To the surprise of many, fans of the Swerved like to come up to me on the street and ask interesting wrestling-related queries. The other day, one young gentleman said, "Hey, guy with the face from that site with words." In response, I said, "What is your question or concern, boy with two hands?" For the next two hours, we commented on aspects of each others' appearance, which was equal parts fun and exhilarating. Moments after that conversation ended, he said, "How come you don't talk enough about WrestleMania?" In the end, I didn't have an adequate answer for him. For the past few years, I have reviewed WrestleMania with hilarious and informative results. Other than those golden pieces of writing, WrestleMania largely goes unmentioned. With this truth in mind, I would like to apologize to the Swerved's loyal fanbase of greasy dudes searching for naked pictures of Melina. In the industry of professional wrestling, WrestleMania is the biggest event of the year. Silly me for not obsessing over the annual Pay-Per-View. I feel ashamed, my family is embarrassed, and Tampax tampons have decided to sever all advertising ties with the blog. I have nobody to blame but myself. What am I going to do when I have those heavy days? Nothing.
For the next two weeks, I take the Swerved's official time machine (a cardboard box with a propellor made out of XFL programs) to April 2006. WrestleMania 22 was the twenty-second installment of the worldwide phenomenon. Peter Gabriel provided the soundtrack, that singer from POD who looks a lot like Matt Hardy performed, and Triple H was a parched barbarian. Looking back, I have much love for this Pay-Per-View. If you ask me, WrestleMania 22 is in the top 23 WrestleManias of all-time. I am not fooling; I am super serious. I swear on the grave of my deceased great-great-grandfather Seamus McFly. In anticipation for this year's event, I will look back at the WrestleMania before last. Please sit down, enjoy the article, and have some complimentary drugs or alcohol. Bring the kids. Infants get to read this article for free.
Ress-ull-mayn-ee-uh, n.
1. The showcase of the immortals
2. The biggest event of the year
3. Big Time (They're on their way, they're making it.)
(Even though Peter Gabriel's tune was the official theme, the Pay-Per-View used secondary themes as well because World Wrestling Entertainment isn't World Wrestling Entertainment without angry singers screaming at you over rapid rock guitar riffs. In a year or so, I plan to purchase the company out from under Vince McMahon with the billions of dollars I am making from the Swerved. This way, I will hear nothing but my absolute favourite tunes at WWE events. You know that what means? S Club 7's "S Club Party" will be the official theme to WrestleMania 25: "Somebody's Gonna Face Triple H." If you do not approve of my choice, I will kick your butt from here to Buttkickingville. Mad props to Bradley.)
Chicago's All-State Arena was host to the 22nd edition of the phenomenon known as WrestleMania. There was blood, sweat, tears, and McMahon ass. There were memories made that will last at least fifty Undertaker entrances. April 2, 2006 will go down in the record books as the day that heroes were born, dreams came true, and Cena was revealed as a member of the mafia. Why, John Cena, why? You should have emerged from a deep dish pizza, but no. You let me down, Mr. Cena. You let me down.
(Actually, if John Cena's entrance involved his emergence from a delicious deep dish pizza, he would have been booed. Not only would John Cena come out all gooey and cheesy, he would have ruined a perfectly good deep dish pizza. At WrestleMania 24, I expect John Cena to dress up as a Cuban refugee and enter Orlando's Citrus Bowl on an inner tube. On his way to the ring, he will ride on the backs of two alligators shooting fireworks out of their mouths. With this entrance, John Cena will cement his legacy. He will also offend Cubans, alligators and Cuban alligators.)
World Tag Team Title Match
Kane and Big Show (c) vs. Carlito Corinthian Leather and "The Christerpiece" Mast Christers
(Without "The Masterpiece" Chris Masters on weekly television, I feel incomplete. Until his unfortunate release, I set my alarm clock to "Masterlock Time." For your information, Masterlock Time gave me two hours of extra sleep. Bless you, Chris Masters and your shiny entrance robe. Your robe rivals my shiny bathrobe.)
Just so everybody is aware, I was cheering for Carlito the whole time because his hair was so impressive. I think his hair is on steroids, so I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts.
Carlito and Masters had difficulty working as a team in this match, most likely because Carlito's hair stole the show. This was a decent affair, full of Kane and Big Show signalling for the chokeslam ten times a minute, then Carlito and or The Masterpiece constantly landing on their backs. Honestly, I thought the young, stalliony, blue stud chippers were coming out of this bout victorious with belts, but I was mistaken. It turns out that Kane pinned Masters for a three count, which meant they lost. Someone should tell me these things, because I thought in the world of professional wrestling, the wrestler with the best body won. Anyway, the straps went back to the large dude and the larger dude.
(On the RAW before WrestleMania 22, Kane and the Big Show were involved in a humourous skit in which Show tried to move a forklift which blocked the exit of a room holding Kane inside. Kane came out of the other doorway and told Big Show that he managed to escape. For a moment, Big Show continued to push, but soon came to his senses. An awkward moment between the two ensued; the crowd received the skit with mucho laughter.
This scenario is similar to one involving myself and Jesus Christ. Some time ago, I looked back on my life journey and thought about the times of joy and suffering on the sandy path. When I noticed that only one set of footprints was imprinted on the beach, I asked Jesus why he would betray another and let a young man follow the lead of a follower who was not there. Jesus looked me in the eye and said, "I was driving a forklift the whole time. If I wear sandals on this beach, sand will go everywhere and I'd have to clean them. I'm not going to clean them anytime soon. Are you?" An awkward moment between us ensued. In conclusion, the audience from afar forced me to buy Jesus some sneakers. Thanks a lot, audience. Since he wanted Air Jordans, I had to buy them on Ebay. Now, I'm broke.)
Money in the Bank 2
Winner receives a future World Heavyweight/WWE Title shot, valid up to WrestleMania 23: "Somebody's Gonna Face Triple H"
Ric Flair vs. Shelton Benjamin vs. Rob Van Dam vs. Matt Hardy vs. Finlay vs. Bobby Lashley vs. Me (I guess)
Apparently, I became a competitor by accident. I was using a ladder to get a cat out of the tree at my home (Narnia,) but I ended up falling onto the Peruvian announce table in Chicago instead (I don't know why Peru is suddenly interested in WrestleMania). Passersby chanted E-C-DUB, which took me by surprise since I only wrestled for World Championship Wrestling.
(Today, I find ECW chants fairly insincere. They are emotionless utterances, empty like my wallet after buying Air Jordans for a gentle carpenter. I am so mad. I challenge every wrestling fan in existence to a match at WrestleMania 24. I can take on all seven of you.)
This was the spotty spotfest with lots of spots. I liked when Finlay hit Flair with the shillelagh, because senior-on-senior violence is very entertaining. It's too bad Bobby Lashley didn't win. Maybe his victory would have influenced ABC to bring back Whose Line Is It Anyway? to television. I don't care if his name is Lashley-- that guy is Wayne Brady. I expect him to form a stable with Drew Carey, Ryan Stiles, and Colin Mochrie in the near future. If he doesn't, I'll get ready to rumble.
(Bobby Lashley's WWE release made me sad. I do not understand why such a talent was let go without a fuss. Last year, Donald Trump proved his and our love for Bobby by tackling Vince McMahon and punching him in the side of the ear several times. Does Trump's love for Lashley mean anything to you, WWE? His love is like a ray of a sunshine on a overcast day. How dare you.)
For the second year in a row, Shelton Benjamin was the M.I.T.B. M.V.P of W.W.E.. He flipped a lot and did many inhuman things, like a springboard from the top rope to a ladder, and his transformation into a silvery liquid. I'm not entirely positive he performed the second act, but I assume he's athletic enough to do so.
(WrestleMania 24 will mark the third time that Shelton Benjamin will compete in the Money in the Bank Ladder Match. Once again, he has zero chance of a victory, but I hope to see him perform a bunch of spectacular moves. Perhaps he will climb a ladder, then climb down that same ladder. I can't wait.)
At the end of a tremendous match, Rob Van Dam successfully attained the Money in the Bank briefcase from the Money in the Bank suspended hook. He had trouble holding onto the object, but that's because it put on tons and tons of coconut oil beforehand. The briefcase wanted to look presentable at WrestleMania. Can you blame it?
(High definition programming has forced this year's Money in the Bank briefcase to get a real tan, not one that makes the briefcase look as though it is constantly bleeding orange.)
Congratulations to Rob, but he should be weary of the case's contents. Little does Rob Van Dam know that inside that briefcase, there are snakes. Snakes on a plane.
John "Bradshaw" Layfield (JBL) vs. Chris "The Crippler" Benoit (CCB)
Chris Benoit should have countered JBL's limo entrance with a blimp. Therefore, he could throw Canadian bacon (or, would that be Atlantan bacon?) from the rafters.
If you noticed, two exciting things happened before and after this bout, none of which made the actual match any better. Firstly, the ramp moving up and down was the greatest event in the history of our sport. Secondly, Jillian Hall had cleavage and thought the United States title was "so pretty."
(I never understood Jillian Hall's pairing with John Bradshaw Layfield. Then again, I never understood why WWE introduced Jillain as a girl with a hideous growth on her face. To give an adequate wrestler such an unnecessary characteristic is akin to giving a sweepstakes winner a million dollars, then taking two cents away from that person. The winner doesn't care and neither should we.)
If you like wrestling, Benoit and JBL did that. If you enjoy Eddie Guerrero references, you had several, both negative and positive. When Bradshaw did the Eddie shimmy dance, I thought he was trying to take off an imaginary, leather coat, but the cow mooing in his entrance theme wouldn't have approved.
(Cow "Cowshaw" Cowfield is my favourite entrance cow of all time. Don't bother telling me about other entrance cows. I'm not going to change my mind. Not interested.)
JBL won the title in a dirty fashion, countering the Crippler Crossface into a pin. He used the bottom rope for leverage. I notice that bottom rope gets fondled a lot. Well, it shouldn't dress so skimpily.
(When Rey Mysterio sets opponents up for the 6-1-9, his adversaries drape their bodies all over the middle rope. If the bottom rope is a skank, the middle rope is a whore. Stop giving it out, middle rope. Get some standards.)
I gave the match three thumbs up out of a possible six thumbs, because I only have eight thumbs in total.
Handicap Match
Booker T & Sharmell T vs. The Boogeyman T
Some people called this the worst match of the night. They claim the bout featured little wrestling and poor showings by all three competitors. To them, I say, "Your face was the worst match of the night." Oh, snap.
(Your face was actually the third worst match of the night. I'm glad you decided to put up on some makeup for once. Good for you. Enjoy your time away from the bell tower.)
When the Boogeyman put worms in his mouth and kissed Sharmell, I wasn't grossed out. Sharmell's reaction to the worm guts was fine, but the fact that she kept them on her face was mildly unsettling. When Boogeyman pinned Booker T after a falling choke bomb, that finish failed to physically sicken me too. Yet, when JR called Michael Cole "sensational" earlier in the night, I blew chunks and cried uncontrollably for a half-hour. What does that say?
(In 2008, I apologize for my unwarrranted reaction to Michael Cole praise. Due to Jonathan Coachman's brilliant colour commentary, I know now that Michael Cole is a national treasure and America's sweetheart.)
By the way, there has to be point when bait shops stop selling worms to The Boogeyman. He doesn't look like a guy who fishes, for sport nor for food. Am I crazy for saying this statement? Whatever you do, bait salesmen, don't let The Boogeyman purchase goods. He's going to do dastardly acts with them.
(As of late, the Boogeyman has disappeared. Last year's Halloween edition of ECW was the last time I saw the face-painted fellow from the bottomless pit. Did the Boogeyman hit the bottom of that bottompless pit? How could he? The pit is bottomless. Whenever it occurs, I look forward to his return. Due to the rising popularity of internet bait shops, owners of struggling small-town shops are eager for his comeback.)
WWE Women's Title Match
Trish Stratus (c) vs. Mickie James
Truly, the storyline between these two ladies has been excellent. Not only has their feud been built well but the participants have managed to captivate both men and women alike. What does that say to the males of the RAW roster? Get sex changes and feign lesbianism. It's for the good of the company.
(Feigning lesbianism makes the world go round, people. For centuries, inebriated college girls have made out with each other in the facial area to appear attractive and desirable to males of the same age in the groinal area. When one female French kisses her friend, they are trying to get attention. In addition, they are performing the act for me and me alone. Even so, I do not care for this sensual image for I find it derivative and unimaginative. When two sexy girls get together to build a breakdancing robot, I will care.)
I compare the Stratus/James feud to the one I have currently cooking in my brain. Now who wouldn't want to see this exact same storyline, but with Triple H and a returning Goldberg instead? Bill could re-debut as Hunter's biggest fan. This would beg the question, "Do you love me now, Triple H?! Huh?"
(The Triple H versus Goldberg feud of 2003 made me furious yet sleepy. Goldberg was made to look like a Foolberg. At the same time, I never felt Triple H got his comeuppance. You may think that Goldberg in a Mickie James skirt is ridiculous, but is that attire choice any more ridiculous than Hunter's championship reign of that year? Bicycle shorts without a bicycle? You must be joking.)
Throughout the match, I made the following comment: "Ladies, stop fighting. There's plenty of Milhouse to go around." Actually, I said my name instead of Milhouse, but it wasn't as exciting. Now, I know Mickie James is just a character, but I would totally have sexual relations with her. By sexual relations, I mean I would eat peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with Mickie James by the meadow. If "sexual relations" is really that other thing my sex education teacher was talking about (an act concerning the placement of a hot dog into a tunnel,) no thank you.
(My new production company, Hot Dogging the Tunnel Productions, will start up in the fall. At the end credits for television programs and films, production companies usually display their logos on the screen, along with a trademark soundbyte to accompany the picture. The logo for Hot Dogging the Tunnel Productions will feature a hot dog weiner lazily rolling into a train tunnel. The soundbyte will be a hesitant man asking, "Is it in yet?")
The bout started off slowly with sparse fan reaction. The match soon picked up with sudden "Let's go Mickie" and "Boo, Trish, boo. What do you have? Two big boos!" chants. The crowd really got into the match when Mickie began to work over Trish's left leg. Why Trish's left leg, you ask? Well, it's the one that broke Mickie's heart.
While I loved the match as a whole, the last minute almost killed it. Mickie James went for the Stratusfaction, but the weight of her cuteness brought both women down. She attempted to salvage the finish with a Mick-Kick, but the strength of her beauty lessened the force of the move. Good thing Mickie is so awesome, or this would have been a disaster of Jackie Gaydanian proportions. Actually, that statement is an exaggeration, but who's going to know? The President? The Pope? His Holiness Orlando Jordan? I don't think so.
(Silence. His Holiness, Orlando Jordan, has come from the hills of obscurity to address the universe. He is writing the letter O in the air with his finger. Now, he is writing the letter J in the air. His Holiness, Orlando Jordan, has returned to the hills of obscurity. May his message ring true for all eternity.)
Hardcore Match
Mick Foley vs. Edge's Shaking, Angry Face w/ Lita
At Wrestlemania, Edge's shaking, angry face ran wild. It was Shaking-Angry-Face-A-Mania. I believe this was the match of the night, but before it took place, I thought Candice versus Torrie was going to take the title.
(Thinking back to WrestleMania 22, look how far Candice Michelle has come as a wrestler and performer. Also, look at Torrie Wilson. I don't know what to look for in Torrie Wilson. If you ask me, just look at something. This is getting uncomfortable.)
From the start of the match, uou could tell Mick Foley was going to go all out since Socko was already peeking out of his pants. Where I come from, when you put a sock in your pants and allow a portion of the foot garment to show, you're asking for bloodshed. Both competitors were nuts, hitting each other with sharp objects and coming back for more. One time, a friend of mine gave me an accidental papercut. I tapped out for four years. I don't know how these wrestlers do it. I bet they "Don't Try That At Home."
(Have you noticed that WWE has changed their warning from "Don't Try This At Home" to "Don't Try This?" Thank goodness that they decided to slightly alter the wording. Tomorrow, I'll am going to "Try That." Sweet.)
I felt Edge's pain when he was back-suplexed onto thumbtacks. Jim Ross should have said, "God damn it! That man is not a bulletin board! Students, don't put announcements on his back!" Also, Lita got physical, taking Socko, wrapped in barb wire, to her food hole. I'm almost positive she has other holes wrestling fans like to talk about, but let us take the high road. By the by, I have an assignment for the readers of this recap. Next time you see Lita, don't call her a ho. You don't know her personally, so don't insult her with derogatory remarks. You should say, "Perchance, she prefers her field plowed in a consistent, orderly fashion by the strenuous efforts of man." By speaking this sentence, you will automatically become a gentleman. Good luck.
(Whatever you think of Lita, at least be glad that she was able to come back on the RAW 15th Anniversary Special and get an appropriate sendoff. Her last appearance should not have been a Survivor Series skit involving Cryme Tyme selling her undergarments and Monistat. If Shad and JTG can't appreciate the fast answers and faster relief that Monistat can provide, I have no respect for them.)
The introduction of lighter fluid into the match suggested to me that something big was about to happen. I knew someone was going through that table. My money was on Lita, but then again, I only had Monopoly money at the time. Edge spearing Mick Foley through the flaming table on the outside of the ring will go down as legendary, if Randy Orton doesn't RKO the visual first.
For those who witnessed this match in person or live on Pay-Per-View, let me ask you something: "What was Edge doing after the spear and the finish?" That's right. He was shaking. You all owe me dinner at Red Lobster.
(You never got me that dinner. I admit that Red Lobster is expensive but you must live up to your end of the deal. I am aware that your budget is tight. Therefore, I am willing to wait until the Endless Shrimp Special returns.)
Q: Who is the product of your semen?
A: What the hell?
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