MLW Workrate Report
What worked ---
My electricity: Finally, a long shitty weekend of wondering when and if it would come back on, finally over. Not having electricity is okay if you know you didn’t pay the bill or something and can fully dedicate yourself to not having normal shit going on, so you can make an indoor camping party of it or something; but being that limbo where it could conceivably return to working at any minute, well then, you’re just sitting around, not really doing anything in either direction. I did make myself blinder by reading an entire copy of Paranoia magazine, cover to cover, by kerosene lamp.
What didn’t work ---
The Raven vs. CM Punk recap for the first five minutes: Okay, if you’re gonna use the first five minutes of this week’s show to recap what happened in the last ten minutes of last week’s show, it should be one of those once-in-a-lifetime barnburning blood feuds. Raven/CM Punk is not even close to that level. Perhaps a quick highlight and a fresh promo would’ve been appropriate enough, but basically replaying the match – that shit is stupid. As terrible as the WWE is, and MLW is basically marketing itself as an alternative to that “Evil Empire,” Goldberg/Bischoff tomfoolery is more enthralling than a repeat of Raven vs. CM Punk. That’s now how you want to do business. I would assume that with all the internet-based advertising on the MLW show, they are online nerds, and have thus over-estimated how completely over this feud would be, since it headlines ROH shows as well. Well, that’s fuckin’ stupid. First off, internet fans turn quick, and they already hate the Raven vs. Punk feud, and secondly, you don’t want to cater to the computer on the television. Court Bauer, if you’re the internet nerd money mark I’m assuming you are, you are wasting your fuckin’ money right now. But thanks for having a good match every now and then. If only there were seventeen more just like you…
Michael Shane & Francine vs. Norman Smiley & G.I. Ho: Francine is an absolutely horrendous woman, and I think about how Missy Hyatt was semi-attractive in the late ‘80s, dare I say she was hot, and how she looks busted twice over nowadays, I can only imagine that Francine, never having been really attractive at all, is gonna look super-busted and garishly gross, much more so than the most worstest milfhunter clip you could imagine, in a good ten years time. I can’t imagine the terrible child molestation nightmares Francine must’ve been put through for her to have such low self-esteem that filling her chest with silicone and prancing around in front of degenerate assholes while wearing skimpy clothes, all for cheap catcalls in between “She’s got herpes!” chants seems like a great idea. I think of how sexy Lucinda Williams is, and how she doesn’t flaunt her sexuality, but just is a beautiful woman, and how Francine and most women don’t even go that route anymore and would rather have desensitized fake breasts and chemically induced blowjob lips just to please men, who aren’t exactly prone to fireside clit massages anymore, rather they’d dog you out then brag about it in a room full of guys, talking about how “pimp” they are to other guys, sharing the bonding emotion of lovemaking with other men rather than women, which is really gay psychologically, and yet denying the physical homosexuality by mistreating and not loving on the women. It’s pathetic. Norman Smiley is depressing as well, because in the lucha I’ve seen with him, he’s not bad at all, and the Euro shit I’ve seen, he’s not that bad, but post-WCW in America, he’s that black guy who does the Big Wiggle, where people basically cheer for his sexual innuendo gimmick above all else. This match is basically just one big sexual innuendo, and I’m sure John Ritter is tossing in his fresh grave as the childish double entendres of this match made Three’s Company look like Shakespeare. Shit, this would be even better if Mr. Ferley was the second ref, and when Smiley goes to do the Big Wiggle on Francine, camera closes in on Ferley ringside doing that boiling over face with the bug eyes, then back to the ring for the Michael Shane superkick that misses by six inches. The women invariably do their rolling around clutching each other’s hair bit, and Styles says “CATFIGHT!” twice, and I’ll add fifty cents for those tired catchphrases in addition to any “Oh my Gods” he musters up. Smiley gets handcuffed to the ropes, and Shane sets G.I. Ho up on a table, then splashes through her, and Joey Styles is trying to get over how evil it is, but shit, just a few minutes earlier we were all supposed to be cheering how awesome it was when Norman Smiley was gonna beat the evil woman out of Francine. If you want to get Shane over as an ominous woman-beater, you can’t be endorsing any other woman-beaters in the same match, much less the same show, because the sides are blurred from black and white to shades of grey, and if it’s all grey, it turns into a cult of personality battle in the wrestling world, and not simple faces and heels, and if there’s grey area, then the fans are gonna end up cheering some dumb shit you wish they wouldn’t have. Ahh, sex and violence, all mixed together as Monday night entertainment. God Bless America.
Mana vs. Rich Criedo: Styles busts a “good Lord” after Mana knife edge chops Criedo, which is a slight reworking of Styles stupid ass “Oh my God”, but I’ll let it slide. Mana is slow and lumbering, and not in a good monster wrestler way, but more of a “I don’t really care” way. He gets a second rope Samoan drop for the pinfall to end a terrible squash match. If you’re gonna have a squash, just go ahead and commit to it. Nobody needed to see Criedo make a dastardly come-back in there at all. Have him get murdered by your lumbering hero, and end it quick.
The announcement of a Terry Funk vs. Steve Corino match for the next card: Hey, this was pretty good when it was Funk’s last “last chance” in ECW in ’97 leading up to the first pay-per-view they had. He was really old and fighting against all odds then, six years ago, and by now it’s kind of played, and I like Corino more than most folks do, but he and his Extreme Horsemen are no Raven and his Nest or Flock or whatever the one in ECW was called. However, if this “last run at the title” means that somehow Tommy Rich will again be on my television in camouflage wrestling trunks, drunkenly sassing the smarts in the crowd, then I’m all for it.
The promo segment: Sinister Minister’s Army of Darkness was weak, as the evil Jerry Lynn is a very public access hokey evil. He should probably dust off the King Diamond CDs before he tries that again. And Mikey Whipwreck’s goofiness ruins these things every time and he should basically shut the fuck up. Oh, I get it, he’s got a red rubber duck with horns. Haha, that’s great. Even the Sinister Minister was off his usual quality promo game this time around. As for the Steve Williams promo, good lord, that was a train wreck. You start off with his cocaine-n-whiskey rasp talking down on Corino and company, which is good, until you let him go too far. But then even that gets out-retarded by Sean Paul music blaring, then P.J. Friedman running out as some high energy young, hip hop-infused foil to Doc’s old school shoot straight from the hipness? Good lord. Let me explain the work truck seating arrangement for you – the old guy who owns the truck and gets the work sits behind the wheel. He is old school and likes to use “party” as a verb. Then you’re basic, to himself, hard-working guy who lacks the impetus to get his own set-up sits by the passenger window. And in the middle is the young knucklehead kid who thinks his music and his style of wearing pants and his fake platinum necklace and his way of swinging a hammer is the best. And if you’re that guy by the passenger window, like I tend to end up being, you’ve heard all too many idiotic arguments about whether to listen to the Marshall Tucker Band or 50 Cent, or whether to get biscuits for breakfast at the country store or Hardees, or anything like that, over and over, for at least eight hours a day, every fuckin’ day, all your fuckin’ life till you die because you don’t have no retirement account riding by the passenger window in a work truck. The last motherfuckin’ thing I need in my life is to have that tragic scenario played out half-assedly on TV by Steve Williams and P.J. Friedman.
Nosawa & B-Boy vs. Los Maximos: B-Boy looks so much like Homicide that it actually said “HOMICIDE & NOSAWA” across the bottom of the screen when they came out. That’s pitiful. Nosawa is world’s better than the other three in this match, all of whom are basically low rent luchadors. If you’re of the type to want to be a low rent luchador, at least do like Chris and Alan Stone and go to actual Mexico, and live the good life in the land of lounge and become a for-real luchador and not just some backyard rudo. Hey, Styles busted an “Oh my God!” for a kick by B-Boy, so that plus his two “catfights” now puts him in debt to me for five dollars. B-Boy wasn’t so bad on offense, but having he and Nosawa dominate Los Maximos at times in a match that Styles said was their first ever together as a team, well it makes the team that hypes itself up as the best in the World look stupid. I think sometimes people who make wrestling shows forget how to properly manipulate the psychological thinking of the viewing audience. I can dig that the live crowd wouldn’t want a squash and needs a decent match to keep them from throwing chairs at Atlas Security, but shit, on TV, it needs to come off differently. If Los Maximos are putting notches in their belts to be the best in the World, they shouldn’t struggle with two dudes who have never teamed together before, nor ever won a match on this here MLW TV show either. And to close it out, the best wrestler on this week’s show, Nosawa, does the job to the Spanish Fly, and I almost wish my fuckin’ electricity had stayed off for another night.