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“The fans used to have a real choice between the circus wrestling
of the WWF and the hard-nosed, no-nonsense wrestling of the NWA”
–
It’s NWA tag team wrestling, but not as you know it. Throughout
the eighties, you think NWA tag teams, you think of the matches
between the Midnight Express and the Rock ‘n’ Rolls,
the wrestlers who perfected the formula via Memphis and the Mid
South. This match takes place in early 1987, but goes back to the
real old school, ignoring the innovations that had been made during
the decade by these two teams, and heading straight for the early
1970s.
The Mid-Atlantic territory was built on tag teams such as The
Anderson's, and defined by the stiffness, credibility, and all-out
psychology of Johnny Valentine and Wahoo McDaniel. Real men, and
real professional wrestling, and that’s what this match is
all about. Everyone just looks like a wrestler. The meat of the
match is Dick v Barry, and you know that’s got to fucking
rule. Murdoch brings the best punches you’re ever going to
see, the nasty forearms in the corner, and the MANLY professional
wrestling. Windham’s the greatest face-in-peril ever, getting
the shit beaten out of him but he’s got the badass offense
ready for his fiery comebacks. Ivan Koloff was seriously underrated,
perhaps written off by those who didn’t watch much of him
as generic Russian heel. He knew exactly how to look good while
putting his opponent over. The last I heard of him he was sending
out leaflets urging aspiring wrestlers to wrestle for Jesus, but
back in the day he was doing it for Mother Russia. Garvin’s
got the stigma of being one of the poorest World champions, but
he had a streak of Valentine in him, and after watching him, no
one could doubt that what they were seeing was 100% real. He’d
chop the shit out of you, and you better make sure you hit him just
as hard if you want him to sell for you. It’s real simple
storytelling, but the do it so well. The heels cut the ring off
in two and you know it’s one of those epic tags when the babyface
is so helpless that his corner seems like a million miles away,
and he’s stuck in this trap. When the tag comes it all breaks
loose, and you know why you love that professional wrestling. Or
as they say in Australia, “Blokes Wrestling”.
Now....
This is why the NWA is great. They’ve got all these great
feuds and storylines going on, but they’re all linked together
in some way. Every Saturday in those TBS studios, and dozens of
little studios all over the country, they manage to create this
world that transcended these modest surroundings, and all the characters
that told you these stories somehow overlapped. Crockett Promotions
was the shining star in our fake little universe. That US tag match
ends when Jim Cornette comes out and blasts Garvin with the racket.
Heels makes the cover and we have new US tag team champions. A few
weeks later, Cornette interferes in a Garvin match and throws a
fireball in his face; in Detroit the fans had become desensitized
after decades of The Sheik’s antics, but in Greensboro you
might as well have shot the guy. To everyone’s surprise, it’s
Gorgeous Jimmy Garvin who makes the save. Yeah, he’s a bad
guy and he shouldn’t be helping the guy from the other dressing
room, but that’s his brother who got burnt and while they
may have different philosophies, you don’t fuck with family.
Jimmy Jam goes nuts and starts beating the hell out of any heel
he sees, before putting his bro in the car and racing off to hospital.
Right there, you’ve seen a guy go from nancy-boy mid carder
to Wildman babyface crazed for revenge. Hey, it’s like they
always said, personal conflicts draw money. Now you know this isn’t
going to sit too well with a loud-mouthed motherfucker like Jimmy
Cornette. He comes out the next week wearing a huge permed wig and
feather boas mocking the more flamboyant Garvin brother, but he’s
safe in the knowledge that he’s got his boys to take care
of business, ranting as only he can. When it eventually emerges
that Cornette has been booked in a cage match with the man he scarred,
only then does all the bravado disappear and the Mama’s boy
becomes a crying little pussy; “I’m a good man really,
a loving man, a charitable man...heck, I even bought a copy of ‘We
are the World’ for Christ’s sake!” I still love
ya Jimmy.
Garvin defecting to the side of good seems to have co-incided with
mating season, because Ric Flair’s back in town after a tour
of the Orient and watch out ladies because the man is ON HEAT. The
object of his affection is Garvin’s main squeeze Precious,
who certainly isn’t bad for an 80s valet. He’s feeling
good about himself, and it’s time to style and profile. He
knows he’s the best and he announces his intentions to the
world before even talking to her, but he’s the Nature Boy
and he can do that. The first time he calls her out, he gets a slap
in the face, which should have given him his answer. But when you’re
Naitch, you interpret them as playing hard to get, and it makes
him even more excited. Next week he’s got a $10,000 mink coat
for Precious, but even then he’s not getting what he wants,
which inevitably leads to a feud with Jimmy Garvin. He seeks to
soothe his ego by holding Space Mountain auditions and bringing
some of the lucky winners (‘mountainettes’) to the studio.
Schiovane hits the jackpot when Flair allows the two girls to give
Tony a kiss, and Tony’s sly smile tells you all you need to
know about him. Tony Schiovane dreams of being Ric Flair. He’s
got an average job with average pay and he’s only an average
commentator, he got married young to his high-school sweetheart
and now he’s got to support five kids. There’s no time
to party, so he’s got to hang out with science-club geek David
Crockett and he’s plagued by self-hatred. I don’t watch
TNA, but the best thing they ever did was bring Schiovane in to
let 20 years of hatred off his chest. That’s post-modern wrestling
for you; the simple, clean-cut play-by-play man that you grew up
watching is now a fat, unshaven loser with long hair and a Hawaiian
shirt emphasizing his beer gut, moaning about his station in life.
Heh, unemployed announcers are more interesting than the X-Division.
Don’t let anyone tell you Flair’s overrated. Here he
is, the NWA World champion, feuding with mid-carder Garvin, having
THOSE classic matches with Barry Windham, contesting a small rivalry
with Brad Armstrong, and he’s still got the perennial challenge
of The Road Warriors, Dusty, Nikita et al. That’s not to mention
what he’s doing in all those other territories and countries.
Yeah, you could say he’s spreading himself too thin, but he’s
that confident in his greatness that all he’s achieving is
putting guys over and making them stars, and not it’s not
diminishing him in any way...so it’s all good and everyone’s
happy.
Flair’s having a little woman trouble, but there are more
serious matters to deal with. Ole Anderson’s been expelled
from The Horsemen, and we’re talking about an ugly middle-aged
man who’s not afraid to wear a T-shirt that states ‘DAMN,
I AM GREAT’. So he may have missed a few matches to see his
youngest son compete in the state amateur wrestling tournament,
but he’s back now and everything’s OK. Maybe not. Because
if you’re dealing with The Horsemen, you’re dealing
with Tully Blanchard. And if you’re dealing with Tully Blanchard,
you’re dealing with perhaps the most naturally hateable little
shit there’s ever been in wrestling. He calls Ole out, title
in hand and modeling the huge 80s shades and yuppie sports-coat
that reeks arrogance. He makes an off-the-cuff comment about Ole’s
kid, calling him a ‘snot-nosed punk’ and Ole does what
everyone at home wants to do, punching Tully straight in the mouth.
Few weeks later Tully confirms his heel god status by coming out
wearing THE most obnoxious rich-kid preppie sweater you’ve
ever seen that just screams ‘PRICK’. So much hate. The
thing with Tully is, you know he’s an arrogant arsehole in
real life, and the Tully you’re watching on TV is just a more
exaggerated version of the real thing. Ric Flair’s conceited
and loves to brag, but deep down you know that he IS the Nature
Boy and for all his bravado, you have to respect him because he
backs it up. So why the fuck is Tully so full of himself for? He’s
not a handsome man, he’s short, he hasn’t got a great
body, and he’s got crap hair. That’s what makes it worse.
There’s no reason for him to show off, but he still does.
He puts up ten grand for anyone that can beat him and the sneaky
bastard cheats and gets the win, so how could you not hate him?
As if being in the Four Horsemen, the elite group in professional
wrestling, wasn’t enough, he has to go off and form his own
subsidiary just for himself, Tully Blanchard Enterprises. What a
dick. The managing director of this operation is JJ Dillon, who
does the perfect portrayal of the slimy scumbag corporate exec who
makes his secretaries sleep with him and has all kinds of strange
fetishes that his wife doesn’t know about. You fucking pricks,
wrestling embraces your sort, and I love you guys too.
What about the others? Arn’s blood and all, but he gives
one of those classic, business-like interviews, talking about how
part of being a Horseman is being able to sacrifice one’s
own goals for the greater good, and how the measure of a man is
how he deals with adversity. Flair ofcourse, waits for his men to
attack from behind before getting his shots in.
Now these two jokers are saying they come from the future, and
even their reverse-mohicans and claims that they time-traveled using
a flux-capacitor have me doubting them. They also say that the reason
they’re here is that wrestling is dead in the year 2002 so
they’ve come back to save it. Now that proves it, they ARE
from the future! Sadly, it’s all too obvious that they failed
in their quest because Russo, the WWE monopoly and ROH haven’t
been erased from the space-time continuum. They also claimed that
in the year 2002, Dusty Rhodes was President of the USA. Just imagine,
no more Dubya, but President Duthty talking about Thaddam Hooothayn
and his weaponth of math dethtruction if you weeeeeeeel babybuh!
So what’s Dusty up to while all this is going on, since he’s
not usually one to keep quiet and let others bask in the spotlight.
Well he was teaming with his Texas Outlaws partner Dick Murdoch,
who turned on him in a tag match. Seems old Dickie wasn’t
too happy about Dusty befriending Nikita, him being a no good commie
Russian bastard and all. So what does Murdoch do? He teams up with
the head honcho Russian himself, Ivan Koloff, and that’s what
brought about the first match I talked about. It doesn’t always
make sense, but it’s professional wrestling and we love it.
- from the Muthaship. Much like The Bushwhackers,
I never remember which of the heels is which; I think Tex is Henry
and Shanghai is Phineas. As much as Dustin tries to stay in shape,
he's genetically pre-disposed to have a lucha gut and man-boobs,
so he should have never bothered fighting it and just let himself
go. Watts was never THAT bad and by this time (1994) he was pretty
decent but he had already been tried and executed by the people.
Funny how you can hear the crowd going crazy for the STF yet they
seem to be sitting on their hands. Hmmm....Dig the booking - the
reason this match is happening is that Erik Watts was given a trophy
'by the fans' for having the best finishing hold, the STF. This
pissed off the Godwinns for whatever reason, and they stole this
trophy THEREFORE SETTING UP THIS MATCH. Maybe they had a great finishing
move too, but their constant jobbing meant we never actually got
to see it. Nevertheless, no magic unseen camera roaming around backstage
at opportune moments that happens to catch one wrestler spilling
the other's coffee and the commissioner/GM/owner just happens to
be there and sets up a match, but pretty simple logic of personal
conflicts leading to matches and outcomes which matter. Dustin gets
the win with the bulldog, with the smark in me thinking it would
have been more psychologically viable for Watts to get the victory
with the STF, a modicum of catharsis for someone who has been burdened
with accusations of nepotism his entire career. The mark in me tells
the smark to shut the f*ck up. Watts gets back his trophy, but Bunkhouse
Buck runs in and the heels beat up the babyfaces and smash up the
trophy. Bastards. I hope there was a rematch, and I hope that Erik
Watts got the win with the STF, a fitting closure to the feud. It’s
nothing great, but at the very least it’s honest and true
to what professional wrestling’s all about.
- from Memphis,
circa 1981. Barr is the future Jimmy Jack Funk and elder brother
of Art Barr, a man who would have been perfect for the Memphis territory.
Barr is managed by a young James E. Cornette, already perfecting
his style of trash talking as Lance Russell tries to calm the upstart
down. Cornette claims his protégé is a former great
Olympic wrestling champion and Barr even wears a gold medal to legitimize
his manager's boasts in the eyes of the rednecks; whether or not
he really did compete doesn't matter because this is professional
wrestling and they can get away with these things. This match is
a million times better than the Angle/Lesnar iron man boreathon.
It's not a classic, but it's smartly-worked, well-built, and tells
a simple story, which is all you can ask for from a TV match. Lance
mentions that Taylor also wrestled at college, and they use the
amateur base as a starting point from which the match evolves. They
go from hard-fought takedowns and reversals to the exchange of technical
holds of the professional variety, before finally moving into the
bodyslams and Irish whips, Barr establishing himself as the heel
by breaking the rules to gain advantage, and Rooster making the
ladies scream as he does his best to overcome. They had a ready-made
foundation, and out of that they built a story and established their
characters. Unlike Lesnar and Angle, two world-class amateurs who
chose to do no mat wrestling, and highlighted their shortcomings
by filling 60 minutes with repetitive german suplexes and badly
thrown punches.
– There’s no set line between a spot and a highspot.
A move can mean as much as you want it to mean, it’s all just
a matter of context. Well kids, let me tell you about a time when
you didn’t need 10 headdrops (and subsequent two-counts) just
to get a pop, a time when the simplest of all wrestling moves got
a genuine emotional reaction that the latest ROH flavour-of-the-month
can only dream about. Welcome to Captain Redneck’s Psychology
101, where the punch is the greatest highspot you’ll ever
see. Dickie’s a babyface here, and he’s in front of
his people, the common man who comes to the ring wearing a T-shirt
and a baseball cap. Nightmare’s a tubby masked heel, managed
by Eddie Gilbert. The story of the match here is that Murdoch keeps
getting the advantage and backing The Nightmare into a corner, but
just as soon as he’s about to unleash his punch, the referee
holds him back. Now everyone knows that Murdoch’s got a great
punch, but that’s the art of working. Once, twice, three times,
four times, the same thing happens, just as Dickie’s about
to clock him, the ref grabs his arm. The crowd’s getting more
and more pissed off, and when it’s a Mid South crowd, they’re
just about ready to lynch the referee. But all this teasing is just
drawing more attention to the inevitable punch, and building up
the anticipation. Even the sleaziest porn director knows that you’ve
got to work up to the money shot. Then it comes; drop-down, kip-up,
leapfrog, he cocks his fist back and the crowd start buzzing, then...BAM!
The sweetest fucking punch you’ll ever see. And it was just
a punch, but everyone in the arena erupts in this outpour of joy
and relief, standing on their feet because a huge burden has just
been lifted off their collective shoulders, that being Uncle Dick’s
inability to use that damn punch of his. It was also pretty cathartic
for Murdoch, because letting that out of his system means he can
settle down and do what he does that made him one of the absolute
greatest workers of all time – he can relax and have some
fun. Chill out and have a beer, because Dickie ain’t afraid
to bust out a few dropkicks and flying headscissors. Enjoy the party,
but don’t forget what made it all possible; having established
the power of the punch, it deserves an encore. What better way to
being it back then to simultaneously give a big ‘fuck you’
to that referee who took the rulebook way too seriously. Just as
he’s about to pull the trigger with another huge right hand
(which extra rotations so you know it’s gonna be a beauty)
the ref once again holds his arm back. It may have stopped him last
time, but this time he casually wallops Nightmare with a big left
instead. Simple fucking genius. As Gorilla used to say, ‘What’s
good for the goose is good for the gander’, so Eddie Gilbert’s
attempt to interfere is rewarded with a final KO, which Eddie sells
like he’s been shot with a rifle at close range. All that’s
left for Murdoch to do is to get the 1-2-3. The Nightmare, Gilbert
and the ref leave the ring as the house lights go on, and Dickie
stands in mid-ring as every last redneck gives him a standing ovation.
One of those moments where you feel you’ve just witnessed
the greatest match, and the greatest wrestler, you’ll ever
see. Here’s to you Dickie Murdoch, Cheers!
– The rudo team is
all kinds of great, an NWA 1990 reunion of sorts. Back then, Williams
wasn’t doing much of note, his post Varsity Club purgatory
consigning him to the occasional TV main event. Smothers was a good
ol’ Southern Boy and Joel Deaton showed up for a few weeks
and wrestled some bullrope matches against Tommy Rich. He used to
job under a mask as a Thunderfoot, and may have even been one of
the Ding Dongs, which would make this match rock even more if he
came down the Budokan Aisle with the bells ringing. This match took
place the week before the famous droppy-on-your-heady singles match
between Kobashi and Dr Death. Right at the start of the match, Williams
grabs Kobashi and nails him with the backdrop driver, knocking him
the f*ck out, and THE SH*T IS ON. Williams is confirmed as the monster
heel as he thwarts the attack of the All Japan home team, handling
them with ease. His sleazy heel sidekicks take over and bring the
Southern tag work, with Smothers not afraid to bust out his redneck
karate before hitting Kikuchi with the muthafuggin’ JAW JAKCER!
In All Japan! The move may have knocked out the Dirty White Boy
cold, but it barely gets a two count on Kikuchi; I am unable to
explain this strange occurrence. Deaton’s main contribution
to the match is sporting a perm/tache combo which immediately endears
me to him. Once Kobashi recovers, he’s pissed and sets out
to murder Williams, allowing Misawa to pin one of the lesser-ranked
NWA alumni. Kobashi doesn’t care that the match is over, he’s
locked on a sleeper onto Dr Death in a blind rage and no one can
stop him, despite their best efforts. Kinda like Bob Backlund losing
it on Superstars a year later. That’s MR Kobashi, plebeians
and I FEEL LIKE GOD!
-
This was on a dodgy EBay comp where all the matches have a strange
green tinge. Nevertheless, this fucking ROCKS, and smokes their
match at Summerslam '93. From early '91, and Shawn's still a rocker.
He's just bumping like crazy here all over the ring, and even does
a running over-the-top rope dive to the outside, which misses Hennig
but takes out one of the ring crew. Perfect then decides to out-bump
Michaels, and his bumps always looked great pre-injury because he
was just like a rag-doll. He busts out the flying headbutt into
the turnbuckle, the full twist somersault while holding onto the
ropes and getting his legs kicked out from under him AND the bouncy
hiptoss > beg off >crotched on the ringpost spot with bonus
Arn Anderson facials that say "The Enforcer ain't gettin' no
lovin' tonight". The match may end with a lame DQ when Boss
Man runs in, but it's more than made up for by the GOLD commentary
from Sean Mooney and Lord Alfred Hayes.
"Lord Alfred, why do they call that a EUROPEAN uppercut?"
"Well as the WWF superstars go on more international tours
now, they're picking up more moves from around the world. I believe
that particular form of the uppercut was popularised in France,
and was later adopted in Germany. Much like the delayed vertical
suplex....which of course originated in Hungary"
– From the murky depths of WCW Pro, sometime
in the autumn of 1994. WCW had a lot of charm. It was clearly the
‘number two’ promotion, but I loved it anyway. It was
more real, it was the ‘wrestling’ promotion, with better
wrestlers and better matches, equally likely to produce a great
match as it was to come up with the most goofy, inane sh*t. An intimacy
and realness that was too often missing from the overblown cartoon
world of the WWF. Oh, and the TV shows rocked because they weren’t
afraid to just throw two guys out there and let them go for 10 or
15 minutes. By the summer of 1994, Bischoff was realizing his dream
of legitimizing (in his eyes) our beloved WCW. Slowly, the likes
of Arn Anderson, Steve Austin, Ricky Steamboat, Big Van Vader, Barry
Windham and Cactus Jack – WCW originals – were replaced
by Hulk Hogan, Mean Gene, Honky Tonk Man, Brutus Beefcake, Earthquake
and Hacksaw Jim Duggan. My old pal, the WCW, thought it was moving
up in the world. Mr. Bischoff wanted to be like them folks up North.
The TV shows were removed from the Southern confines of the Georgia
Mountains Centre and the Cobb County Civic Centre, those small,
badly-lit arenas with their shabby production values. Now the TV
shows took place in clean, hi-tech studios with revolving rings
and spaceship interior designs, in front of wholesome family crowds
instructed on how to react, making lots of noise but lacking in
any emotion. Clean crowds, clean studios, clean wrestlers; f*cking
ugly as hell. A grotesque misrepresentation of WCW, certainly not
MY WCW man. Welcome to Ted Turner’s Fast Food Nation, where
homogenization is the order of the day, slickly presented and packaged,
but lacking substance. Your favourite local café knocked
down and replaced by McDonalds.
Well f*ck you Bischoff. As hard as they might have tried, WCW could
never become the WWF. You can’t deny the past and where WCW
really came from. At it’s heart, it was still a Southern promotion
derived from the NWA. It wasn’t the revolutionary force in
Sports Entertainment; it was the last territory that somehow got
lucky. No matter how hard they tried to change it, the promotion’s
heart was still beating....only now however, the true essence of
WCW could only really be found in the late-night syndication of
WCW Pro, the unloved stepchild of Turner programming. While Worldwide,
Saturday Night and Main Event originated from vulgar studios, Pro
remained the one show that originated from those dark arenas in
Georgia. Hogan and his friends would never slum it down there. Gordon
Solie, replaced on the other shows by Tony Schiovane and Mean Gene,
was relegated to the D-show that only the most hardcore fans, the
NWA fans, would have watched. While Bischoff gave PowerPoint presentations
to Turner execs using terms such as ‘consumer demographics’
and ‘brand recognition’, Gordon Solie (motherf*ckers!!!)
- old, drunk and reduced to repeating clichés – was
there welcoming loyal fans to another show. The Austins, Pillmans,
and Eatons went out there and wrestled in this familiar setting,
and I doubt the executives further up the corporate hierarchy cared
or even bothered watching this show, simply delegating responsibility
to some office monkey to ensure that a few more hours of TV were
produced. Wrestling shouldn’t have any f*cking ‘executives’
anyway.
At least the real WCW continued to exist buried somewhere in the
TV listings, the WCW that was evolved from Mid Atlantic and Georgia.
Which brings us (finally!) to this match. Let them have Hogan giving
his magic shoes to Dave Sullivan and Honky Tonk winning the TV title
on those other shows; here on WCW Pro, the Funks, the Rhodes, the
Fullers, the Andersons and the Armstrongs are still feuding after
all those years. Those names meant something to these people. Terry
Funk comes out first – old, scarred and bandaged, branding
iron in hand, and scaring old and young alike in the front row,
getting right in their faces. Rhodes is out next, taped fists, and
“they call him the Natural, the son of a son and a son of
a gun”. The Funker attacks, those majestic punches delivered
with the same intensity that his opponent’s father felt many
years ago. Psycho Terry then becomes goofy old Uncle Terry, comically
selling Rhodes’ fists, falling through the ropes and landing
on his arse, and tripping over the guard rail. Welcome to The Terry
Funk Show. They go brawling into the crowd and back out again, with
Terry bumping into the ringpost. Just as you start to feel sorry
for this old man who’s lost his mind, Terry picks up Dustin
and piledrives him on the arena floor. The fight continues, years
of family hatred still unresolved. Eventually, Arn Anderson and
Bunkhouse Buck run in for the DQ, putting the beating on Dustin
before Dusty Rhodes, the Bull of the Woods, runs in to make the
save. He’s fat, ugly and he’s got a roadmap on his forehead,
and he’d be laughed at if he ever applied for an MTV tryout
on Tough Enough. But he knows his people, and the people still love
him as he knocks down Anderson, Funk, Fuller and Golden with the
Bionic elbow. Southern wrestling dynasties colliding once more,
and it means less and less as time goes on, and these men fade away.
WCW Pro represented the ugly side of wrestling that they were embarrassed
about and tried to eliminate…and they succeeded. The South
fought one last fight and lost, no longer able to fit it with Bischoff’s
vision of a glossy fantasy world. Well WCW died and Eric’s
now playing a stooge on an awful TV show where the wrestling has
almost become irrelevant. Long may the spirit of the real WCW be
remembered.
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My insomnia knows no bounds. I am writing this (the intro at least)
at 4 in the fucking morning. I need sleep, but the idiot side of
my brain keeps me awake. This seems as good a time as any to start
on those ECW discs I picked up in HMW a few weeks back. They started
comping the television stuff when they ran out of events, and looking
at the match listings on the back, there could be a few gems on
them. So lets get cracking with disc 1 then, entitled Whoda Thunk
It? Somewhere, a certain Mr Lister is getting all outraged Daily
Mail reader style…..
It is now quarter past four. In DVD land, it is actually December
1994, and here’s Joey Styles…
This wasn’t promising to be one of those gems I mentioned
earlier. A handicap match, it wasn’t up to much. Highlights
where a ‘roid boys’ chant at 1 and 2, and…that’s
it. Afterwards, Bad Breed took the piss, therefore, a brawl ensued.
Etcetera, etcetera. Axl looked healthier than Ian back then.
After a video package that shows Cactus Jack could well have been
one of the best talkers of the 1990’s, we get highlights of
Jack and Tommy Dreamer getting walloped by Sandman and Tahmmy Cairo.
This conveniently leads to…
Jack realises the only to get that clueless drunken lump of shit
Sandman to do anything is to hit him very hard in the early going
with any hard object he can find. Cactus was working for four here,
though Dreamer looked OK, the match taking place a few years before
his body decided “fuck this lark”, he took a murderous
bump when he dived through the ropes, missed all people, and hit
nothing but floor (hey, bet you never knew that ECW NEVER padded
their floors). Not bad as brawls go, especially considering Jack
was the only one with the real talent. Cairo held Jack up for what
may have been a hot-shot, but Jack slowly dropped to a DDT for the
pin. Jack then cleaned house with the canes afterwards, also dutifully
whacking Cairo’s woman in the head with a shot to sate the
darkest misogynistic fantasies of the lads in the crowd.
A promo from Public Enemy ended the show, something about stealing
Xmas trees from the Rockefeller Centre. Let’s move on shall
we? The next episode started with the challenge to the Bad Breed
of “Loser Splits Up” against the Pitbulls, followed
by a shouty promo from the ‘Bulls. Of more interest was Steve
Richards using the name Stevie Flamingo, claiming Johnny Polo was
now working as a roadie for Stone Temple Pilots and Pearl Jam, and
then taking the name Stevie The Body. Doesn’t take a brain
surgeon to work out who was on the way in does it?
Aaargh!!!! This was bad, but the fact that I was using my PS2 to
play DVD’s came back to bite me in the balls, I accidentally
brushed a button, sending me back to the cunting menu, and I had
to watch the damn thing again! Loads of messing around here, and
not much that was any good. Richards wearing a hideous cross between
Misawa and Ogawa’s (ratboy, not the gormless faux-shooter)
tights didn’t help matters either. Green and white in colour,
same length as Ogawa’s and the zebra stripes. Urrggh. If they
had wanted to hint Scott Levy’s entry to ECW any further,
they would have wound up doing what WWE did with Goldberg. Not great,
Stevie won with a superkick and feet on the ropes. Moving swiftly
on…
Highlights from a battle royal aired, won by Ron Simmons, but the
last two guys he eliminated were Chris Benoit and Dean Malenko,
who then did a number on his arm using the ringpost. DAMN!!!! Another
bloody Public Enemy/NYC promo aired, but this seemed to build to
some match against Taz and Sabu. A promo from Paul Heyman (another
contender for greatest talker of the 1990’s) followed, hyping
the same said match.
Nice! Odyssey looked like an absolute jobber in that wet-suit, but
he looked impressive, while Malenko was as good as is usual. This
was at the time he was doing The Shooter gimmick, so he wasted little
time in applying leg-locks, followed by a Texas Cloverleaf for the
submission. Short, but good while it lasted, the best match on this
DVD so far.
Benoit controlled this with the stiff chops, forearms and tackles
early on, and it ruled. Then Hack got a bit of offence (SHAH…SHAH…SHAH!).
Not much though, Chris did his bit for Hack, then turned through
and hit a -SWEET AS ALL FUCK- release dragon suplex! Hack didn’t
move, and the recently christened Crippler (say it 10 times fast,
dares ya!) got a win via ref stop. Malenko came out to attack Myers
on the stretcher, and this led Taz (still with the Tazmaniac get-up)
and Sabu out after some taunting from Benoit. A melee ensued involving
TPE, as show two went off air with Styles screaming about the lunatics
taking over the asylum…
The listing on the DVD proved a misnomer here, as ‘Mikey
Whipwreck vs Paul Lauria’ turned out to be Lauria jumping
Mikey after a match, before revealing himself to be the newest charge
of Jason. If I knew anything about Paul Lauria I’d give a
shit. They also showed a clip of the Benoit/Sabu match where Sabu
landed on the top of his noggin. Fuckin’ gnarly maaan!!!!!
As I typed that the spell-checker on my PC rolled a seven in despair.
May it rest in peace.
Continuing my tradition in this review of keeping people updated
of the process of time, I am writing this on December 12, at about
1:30am. The last batch of ECW related stuff I wrote into this was
back in fucking August. It’s just been staring me in the face
for 4 months, and I can only be bothered to round it off now. Here
goes (again).
This one was all about the booking. Sabu did his usual chair and
table related stuff, and because he wasn’t half-crippled and
wacked on painkillers, it looked good. Taz did a lot of suplexes,
A LOT of suplexes. TPE did their schtick and the match itself was
pretty much a straight up brawl, with the faces looking to reclaim
the tag titles, and constantly coming within distance of doing it.
That is, until Benoit and Malenko interject themselves. One double
DDT on Sabu later and it descends to a no contest. 911 runs in and
cleans house (did he have incriminating photos of Paul E. or something?
Only reason I can think of for his presence). Speaking of Paul E,
he berates the NHL and MLB, claiming ECW is the only ticket worth
the money in town. A roundabout way of hyping the next episode of
this feud then.
After Douglas, who looked about 25 years younger than he does today,
healthier and in shape, claims Simmons ain’t gonna be coming
out after the number Benoit and Malenko did on his shoulder, guess
who comes out. Sling and street clothes, Ron has come looking for
a fight. He throws punches! He belts Shane with a cowboy boot! He
doesn’t sell the shoulder too much! To be fair, Douglas looked
decent in this brief match, bumping big for Ron, who wasn’t
all that popular with the ECW crowd for whatever reason. Douglas
stole the win by dodging Simmons running into the corner, and using
a roll-up to get the pin, much to the crowd’s approval. Douglas
did have a lot going for him in ECW, then come Barely Legal, he
cacked it all up. Ah well.
Afterwards, Styles opens an envelope containing Douglas’
next challenger. Tully Blanchard. As Joey puts it, “The Horsemen
are out for revenge!”
Myers wears a neck brace after Benoit killified him last time he
showed up. Raven is now mentioned by name, and is at ringside here,
looking like, well Raven. Not much here either (bit of a pattern
with Richards matches), Myers got a cool facebuster on him, but
Raven loaded his boot and walloped Myers, allowing Richards to sneak
the pin. Cool to see the start of one of THE gimmicks of the 1990’s.
Styles rants about how many tickets they are selling now, new bleachers
and all. He also gets a cheap shot on WWF over Raven’s transformation
(working in WWF will do that do ya!). Some general shilling of Benoit,
Sandman and new television avenues are mentioned. Oh shit, more
Public Enemy nonsense. Something about crashing a party in New York.
I’d fast-forward, but this is DVD, and I’m using a PS2
to play it. Thankfully that didn’t last long, so we get the
Extreme Encyclopedia, which could be my favourite part of this DVD
so far (with the possible exception of Benoit’s dragon suplex
on Myers). Smokerus Brawlus indeed! A rambling Ron Simmons interview
is next, he must been woken up VERY early to cut it, or else had
a killer hangover, because he looked absolutely fucked. Shane Douglas
may have spunk, but I don’t think it’s a detail the
whole world needs to hear somehow.
OK, before this Scorp is cutting a rambling non-sensical interview
about Malenko and Benoit, how then come out and smack shit out of
him for talking shit. One cut later, and Sandman is all over 2 Cold,
and Styles is talking about how the match shouldn’t have started,
and how he is “risking his career” by continuing. Nothing
like good old hyperbole and melodrama is there? All the while they
kept cutting back to a picture of Woman, who looked like she was
in dire need of a good stiff fucking (in my personal view of course,
may I volunteer myself?). Considering Benoit had just been out in
the angle part of the match, I won’t speculate any further.
I won’t talk much about Sandman for a few reasons:
a) He’s fat
b) He’s crap
c) He’s probably drunk and/or wasted
d) He has paid money to wear a set of strides that look like the
trousers of a painter and decorator after a days work.
So they brawl around a bit as Styles puts Scorp over for still
breathing or something, then Scorp gets up top, nails a moonsault
bodyblock and gets the pin. Out come Benoit and Malenko again to
put more beatings on Scorpio, and Woman starts thinking “Hmm,
maybe that Chris Benoit isn’t too bad after all.”
Now, this didn’t happen last time it was listed on the back
of the DVD, but here they are both centre-ring, so something must
be going down now. Lauria and Whipwreck were seemingly ex-mates
or something, but they aren’t now. Simple, but it gives them
a reason to be wrestling each other. Something a few bookers today
could do with remembering, either that or the mantra Jerry Jarrett
had in his office about making money (not the one related to pushing
his son to the moon either).
Basic stuff at the start, with one balls up covered clumsily by
just swiftly cutting to Jason at ringside for Lauria. Mikey going
all Cactus Jack on me with the clothesline over the top gets positive
mention, ditto with Lauria going Negro Casas on our collective asses
with a running Thesz press off the apron to the floor. Mikey pulls
off about the most athletic thing I’ve seen him do by jumping
from the top turnbuckle into the crowd and onto Lauria. We even
get a replay to prove it. Decent match overall, I thought Lauria
would monumentally suck and he didn’t, while Mikey had some
athleticism back then. Jason got involved with a weak kick to the
back of Mikey’s head, allowing Lauria to get the win. Mikey
then gets up and knocks shit out of Jason, before Lauria grabs a
chair (and struggled for it as well) and wallops Whipwreck.
Another Extreme Encylopedia, this time for Pitbulls and Bad Breed,
the match is for another DVD however, and this one has just ended.
Maybe I’ll review the second one some other time.
This was the finals of the 2003 El Numero Uno, but this was the
best example going of how great booking that draws the fans in like
flies to dog shit will make the match take care of itself. To fully
grasp why this rocked as much as it did, you need to watch the whole
show, and possibly the CIMA vs Dragon Kid match from the ENU league.
It wasn’t up to much, then CIMA fucked up a flip out of a
hurricanrana, promptly BOUNCING HIS HEAD OFF THE MAT. It looked
horrible, and I have no doubt it probably was. Going to the PPV,
CIMA had his neck hammered by Susumu (motherfucking) Yokosuka in
the quarter-finals, before CIMA eventually snatched the win (that
match rocked as well). A quick win over YOSSINO masked nothing.
CIMA’s already torched neck was not in a very good state.
Meanwhile Horiguchi had to come through the Dragon Scramble battle
royal to advance, then caused two straight upsets over 2 Toryumon
top-liners in Magnum TOKYO and Masaaki Mochizuki. If you ever want
to hear a crowd pop huge in 2003, those two are the best examples.
The response to Horiguchi over TOKYO was massive. I’d like
to think that TOKYO’s absolute shittyness had something to
do with it.
Anyway, the final was now set, and the crowd was pumped. Both guys
responded by pulling out the performance of their lives. CIMA for
way too long has been all about hype, and there was fuck all to
back it up. For whatever reason, the past six months have seen him
improve massively, the culmination of which was this. Horiguchi
also stepped up like I haven’t seen him before. Having played
the resident M2K/Do FIXER jester for the best part of 2002, it limited
his chances to pull out some high class shit on his own. Now he
had the chance to do it.
I’m not going to go into a multi paragraph spiel about the
match itself, because it will only descend into a multitude of flash
names for the moves both guys broke out. Horiguchi attacked at the
stack of dimes neck, using the GH Lock and Beach Break amongst others.
He also went for the flash pin methods that got him this far. Only
in this match will you hear such a pop for a bloody backslide 2
minutes in. As the time wore on however, CIMA took more control,
breaking out the Venus/Iconoclasm stuff you either love or hate,
after the newer stuff (modified Scorpion Deathlock, some ground
submissions I forget the name of, possibly including the one Tenzan
FUCKING STOLE from him) didn’t get the job done. CIMA eventually
broke out the Mad Splash to get the win.
Considering the El Numero Uno TV show was as boring as all hell,
they really pulled it around with the PPV. The purists will talk
about how most of the matches were short etc, but purists can go
and fuck themselves. I’d sooner take 4-minute matches with
a crowd doing their bollocks than a 45-minute match that might as
well have taken place in a vacuum. The finals produced a hell of
a finish to the show, and while not quite as good as the awesome
SUWA vs Yokosuka match from July 2002, this is the best Toryumon
match of 2003 so far. And it didn’t involve a 6-man, SUWA
or the Italian Connection! CZW style my arse.
OK, quick question for y’all. Has anyone seen footage of Richard
Slinger wrestling in the States? The guys name has popped up on
so many AJPW/NOAH cards for around 10 or so years, yet never on
a US wrestling card I’ve seen. Mind you, I haven’t been
searching too hard for the footage. The match itself then…Slinger/Kawabata
exchanges looked alright enough, Aoyagi looked like Akitoshi Saito
with the addition of 15 years, and Eigen gobbed on people. My dream
job = selling newspapers to the hapless buggers in the front row
of Haruka Eigen matches. I’d make a killing. Slinger got the
inside cradle to beat the saliva sprayer by the way. Usual NOAH
opener, it seems Rusher Kimura has disappeared off the face of the
earth though.
Misawa’s booking dartboard strikes again by the looks of this.
It’s about the only ‘logical’ reason for these
illogical teams. The camera kept cutting back to a shot of Hiroshi
Tanahashi during this as well. Maybe NOAH’s producers were
struck by the state of his hair or something. So, Rikio and Honda
clubber each other, Takuma/Naoki/Yuhi/whatever the fuck his first
name is now Sano does his usual stuff in the ring, Kikuchi disappoints
me by deciding not to blast that useless prick Suzuki with the hardway
headbutts, and Momota takes a pasting. Rikidozan’s boy drops
the fall here as well, Sano getting the win with a Northern Lights
Bomb. If you look REALLY closely at the top deck of Budokan during
points of this match, you can see Z’s floating across the
seating as well…
OK, what the fuck has Yone done with his hair? Last I saw of him
was when he seriously fucked his knee up in October 2002, and he
had a bloody afro then. He started off here against Misawa, and
any attempts to play up a ‘young guy shows his fire by taking
a kicking from the boss and giving it back’ descended into
farce pretty fast. Yone seemingly played for laughs, whether by
intention or accident I’m not sure. Meanwhile, the Ikeda/Taue
team got laughs as well, and I never thought I’d see the day
Taue got whacked in the nuts after Ogawa dropped Taue’s partner
into him head-first. I am by this point ripping my hair out by the
roots (fuck it hurts) in sheer frustration. So much could be done
here, but practically bugger all happens to execute it. Ikeda eventually
gets to the end with Inoue with a couple of half-assed Dai-Chan
bombers and a DVB, but what a fucking disappointment that proceeded
it. Corino’s accusation that Misawa phoned in on house shows
can now seemingly be extended to non-important televised matches.
They can also be doing a HELL of a lot more with Mohammed Yone in
my view.
Whay-hay! If it’s Akiyama and Takayama beating the snot out
of each other I’m interested. In parts of this, that’s
exactly what we got as well. Note to Misawa, throw the dartboard
out the window and book these two in a singles. Now. Anyway, this
was seemingly the final of the undercard matches for this show (bloody
hell, Honda, Misawa, Ogawa, Akiyama and Takayama all booked in the
undercard six-man stuff), and while aimless at times, it still was
the best of the four. While I still fail to see the purpose in life
for a Jun Izumida, he did feature in the finish, getting beaten
by Zach Arnold’s favouritist wrestler ever!!!!1111 when Bison
did the one worthwhile thing I have ever seen him do in wrestling
ever, by hitting a rather cool Iron Claw slam from the top rope
to pin him. Anyway, now that the filler was over, it was time to
move onto the main matches.
Well, the mere presence of Harley fucking Race doing the title declarations
(WLW belt) means this has more to it than the last four combined.
This was also the match that one puro reporter delighted in telling
everyone who would listen wasn’t all that. Three guesses,
a certain bloke from Newport only gets one. It also led another
puro reporter to cry about how all of Japan and NOAH are horrible
racists. Or something. Anyway, enough with them two, I’ll
try watching things for meself here. It becomes obvious pretty early
on that Ron Harris doesn’t really want to play ball here.
Either that or Takeshi has AIDS or something, and Ron wanted to
break the grapple as fast as he fucking could. The two really just
go through the motions here, and no real working of holds takes
place because one or the other are either unable or unwilling to
do so. Morishima does take a rather sweet powerbomb on the ramp,
but that really is all there is for the best part of 15 minutes,
then they get to the end, and things get really silly. Ron decides
to be stupid and give in to the uninformed view that you can get
away with no-selling everything in Japan, and that the crowd will
pop for it (they didn’t), before Takeshi gets the win with
one of about 5 backdrop suplexes mixed with lariats. There is booing
in the crowd during the title presentation, I won’t speculate
on why, as Western puro smarks trying to speculate on why crowds
halfway across the world are reacting a certain way gets right on
my fucking tits.
What I will say is that Harris was not much cop at all, and Morishima
was WAY too inexperienced in working high profile singles matches
to do anything about it. NJPW have the G-1, AJPW the Champions Carnival,
I think it’s about time NOAH developed a tournament based
tour that would predominantly feature singles matches. It’s
the only way Morishima and others are going to develop into the
stars they have the potential to become. You can work 20-25 minute
6-mans all tour, but the only way forward for NOAH is to have the
young heavys they do have (they need a ton more as well) working
occasional 10-15 minute singles on house shows and occasional tapings
to get the experience before they hit the big stage. Had NOAH this
system before now, this match could have been an improvement on
the lackluster spectacle it was.
Now this is more like it! Hark back to the first time I reviewed
on RIM, and no doubt you will see me spitting venom at Makoto Hashi
for being, well, crap. Man does a lot change in a year. On this
night, Hashi was one primary reason that this match absolutely fucking
ruled all. From the start, the exchanges between the equally awesome
KENTA and Hashi are the reason to keep glued to the screen. Though
I try not to buy into the Marufuji hate too much, he got absolutely
smoked by everyone else involved here. KENTA was a house on fire
here, dishing out the abuse to Hashi, getting it back in kind from
Kanemaru (who was at his sleazy dickheaded best) et al, but fuck
it, let’s just talk about KENTA vs Hashi here shall we? The
two were having a ferocious singles battle in the middle of a tag,
the two just would not back down from each other, as they kicked,
slapped, chopped and forearmed each other back and forth. Hashi
nailed a diving headbut from the apron outside, brought in Kanemaru
to hammer KENTA with brutal looking double teams, and was generally
awesome. I loved it, Budokan loved it, and if you don’t love
it as well, check for a pulse.
Perhaps the only negative point about this match is that it was
a tag. Marufuji isn’t all that bad, but here, with the other
three on the form they were on, he might as well have been an anchor.
He looked good in the early going with Kanemaru, but really couldn’t
sustain it all that much, as Hashi and KENTA took over. When it
came to the finish, it was all about them two again. As Marufuji
and Kanemaru brawled around the side of the ring, Hashi and KENTA,
with some support primarily from Kanemaru interventions, sent the
Budokan into absolute fucking overdrive, beating the absolute shit
out of each other with kicks, Gorimans this, Gory that, Busaiku
the other, all sorts. With the crowd going mental, Marufuji lifted
Hashi onto his shoulders for a knee kick by KENTA, Kanemaru making
the save. Hashi just wouldn’t give, like a younger version
of Kikuchi in the 26/1 I raved about in another review. KENTA took
on the Liger role here with ease, as he blasted Hashi repeated with
kicks and strikes, eventually knocking him down to his knees, and
then dropping him altogether. The three count ended one fucking
awesome match. The best I’ve seen in a long while. I want
KENTA vs Makoto Hashi in a singles match. So do all of you. It may
only be pro-wrestling, but when it’s done like this, it becomes
one of the greatest things in the world. You all need every last
minute of this match. That is of course, if you haven’t seen
it already., in which case I have hopefully reminded you to dig
the tape out from whereverabouts you left it.
I have this vision. Sugiura, backstage, watching the match that
preceded, realising he has to follow this with a singles match against
a very bland Michael Modest, and upon this horrible realisation,
hammering fuck out of the nearest wall, door, support beam or coke
machine he can find.
“Some fucking chimp-faced bastard and that wankshaft of a
Tenzan impersonator have just made my fucking job TWICE as hard!
BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!!”
“Keep hitting that coke machine a few times Taks, I’m
out of change and thirsty.”
“Arrrgghh! Can no-one see my plight here? “ (thumps
coke machine again)
A can of Dr Pepper drops out of the machine. Undercarder makes
a quick grab for the can and scuttles off happy, but sure to avoid
Takashi for the next day or so. Takashi continues breaking stuff
as he waits for his music to hit. Every pop from the crowd for the
last match sending him even more doo-lally.
Consequentially, Suguira was in no mood for dealing with any Modest
comedy at the start of this. Dragging out Modest in the early going,
he absolutely lays into Modest, each punch screaming, “We’ve
got a title match, we need to top an awesome match previously, and
you break out comedy shit? CUNT!” It worked, Modest dropped
the thumbs-up nonsense, but unfortunately settled into his style,
which while not atrocious, is boring beyond belief. Generic matwork,
a horrible tope, a Kudo driver, that was all from him really. Suguira
looked game, but couldn’t really do much with Modest. Things
did pick up a little bit however, after Modest did something memorable
by nailing Takashi with a Reality Check (Schwein to the Toryumarks,
including, er, me) off the apron onto the floor. Something clicked
in the wrestlers heads when Kobashi blasted Misawa with that Tiger
Suplex from the ramp to the floor, guess what it was? Anyways, after
this, the crowd remembered it was a title match of some importance,
and did the obligatory “ohhhhh”, for near-falls. Suguira
got one off his Olympic Slam (not that Angle one, this looks more
like a move Justice Pain uses), then went up top and blasted Modest
with another one to get the pin and the title. Takashi will have
more memorable matches with that title then he did winning it. With
any luck, Modest will drop back to being a mid-card tag fixture
in NOAH, and Suguira will rule it in the Tokyo Dome against Liger.
At least he shouldn’t need to be breaking any coke machines
in that facility.
And here’s your main event of the evening. And immediately,
Yuji Nagata’s biggest failing as IWGP becomes a hell of a
strength for his crack at NOAH’s GHC crown. At times whilst
IWGP king, Nagata would look like a charisma free muppet, devoid
of the connection with his audience that a champion needs in order
to be successful. In NOAH, as a New Japan outsider, that very same
look translates as a look of complete and utter contempt for everything
NOAH stands for. As in, “Fuck all of you, fuck Kobashi, fuck
everybody associated with this dive of a promotion. I wipe my ass
with this shithole. And do any of you brainless fucks realise how
fucking ugly that stupid green mat is?” In the opening stages,
Nagata goes to the ropes with Kobashi, and rather than break clean,
he bitchslaps Kenta right in the fucking gob. Yuji Nagata rules.
So does Kobashi when the camera pans to his face and he has an expression
that reads, “Oh you are gonna fucking get it now boy.”
Kobashi backs Yuji to the corner, and the NJPW guy, erm, gets it.
Kobashi unleashing a bunch of chops and strikes as a manner of revenge.
It works, as after a mat exchange, they repeat the opening tangle
to the ropes, and Nagata decides to be as nice as pie this time
around rather than risk getting chopped to fuck all over again.
Pro Wrestling (infinite tildes).
Much of this match was spent on the matwork, with the undoubted
highlight being Yuji going all Muga on our asses with the headstand
escape. About as graceful as a hippopotamus on the scotch (or Manabu
Nakanishi if you will), but fun nonetheless. Kobashi gets his lariat
arm attacked by kicks and step-through armbars, while Nagata becomes
the recipient of repeated shots with Kobashi’s good arm right
in the fucking collarbone. Look out for when Nagata boots Kobashi
over a guardrail into the first row. Right in the corner, by the
aisle, there is some girl with her head buried in her mother’s
shoulder whilst Kobashi is out on the floor. Either she can’t
bear to look or is asleep. One or the other, and for the sake of
romanticising about the power of wrestling on the emotions, I hope
it is the former. 15 minutes is called, and on that, the match turns
from the mat-based to the impact-based, unfortunately is starts
to get silly as well. Exploder! Half-nelson suplex! Exploder! Half-nelson!
Backdrop! Half-nelson! Nagata Lock II! Get the picture? Admittedly,
when Yuji did go for the NL II, it settled down as Yuji tried to
trap Kobashi with Nagata Lock III (Rings of Saturn/Regal Stretch)
in the same motion. From there though, more silliness ensued. While
Kobashi undoubted has the charisma to carry a match of this magnitude
(in that the crowd will stay with it throughout), sometimes the
wrestling can be very patchy as a result. While Nagata was wrestling
his game (and he has a hell of a lot of potential as a heel, judging
by parts of this performance), Kobashi went lariat happy towards
the end. Enzui! LARIATOOOOO! Running kick! LARIATOOOOOO! Sniper
Bullet! LARIATOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! (ok, I made that one up). Hey,
bet you don’t guess how this match ended? Kobashi wrapped
this one up with another lariat, following a brainbuster, which
Kobashi delivers such that it might as well be a finisher on its
own.
I maybe have been a bit harsh on Kobashi here, as this by no means
a bad match. While not as good as the defence against Honda (or
even the match against Misawa), it was still well worth watching,
and was a strong main event. However, I feel this could have been
so much better. Nagata was definitely ready to deliver a killer
performance (crowd killer jokes will be slapped down), but Kobashi
wrestled his own match around it, which as a result meant that Yuji,
and the match as a whole couldn’t really hit its stride the
way it should have. A salutary lesson for all those who look at
listings and decide a match is going to be an awesome MOTYC before
they have even seen it. Still, strong nonetheless.
And there ends the NOAH. A decent show, the first half was mainly
filler, the good being the beatings and stuff between Akiyama and
Takayama, the bad being the descent of Mitsuharu Misawa into crappy
comedy. From the top half, Morishima needs experience, KENTA and
Makoto Hashi need a singles contest, Nagata needs a full-time slot
with NOAH, Kobashi’s show needs to be toned down a bit, and
Nippon Budokan need a new coke machine.
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