminds me of Lacey Duvalle, in that they tend to try too hard. The audience is dead for this match, aside from the one "WWF SUCKS" sign holder. After some "brawling," we get a spot the OSW guys would probably pop over, the "Aloha Arn." TAFKAPI avoids being pinned by a sunset flip by flailing his arms violently, even getting the ref to do the same. TAFKAPI then tries to give Lash what looks like a wet willie, which results in a near fall.

I'll be honest, I'm not paying attention at this point, but what I'm seeing is Botchamania-caliber stupidity. TAFKAPI keeps getting near-falls, and then whiffs on a punch from Lash. This match thankfully ends with Lash fucking around and almost killing himself on a Frankensteiner attempt, TAFKAPIkea hitting a jumping DDT on Lash, then running his finger down Lash's stomach in a manner suggesting that Paisley isn't his type...or any woman.

Next, Norman Smiley is getting wrapped up and gives the worst sell of an injury I've seen. It's almost as bad as those 1980s porns where everything is equivalent to the best--or worst--moment ever.

Smiley: "...ooh, it [his ribs] could be cracked."
::lifts arms up, with no problem or grimace::
Smiley: "oooh, oooh, it may be cracked."

Some more backstage foolishness, and we're back in-ring for our next match. Bam Bam Bigelow versus Nasty Brian Knobs in a "Hardcore" match. In WCW, "Hardcore" came down to beating the fuck out of each other with trash cans, cookie sheets, and--well, it was pretty much like WWF at this point. Bam Bam gets hit with a trash can after being distracted by Fit Finlay. Knobs gets tossed over the railing. They go outside the ring and into the concessions area. This shit is making me miss the "let's defend the belt at a kid's ball pit or the Mall of America" era of WWF Hardcore. As BBB and Knobs go back to ringside, BBB gets tossed into the steps.

"Good thing Bam has those tattoos to protect his head," Mark Madden retorts. Yes, because ink saves people from blunt force.

Knobs then sets up a table in the corner of the ring, ends up going through it himself, then gets some trash lids for his troubles. A "Greetings from Ashbury Park" and--nevermind, BBB doesn't pin Knobs. Knobs gets a low-blow to knock BBB out the ring and Knobs pins him outside the ring.

Yep. Fuck this company.

Magic Mike, the Wigger Edition--I mean, 3 Count, is out next for their match against Norman Smiley. They begin their in-ring promo by saying "I know our fanbase in San Francisco can appreciate our many talents." ...was that some sort of subtle "gay joke," WCW, or am I giving you too much credit? Smiley is out next in a Jerry Rice jersey. Fifteen years later, I'm sure someone like Norman would be considered a big face. Or at least Santino.

The match begins, pretty much, with an "Aloha Arn" and some sort of three-on-one pin on Smiley. Smiley gets destroyed by Shane Helms, until Helms damn near kills himself on a Twisting Corkscrew Splash. Smiley gets the swing going, and ends up knocking himself out. And then we get a dance contest in the middle of the ring. After this, Norman's Jerry Rice jersey gets ripped off and 3 Count just goes all Spirit Squad on Norman. Norman ends up tapping to Evan's Boston Crab.

So far, this match is like a Kink.com fuck machine session. Some may consider it "torture," but I consented to it. So I'm gonna keep at it, possibly because I'm enjoying the "torture" I'm putting myself through.

And then comes out comes The Demon. Fuck this shit. I'm writing this at 1:30 in the afternoon on a lunch break and I'm contemplating going down to my office's "bar" and just drinking myself stupid. His opponent for the night, Generic Wrestler Name #31992, "THEEEEEE WAAAAAAAAALL." I can't even watch WCW with a straight face because every time I hear David Penzer, I just think of the OSW Review parody of his announcing style and I lose my shit. Anyway, The Demon goes back to the Gorilla position and meets up with THEEEEEE WAAAAAAAAALL. Wall ends up beating Demon in four minutes or so with the chokeslam.

So, we're four matches in and we've pretty much gotten four glorified squashes.

Ernest Miller has a backstage promo with Mean Gene speaking on how James Brown's supposed to show up. Also, something about Beethoven stealing his stuff from Little Richard. For fuck's sake. This was a good idea to someone? Miller looks like he just stumbled off of the set of Racist White Girl Assholes, Mandingo Cocks 27 and Mean Gene can't even save this promo.

Now, apparently, there's been someone in a "private room" all show. Who wants to guess that person is James Brown?

Next up? Tank Abbott versus Big Al in a..."Leather Jacket on a Pole" match.

Yeah...let's forget that this happened, "beard-cutting scissors" and all.

Three years before this, WCW was the hottest promotion around. WTF happened? Overpaid celebrities, mismanagement, clusterfuckiness, Swoll, etc.

NEXT up, after about ten minutes of promos, is Booker (T) versus Big T, a/k/a Ahmed Johnson. Anyone ever want to see Ahmed Johnson and Booker T go at it? No? Me neither. Next.

Booker T deserves his WWE HOF, just off the strength of making Ahmed Johnson look halfway watchable.
...the match was still pretty shit, though.

More promos--shit, the promos are longer than the fucking matches!!!--and we get Billy Kidman and Vampiro. You know what? This is probably the first WIRTB Review that I'm ready to say FTS halfway through. I made it through Greed with less anguish. Vampiro and Kidman look like they're trying to legit kill each other. One of the announcers says "In two years, this match will be for the world title."

I just said fuck it all to hell at this point. But, then it gets worse.

David Flair, Daffney, and "Crowbar" go up against the Mamalukes for the tag team titles.

We hear her screams throughout the match, something akin to some sort of horror porn. Her wig comes off as she does a frankensteiner-like move. She then sprays hair spray (again, WCW?) in someone's eyes. Y'know what...fuck this shit. Fuck this company. Fuck this PPV. Even the commentators are shitting on this. And not in the WWE somewhat still halfway well-intention-having type of way.

Ernest Miller is out after this shitshow (David Flair and company won BTW), insulting the crowd and calling them "rednecks" (didn't True just write something about this sort of thing) and telling them that James Brown was still on his way. We get a fat imposter. Then, of course, the real James Brown comes out.

Just when you think things couldn't get worse, it was later revealed that WCW didn't gain a single penny from having James on the show because (derp) they forgot to actually promote it. What's even worse is this: the WWE Network dubbed over his music. What's even worse still is this: this fuckery took up more time than any of the gotdamn matches. I know it's James Brown, but...fuck this.

Scott Hall appears in a promo and give the DX Crotch Chop. I think that's how little ANYONE cared about this PPV. He doesn't even do the "Scott Hall/X-Pac version." Guys, I'm going to be honest...I can't fucking do this shit. I've seen shit, and I've seen horrible crap. But, no. Just...no.

The end matches:
Ric Flair wins the "death match."
Hulk Hogan wins against Luger, then proceeds to beat the dog piss out of him with a belt. Flair comes back out, and then OMFGITSSTING!
The main event (Sid vs. Hall vs. Double J) ends in a shitshow. Everyone and their mom comes out and starts to get in on the action.

Fuck this PPV straight to hell. Don't watch it. At all. Ever. I'd recommend Greed and December to Dismember followed by Heroes of Wrestling before this.

I'm Speed on the Beat, signing off on another edition of WIRTB Review saying I review this crap, so you don't have to.

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Eyes on the Ring 3:47 PM  No comment