Miscellaneous Brooding + In Praise of Steve Corino
by Matthew Damascus
Retro Bitterness Clearinghouse
WWF Judgment Day PPV:
I didn’t watch it, so I feel somewhat hesitant to give it the full column inches of hate it deserves. I have however read the reviews and it sounds like the typical dross they’ve been piling on for the past few weeks (seems like YEARS): continually putting the abomination that is the Road Dogg in high-profile matches, nonsensical title-holders such as Hardcore Champion Gerald Brisco and Women’s Champion Stephanie “Not the Tube Top, NOOOOOOOOOOO” McMahon, Dudley Boyz as crowd pleasers, Chris Jericho doing the tried (and tried and tried and tried and tried) and true pass-out-from-pain-rather-than-give-up recycled ending, and the continued descent of Uncle Eddy into Latino Stereotype Hell. Oh, I believe there were some matches too. Apparently one went nearly an hour. Where are my sparklers? So the question presents itself: Am I being a picky little bitch? You haven’t heard the half of it. After that little episode of “shock tv” with Pat Patterson proudly showing everyone the cutesy faux-skidmarks in his underwear, I’m totally uninterested in WWF product. McMahons-Rocky-Lots-of-Talky…
Where’d all that whining come from?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go mourn the slow death of the Hardy Boyz.
Raven (Career) Suicide Watch: Huge News!!
Okay, here’s the deal. At this moment, ECW is my favorite American fed (although Outlaw Championship Wrestling has a certain white-trash flair for putting on matches in strip-mall parking lots), but that doesn’t mean they can do no wrong. Case in point: Could they make Raven look any more shit-esque over the past few months? For that matter, could Raven make Raven look any more out-of-shape and unmotivated over the past few months?
But I’m over all that now. The clouds looks like they may be parting for once…
For you see, <a href=http://1wrestling.com>Dave Scherer</a> broke the news recently that Raven has been offered his full contractual release from ECW!!!! Free at last!
Now Raven, god among men, just a humble bit of advice– Run like the wind from Philadelphia! Not only will you become the god that you rightfully deserve to be, you’ll also work off some of that unsightly girth.
What was the point of all that babble? What does it matter? RAVEN’S NOT STUCK IN THAT TNN DEATHTRAP ANYMORE, WHOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
Current bitter thought of the day:
This Dean Malenko as the Godfather’s new best friend angle better have a huge payoff (i.e. Malenko dumping that fat bastard on his head about 48 times). I hate it when the WWF writers try to help wrestlers by teaming them up with inexplicably popular slugs. How much more clear can I make it– I HATE THE GODFATHER! His pimp gimmick is an insult to my intelligence, his coyly-veiled marijuana references are tiresome at best, and his flabbiness and absolute lack of wrestling skill makes me sick. Why does he have a job? Because the “fans” cheer like Pavlov’s favorite poochies whenever he hits the ring accompanied by some skagged-out looking strippers. Admit it, you love him.
Warm and fuzzy thought of the day:
Shange Douglas is increasingly becoming the highlight of my Monday Night viewing. The man FLINGS himself into the role of old-school dick villain with such gusto, that I can’t help but be impressed. We’re talking handlebar mustache and black top-hat territory here. THIS is the kind of shit that Eddy Guerrero should be doing over on RAW. I love him because he’s more bitter than I am.
The Heavens Sing the Name of Steve Corino
Fuck Mick Foley, Steve Corino is the new Hardcore Icon, as far as I’m concerned. The blading that he pulled off at ECW Hardcore Heaven just plain oozed pure crazed testosterone insanity. It certainly wasn’t plasma, my friend. The ring was covered in blood, Corino was covered in blood, his long platinum white hair even turned a sickly cotton-candy pink. At one point in the match, Corino was hanging upside down from the ropes as his opponent, Tajiri, was sizing him up for a dropkick, and the blood was pouring out in thick sticky puddles, not the weak little trickles we usually get from wrestlers on pay-per-view. Did I mention that at several points in the match, blood splashed on the camera? Coppola would have killed for that cinematography in Apocalypse Now. Steve Corino’s bloodfest transcended mere simple-minded violence and became art unto itself. I was near tears of joy.
