MMM-98

I imagine there was quite a bit of head-scratching going on after PSites read last month's sarcasm-laced burial of “fellow heels” Shawn Michaels and Kevin Nash.  “Why, Stately, why?" you no doubt cried.  Because every aspect of the Michaels-Nash posturing smelled fishier than the Melissa Etheridge Fan Club after a dance marathon.

At the time I penned MMM97, I would have bet my left family jewel those frauds were positioning themselves for the old "come in as a creep, flop to fan fave" trick the sucker element in the stands never fails to fall for.  As you can see, my inkling was 100-percent spot-on--which is good because I'm quite attached to my left jewel...and vice versa.

Heels or not, Ive never harbored anything but utter distrust for this poseur pair.  I mean, how could one NOT be at least a smidgen suspicious about HBK's sincerity and motivation when he came out in NWO garb, speaking of "we" and "us"--despite the fact he never spent one day in WCW and thus couldn't have been an NWO alumnus?!?  Case closed.

And I wonder what Tekkno Team 2000 are doing right this minute.

Unbelievable but true--I was wrong once.  Not in print, mind you, but in error, nonetheless.

The record shows, when it comes to giving ink to unknowns who eventually go on to greatness, my "batting average" is pretty damn lofty.  Still, about a dozen years ago, I admittedly blew it.  (Please take a moment to recoil from the shock.)

The event was a card promoted by the now-defunct TWA.  Midway through, I watched a parade of indie hopefuls walking the aisle to enter a battle royal.  In the middle of this menagerie was an olive-skinned lad wearing ultra-baggy pants and lacking in beefiness, both of which contradicted what was considered "the necessary look" in that era.

What's more, the mystery youth's attempt to splash up his entrance with a fireball resulted in a minor spark sailing approximately 25 mm before fizzling out.  Even hard-hearted Stately felt a little sympathetic for the newcomer.  Poor soul had to be thinking, "Yowsah, did this ever not go the way I planned it!"

To complete the trifecta, the man's tenure in the battle royal was uneventful.  Initial impression:  "I wonder who this guy is related to, to have gotten the booking?"  Chances of becoming a major influence in the sport's future?  Shirley, you jest.

Turned out I was right about a relative being on the upper card; his uncle, The Sheik, was co-headliner.  Yep, the man I so embarrassingly undervalued was the masochistic, individualistic, not a statistic, kind to autistics, handy with chopsticks SABU!

The tale has a happy ending, however.  A few seasons after his TWA debut, Sabu has a return engagement--and floors hundreds of jaws with his spectacular performance.  To this very day, nearly 150 months later, I have yet to witness a single soul make such a phenomenal improvement in so little time.  All I can figure is, Bu--as he's known to us friends--sensed my initial disappointment, and thus fully dedicated himself to impressing me in the future.  

Today, whenever I see the Dudleys ripping off the table-bursting, RVD performing a second-rate imitation of the Arabian facebuster and calling it a Van Daminator, or even Tommy Dreamer billing himself as an "innovator," I have to chuckle at my gross miscalculation way back when and sigh over how many pretenders rode Sabu's coattail to prominence.

And I wonder what Duke The Dumpster is doing right this minute.

I see Trent Acid was invited to the UK and we, in exchange, got our first peak at Johnny Storm vs. Jody Fleisch on American soil.  In other words, we wuz bamboozled.

Oh, sure, I read all the accounts of their "4 1/2 star" matches--but what these reports "forgot" to clarify was that four of said rating points were for Storm, and half for Fleisch!

Storm is clearly the finest bonebender to come out of England in ages, yet even a man of his remarkable skills and agility could only do so much to carry The Peanut Currently Known As Jody Lice.  I couldn't help wondering how many mirrors the strapping Storm broke to be saddled with having to face a guy who could appear in the next Austin Powers pic as Mini-Mini-Me.

Have you seen the Anti-Giant yet?  Rumour has it Fleisch attempted to visit a buddy backstage during a rehearsal for the Broadway version of The Wizard Of Oz, but a casting director stopped him and said, "Sorry, fella, we've already held the auditions for the Munchkin roles."

Making matters worse, Fleisch apparently thinks he's above using time-honoured foreigner-wrestler moves such as the clawhold and salt-throw.  No, the snob insists on performing show-off techniques like the springboard 720 DDT.  I for one was appalled by this shameful lack of sportsmanship.

Johhny, you're welcome to return anytime.  Maybe join forces with Lance Storm, Quiet Storm and Hurricane in a tornado tag match or something.  As for you, Fleisch, I've got an official Kurt Angle lighter (oh, it's true) that would be perfect for alighting beneath your passport.

And I wonder what Outback Jack is doing right this minute.

Let's see, Mr. McMahon pays his writers thousands per week, they dilly-dallied for more than a month over what to call Brock Lesnar's finisher, and finally came up with...the freakin' F-5???  I'm surprised Vince wasn't holding up his checkbook and evoking the ECW chant, "Refund, refund, refund."

Come on, scribes, couldn't you at least have devised something basic like "the Brock 'n' roll," "the Brockbuster," or even "the Brock-worst"?  Since you're dying to know, I would have gone with "the BLT."  See, Brock's initials are BL, and when he has the victim across his shoulders, it forms the letter...um, I don't really have to explain the rest, do I?

And I wonder what Todd Pettengill is doing right this minute.

Just curious:  If we were expected to believe Big Ego, er, Big Evil's wife's married name is "Sara Undertaker," doesn't that suggest his first name is actually "The"?

Also curious:  If Latino Heat's sis wed her Oscar-winning fiance after he offered to buy her a hat shoppe, would that make her Mrs. Guerrero-DeNiro with sombrero danero?

And I wonder what Virgil, er, Vincent, er, Mr. Jones is doing right this minute.