January 15, 1970 is a day that will not be forgotten. Combining the powers of Vince and Linda McMahon's world-famous loins, the golden one known as Shane McMahon came into our world. Once the doctor assisted him out of his mother's womb, Shane danced his first ever Shane-O Shuffle. In response, the entire world stood up and cheered for the boy they thought would become their ultimate saviour. In 2009, the saviour is gone. Against my wishes, Shane McMahon has resigned from World Wrestling Entertainment, breaking free from the sports entertainment chains. Where will he go? I do not know. How long will he stay away? I cannot guess. Will he be doing the Shane-O Shuffle, no matter the occasion? You bet.
Shane's accomplishments in World Wrestling Entertainment are infinite. He is a former European and Hardcore Champion. Also, that is all. Then again, legends are not measured by the gold around their waist, but by their impact on the business as whole. As Shane leaves the company that his own family built with their narrow-minded, stubborn hands, his impact is clear. Before he entered the squared circle, the wrestling world had never seen a wrestler who did everything he could to not execute a wrestling move. When a wrestler pulled off a suplex, Shane reacted by giving him the Coast 2 Coast with a trash can. When his opponent pulled off a submission hold, Shane would squirm out of that move and give him the Coast 2 Coast with a trash can positioned slightly askew. In other words, Shane innovated professional wrestling for the better.
Back at the McMahon family home — where every family member resides, creating an inconvenient and uncomfortable Full House situation — Vince, Linda, Stephanie, and Hunter are not taking the news well. Vince McMahon has refused to leave the living room, preferring to distract himself by watching current films like B*A*P*S. At the same time, Linda McMahon is searching through YouTube, flagging any video that hurts her run for senate. Without her big brother around, Stephanie McMahon is playing with his complete collection of Rollerball action figures. He has duplicates of LL Cool J. In the bathroom, Triple H is listening to Air Supply while thumbing through a photo album, which captures the good times he had with Shane at the roller disco.
Dear Shane; you will be missed. We will miss the way you wowed us as an on-air personality, hurling childish insults like nobody's business. As a part-time wrestler, you clearly proved that McMahons who wrestle once or twice per year are superior to individuals who frequently wrestle for their livelihood. Wherever the Mean Street Posse may be (I assume they are in heaven), I bet they are proudly looking down on you, grinning from sweater vest shoulder to shoulder. You did well. Now, let me tell you why we need you back.
Your name is Shane McMahon, and you are the master of gingerly falling from high places. As a result, you must be skilled at gingerly falling from low places as well. After all, many low places put together equal one high place. Out of all those falls, perhaps my favourite type of fall is the one you did on your head. Whatever you do, don't be modest, Shane. A thousand brain busters to a thousand WWE Superstars cannot match up to the brain-busting fall you took in that 2001 King of the Ring match with Kurt Angle. Despite Kurt's tireless effort to suplex you through that glass pane, you determined to fall head first onto that sweet arena concrete. You could have kept it safe by wearing some sort of comical pimp chapeau, but you decided to make one of those immortal King of the Ring memories instead. Risking your health and life, your head fell badminton birdie style onto that floor. I don't know about your neighbourhood, but in my neighbourhood, that sort of act makes you a megastar.
Your ability to fall on your head has humbled this soft spoken gentleman, who uses a helmet whenever he needs to fall on his head. In this era of low-risk, formulaic wrestling, WWE needs a person like you who can teach others how to almost inflict permanent damage to their brain. Redundant and repetitive storylines, matches, and personalities are not the factors that are hurting the wrestling business. In my opinion, the fact that nobody knows how to properly fall on their head is most troublesome. Without these falls, the current crop of WWE Superstars will never know what neck surgery feels like. I never had one myself, but I'm guessing it tingles.
In all my years of analyzing professional wrestling, I have seen numerous instances in which a wrestler will convincingly punch another wrestler in the face. Supposedly, wrestling schools teach their students how to make grazing contact with their punches in order to make it look as though they are actually punching others. Therefore, these students are amateurs compared to you, who has the best punches in the business. Since you are no longer with World Wrestling Entertainment, who is going to punch at nothing? Lately, Randy Orton has been quite healthy, showing no physical signs of a cold or a flu. For me, that is terrible news because that means you have not been around to punch the air in front of Randy, creating a cold-inducing draft. To my dismay, Randy's bill of health will remain cleaner than clean.
Your flurry of punches rivals that of Mike Tyson and Muhammad Ali, if Mike Tyson and Muhammad Ali were pastry chefs rather than legendary boxers. To this day, I believe that swine flu was caused by Shane McMahon pulling off lefts and rights in a crowded, Mexican hog pen. Even Stephanie McMahon's Special Slap, a finishing move that is illegal in fifty-seven countries, cannot compete with the power of your punch. Whenever mother nature's windy punch blows right by me, missing by several inches, I shall think of your punch and gently weep in memoriam.
The day that Kane tied you to the ring post and shocked your man business was special. For you, it was special because your man business was running low on energy and needed a boost. For the fans, the electrocution left them wanting more. "More testicular violence," they said, angrily and passionately with their salivating mouths. Although you never went for seconds, I hoped your WWE future would hold another battery-powered incident. Because you are leaving, you'll never get another chance to repeat history.
With your absence, WWE’s need to see this visual has skyrocketed. Every member of the RAW roster wants to try it for themselves. Surely, this electrocution shall make them the envy of all their friends. I'm not on RAW at the moment, but with this trend, I wish I was. The amount of times I get to electrocute my balls is minimal. I feel like half of a man without car battery cables on my Member to Remember. If anybody asks, let's just pretend I have that type of connection there. You should do the same, Shane. Wherever you go, people are going to ask why you don't have your junk hooked up to a car battery. What are you going say? You've got nothing. Please come back so your chestnuts may roast on that electrical fire once more.
X-Punk. Which Way Did He Go? Vince, We Have A Problem. These sayings will forever live in infamy for one reason and one reason only: they were on your baseball jerseys. You were never a professional baseball player. You never hit a home run, pitched a perfect game, or took performance enhancing drugs to hit home runs and pitch perfect games. Even though Cooperstown wasn’t calling for you, we knew the deal. With those baseball jerseys on your back, fans everywhere knew that you were a professional ass kicker. One look at your jersey-adorned person sent shivers through the spineless spines of your rivals. You had the sculpted body of a Greek god, yet you chose to hide it under a sculpted jersey, occasionally worn by such gods on game day. Good choice.
In addition to your wondrous jersey, loose track pants and a pair of sneakers completed your major league attire. In a land where muscly giants donned glittery spandex, leather, and nylon, you stood out from the bland crowd. Some say your appearance made you look like an out-of-shape physical education teacher who lived in his car, but I always disagreed. At worst, I told them that you resembled an out-of-shape jogger with low self-esteem. For hours, we argued back and forth, until I held up an actual picture of an out-of-shape jogger with low-esteem. In the end, I won the battle and the war. You're welcome in advance.
Back in the day, you were serious business. When Shane McMahon stepped into the building, money followed. World Wrestling Entertainment is a multi-million dollar corporation, but Shane McMahon was the one who gave them that money through his presence alone. If you listen closely to Naughty by Nature's "Here Comes The Money" and play it backwards every other second, you will hear a subliminal message that suggests a correlation between Shane and monetary bills. Unless you return post haste, the message will be lost. We will have no money, yet more problems. Think of what the WWE stockholders will do when they discover that the money is no more. In a panic, they might stumble upon Total Nonstop Action and invest the rest of what they have over there. Do not let these great people waste their money on TNA. Let them waste it on your father and the greater people of WWE.
According to your catchy theme — which touches upon real-world, money-related issues that are plaguing today’s society — money talks. If the wrestling fans' money could talk, they would tell you that are you needed in WWE. Without you in the company, your sister will rule the promotion, touching upon issues such as growing up and continuing to grow in the upwards direction. The WWE Universe doesn't need to grow upwards or downwards for they are never going to get any more mature than they are now. You may think that the WWE Universe consists of little children, but you would be wrong. In actuality, those little children are malnourished elderly people. In this economy, elderly people need two things: scooters rolling on dubs and money for their baby nanas. You, Shane McMahon, can give them at least one of those things.
No comments:
Post a Comment