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jswift@student.highlands.edu

November 19, 2007

 

Well, it’s once again Thanksgiving time in the Americas, and for most folk, that means gathering around the dinner table with loved ones, digesting inordinate amounts of turkey, and falling asleep while watching trivial NFL games. Unfortunately, as a strong proponent of “being different”, I won’t be engaged in any of the activities listed above. The way I see it, the whole world’s going to heck in a hand basket, so why sit around pretending to enjoy the misery you’ve accrued? These are the “bad old days” that we’re currently living in, and I’ll have no part in even attempting to exalt the timeframe as anything more than a big, fat dollop of pure Grade-A hooey.
Today, I will not celebrate what I am thankful for. No, that’s old hat. Today, I will publicly decry several aspects of the combat/sports/entertainment spectrum that I find non-beneficial to the overall wellbeing of all facets of the business. In other words, I am going to do what I do best: complain.

I’m not thankful for Vince Russo still having a job. As an actual…what do you call those people that think they’re better than everybody? Oh yeah, Christian, I believe that Mr. Russo is eligible for heretic status. Now, I’ve never believed in the concept of burning someone alive in the name of religious conviction, but to be fair, most martyrs never screwed up TNA, either. It’s Thursday night, I have expanded cable, and I want to see the X- Division, not twenty gajillion hours of backstage nonsense and whatever you call those things Abyss is involved in. Hey, I didn’t spend all summer examining the ramifications of a spiritual enlightenment only to have my religious indoctrination razed by a guy that can’t book a tag bout without fifty run-ins.

I’m not thankful for writing staffs in general. How hard is it to script a show, anyway? You have the basic plot premise laid out before you; guys beat each other up. The end. Nowhere in that formula is there the term “leprechaun lovechild shenanigans”. You never saw Misawa and Kobashi feuding over the fact that Misawa kicked Kobashi’s dad in the face during a PPV bout. Anderson Silva never stalked Rich Franklin’s kid at football practice and threw him in a half-wing choke ON CAMERA thus committing an act of felonious assault without nary a police report failed. Writers, stick to what you do best…not writing while on strike.

I’m not thankful for Dana White’s inability to sign lucrative contracts. You have the Brett Favre of MMA in Randy Couture yet you’re paying him less money than it takes to produce those dumb gladiator openings before every UFC show.
Okay, I get it. The fighters are all Spartan-like, sheesh. Anyhoo, the UFC loses the penultimate champion in Randy Couture and THEN they can’t spill enough petro-dollars to sign Fedor, whom ended up getting abducted by the Russian national team, apparently. Dana White is like the reverse Eric Bischoff…he WANTS to conserve money. As the great economist Ben Franklin once said, “You’ve got to burn money to earn money, now I’m going to go out and get drunk and make out with fatties.” Take heed, Captain Sailor Mouth (the part about spending cash, not smooching on tubby skanks while inebriated.)

I’m not thankful for the media. CNN produces crappy, half hearted docu- fiction pieces that make everyone in the industry look like they’re hopped up on goof pills and strangling their babies. Now, The Dynamite Kid is a great anachronism from the days of yesteryear, but profiling him as a side effect of the modern day drug culture is akin to bringing up Nikki Sixx’s O.D.ing as a CURRENT scene activity of metal in the year 2008. Yeah, they were important, but let’s face facts, neither one of those guys are relevant today (sorry to besmirch the sacred Crue, Professor), but kids nowadays aren’t exactly cranking up “Livewire” and they sure as heck aren’t watching the 1985 bouts of an indecipherable bloke with a metal prod jotting out of his foot.
Oh, and Nancy Grace? I challenge you to a flaming tables match, LIVE this Sunday, only on PPV.

I’m not thankful for ROH getting PPV. I prefer my niche Indy feds the way I like my coffee: on the fringe and available only to the most hardcore of pursuers. As it turns out, Ring of Honor has taken a noticeable dive in quality since that whole “getting some semblance of exposure” thing, and while I’m never one to bait with childish name calling, YOU SOLD OUT! YOU SOLD OUT! Sorry. Had to do it.

I’m not thankful for Paul Heyman sitting around the house not working when he could be scripting awesome shows while simultaneously running said programs into the ground. I’ll take a guy that runs a company into bankruptcy financially over a guy that runs a company into bankruptcy creatively any day.

I’m not thankful for CM Punk making straight edge more apparent to the general culture. Granted, I’m both a devout edger and a fan of Punk’s unique brand of faux Japanese-style tussling and/or being skinny, but the same way I believe faith should be relegated outside of aspects of the ring, so should personal non-religious doctrines. I was wearing a sXe shirt at school and making great stride with a female friend of mine, and just when I was about to hit a ground rule tongue play, some Neanderthal claps me on the back and says “Yeah, that CM Punk is a (derogatory term)! Batista could totally kick his (expletive-gerund) (expletive-noun)!” New rule for life; all marks should be required to take classes on German expressionism, solely for the fact that it may make them less tard-like while in the company of internet-savvy writers about to score some on campus tonsil rugby.

I’m not thankful for lucha libre being so darned hard to find in the States.
Attention, retailers and cable programmers, I don’t want to sift through crummy DVD offerings from 2003 when I could be kicking back and watching lanky Mexican fellows in masks and ridiculous attire pretend to have the leg strength to reverse-ify 170 pounds of human meat while in mid-air trajectory.
Come to think of it, I’m not thankful for this whole gravity deal, while I’m at it. As far as I’m concerned, the concept of a unifying overseeing physical property that dictates aerodynamic principles is a farce. We all know that Jack Evans killed gravity back in 2003 anyway. (RIP, Gravity. 1737 - 2003.
Cause of Death: Triple reverse back shooting star press 720 frog twist bomb.
He is survived by his long time life partner, the concept of time. He will be
missed.)

I’m not thankful for Paul Leve…Paul Levas…HHH. Nobody is.

I’m not thankful for the Grim Reaper. For some reason, he has a vendetta against the industry, and with the annexation of Mike Awesome and Scott “Bam Bam” Bigelow to the great big show in the sky, it looks like the next ECW PPV may have to take place on a cloud with special guest enforcer St. Peter.

I’m not thankful for outdated, lethargic IWC response. Come on, get happy.
You have so much to live for, like…okay, I’m drawing a blank. Die, IWC, die.
Good riddance.

Finally, I’m not thankful for the fact that I’m not thankful for several aspects of “the industry”. Do you know how much moolah (nor of the Fabulous
variety) I’ve spent on old Pride and All JPN shows in my day? That’s right, a lot. I don’t want to see my beloved combat/sports/entertainment subjugation go the way of the dodo, so for all of you no-goodniks out there fouling up our recipe, I’ve got two words for you: Please stop.

Enjoy your Thanksgiving/Canadian Independence Day/Zimbabwe Electric Eel Celebration Week, Day 5.

Your friendly neighborhood (TNA Gag Order Does Not Allow Us To Print Name Of Author That Shook The World Last Sunday).