Maybe we could pan that camera back a little? Like maybe, I dunno, Columbus?
Best: Joseph Park
I love that he is an Impact Wrestler, but still represents proudly Park, Park, and Park. Because of course I do. Joseph Park is a treasure, and my life is better with him in it.
Worst: Bangin’ it an bangin’ it and bangin’ it
Just like last week, there are enough seemingly compelling things to read into that this should be a best. Also, everybody hugs. I love hugs more than Temple Grandin. I am the Ferran Adrià of wrestle hugs. The Bo Jackson of warm embraces. I should be popping like a Christmas cracker over all of this, but….ehhh. It’s so close. So close.
Brooke Tessmacher starts her journey of uselessness this week by strolling to the ring like a Vanna White robot who got her programming scrambled, all flailing presentation gestures and forced smiles.
Bully Ray is quick to assert that the club is stronger than ever. He hugs everyone, pumps them up, and intimates that everyone is the very best of friends (and also maybe they all sleep with Tessmacher? I dunno. That was awkward and weird). He gives Tito Ortiz the most “my mom thinks I’m cool” pep talk a grown up dude could give another grown up dude, because of course everyone is just jealous, and of course all of the ladies want to ride the Ortiz Express to Pleasureville, population just us gals.
I guess this lends credence to my thoughts last week that Bully Ray is just a scared dude in over his head, desperately clinging to a club that is crashing down around his ears. The tougher he acts on the outside, the less confidence he has on the inside. It’s working, to a point, but again, it’s got this awful sheen over everything. There’s no crisp emotional execution, it’s just yelling stuff. The idea is there, and becoming more and more recognizable, but there’s nothing to connect to.
Last week, there was something. It was small, but it was there. Now we’re left with Mr. Anderson’s muddy motivations and a bunch of leather-clad props. Is anyone gonna get sad about Garrett Bischoff? Doubtful. Does Tessmacher in any way have the range to make us feel sympathy towards Brooke Hogan and be an effective, nuanced character? I mean, B-Hogs didn’t, and filling the void of her inability with something as equally (if not moreso) vacant and vapid negates any of the buildup to get B-Machs in there. I mean, I know this whole mess probably wasn’t thought out beyond “they have the same first name and one doesn’t work for us anymore so let’s call Made in Sin and find out where they get their bras,” but right now the TOTALLY NOT FAKE hammer has more importance and emotional depth than this part of the storyline. The sting of infidelity is one of the oldest storytelling tropes there is, and the motivations for anyone involved don’t require a whole lot of explanation to be easily conveyed and understood by an audience. But who wants storytelling when there are hot pants, I guess.
Bully Ray then outlines the card for the evening, letting us know that each remaining member of Aces & Eights will wrestle, including his own main event against Sting. Tito, of course, will be sitting on the sidelines rehearsing his lines for three weeks from now, because I assume he has the retention rate of a goldfish. Out of everyone standing in the ring, Bully Ray can wrestle great matches, but throwing him into an Early Onset Dementia on a Pole Match? Ugh. FCK THIS.
Hey, Brookie dear. I would like to buy a vowel.
Worst, but secret best because I cannot stop laughing:
He looks like a wet cocker spaniel doing a weird Ric Flair-as-leather-fetishist impression. Nothing in the sentence I typed is a thing that should be happening.
Best: Mike Knox
You just keep smilin’, dude. And please call DOC to apologize. He at least deserves that.
I want more like this!
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