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 Summersham (8/25/03) --When my friends and I watch the WWE shows, we never call Paul Levesque “Hunter Hearst Helmsley” or “Triple H”. Instead, we sound out the name which results in a very breathy word that sounds something like “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHaaaaaaaaaaa.”How fitting that is, because “HA” seems to be the word that Triple H is spitting right back at the WWE fans. After viewing tonight’s Summerslam event, I’m as convinced as ever that Paul Levesque is in thorough control of the World Title Booking, will not drop the belt in the foreseeable future, and is almost exclusively duping a large majority of the common audience. I went into tonight’s Summerslam with a realistic, but excited attitude. Even the fact that I was battling an hellacious cold couldn’t sway me from the fact that not only was I about to watch my first full wrestling show in about a month-and-a-half, it just happened to be one of the main four Pay-Per-View events that World Wrestling Entertainment puts out. With my Kleenex Box on my right and an astute Leonardite smark on my left (Bryan), the night was going to be good. And for the most part it was. The wrestling was, as a whole, very entertaining. I did, however, have serious issues with the fact that the Fagtaker (Fellow Leonardite, Dan’s, nickname for the Undertaker, which will be used until he switches back to the “Deadman” gimmick) and the Gay-Train made it onto the card and the Cruiserweight Title match did not. I figured though, that this would be the most glaring blunder of the night by WWE and if so, it was something I could live with. But brother, did we get screwed. I’m not just talking a lackluster card, or perhaps some poor matches here and there, this was a case where we, the fans, were welcomed into the show, then taken out back, molested, robbed, and insulted, and then kicked back to the curb imploring us to come back for more. The first two-and-a-half hours were satisfactory. Some matches were solid (Angle/Lesnar) others had frustrating endings (US Title match), but the wrestling was good enough to keep my interest the whole time. Besides, the Leonardites in attendance were having a good time coming up with terrible gimmicks to pass the time. Anytime you get to talk about Chucky, David Arquette, Judy Bagwell, and the Gobbledy Gooker, you can’t help but have a good time. But let’s face reality. Like a man watching Striptease, I, like any other fan, was focused on only one thing and the rest was just filler. That of course, was the Elimination Chamber. The name alone makes it sound like a feared place. A place where six men go in, five go out, and one man emerges as the champion. A place where all six lay it out on the line, to the delight of the fans. A steel hell where one man, after gutting out thirty minutes of sheer torture, would emerge with the belt, a broken but embattled champion. A place where glory would reside and virtue would be restored. Instead, it was a place where two, maybe three men, did all the fighting, while another man laid in a corner for twenty-five minutes and then used a half-move to win the title. So much for virtue and glory. “Screw you, fans; this is what you are going to see because I am having sexual relations with the boss’s daughter.” I had hoped this match would be a classic, or at least entertaining. But looking at the entrants, I already feared for its well-being. While Jericho and Shawn Michaels are always of five-star quality, Randy Orton is known only for his incredibly short and tight spandex and Kevin Nash has the workrate of Jay Leno at this point in his career. Goldberg puts on a good show for five minutes, but he’s basically a one-trick pony that can only last for so long before the match starts to fade. And then there’s Triple H, who apparently doesn’t need to wrestle anymore. The match played out as I expected, much to my dismay. HBK and Jericho were the first two to start it off. Apparently WWE realized these were the only two wrestlers in this match and needed to milk all the talent out of them that they could. And yes, they accomplished that. Things even looked okay when Nash was eliminated first. Nash was cool back in the day, but is now about as cool as the Silver King and wrestles about twenty-five percent as well as him. Randy Orton then went out second, which spared us the inhumane torture of viewing his goods packaged in such a small outfit. So far, so good. Then, the wheels began to fall off. Triple H, at this time, was “knocked out” in his corner. For those of us perceptive enough to realize what was happening, Triple H was basically sitting on his ass while Jericho, Michaels, and Goldberg carried the match. I knew it right away and watched in sheer horror as it played out in all its horrible fury. This is a fundamental and defining point in the career of Triple H and in the current state of World Wrestling Entertainment: Triple H was actually laying in a corner for 80% of a match that he was to win. He did not have to wrestle, take bumps, or sell moves for anyone else. That was left to the other wrestlers, who filled the remaining 25 minutes and took the falls so that Triple H could come out and win the title without doing any work. The wrestlers in this match were sacrificial lambs, sent to do the entertaining so Triple H wouldn’t have to bother. When Shawn Michaels was eliminated by Goldberg, I knew this match was quickly swirling down the toilet bowl. When Chris Jericho was speared into glass (which didn’t break on impact) and then summarily eliminated, I knew it was already in the septic tank. Goldberg then broke into Triple H’s cell, brought him out, and proceeded to attempt to wrestle with him. Naturally, a quick sledgehammer ended this match without any work having to be done by Hunter. And the man who laid in the corner, was crowned the champion. I wanted to vomit and it had nothing to do with my cold. Only Bryan could fully appreciate my frustration. If the points I have laid out weren’t enough, there were two other troubling developments in this match that have left me more disillusioned with professional wrestling than I have ever been in my life. The first of which occurred when Chris Jericho was speared into that plexiglass, which was the most brutal bump of the night. I quickly remarked that Jericho is by far one of the best workers in WWE, that he is quite clearly the toughest man in that ring, and the only one who would’ve taken that bump. My soon-to-be roommate, a guy who I got started watching wrestling this past spring, quickly responded with an “Oh, yeah right!” Being such a novice fan, I often use him as a gauge for the general mark population. And that reaction worried me to no end. While he too, hates Triple H, he failed to realize the astounding work rate and willingness of Chris Jericho, even after being the one to take the biggest beating. WWE could and should be cashing in on this in regards to Chris Jericho, but why bother? They have no desire to see him pushed past his current spot. And subsequently, the general population will continue to see Jericho as an inferior wrestler to Triple H. That is a damn shame and a bad omen for the future. The second frightening development occurred at the end of the match. The way Goldberg was booked in this match was the best I had seen WWE do with him. He looked like an unstoppable monster as he speared Jericho into the glass, and then punched a hole in it to get Triple H out to fight. This would’ve been a huge launching point for Goldberg, despite the cheap loss at the end. He was way over with the crowd and looked to be reverting back to his late 1990's form. However, HHH and the boys were quick to squash his newfound momentum by completely decimating him after the match. I mean, come on, we can’t be having anyone else on the card get over with the fans, right? That would be downright asinine. Who doesn’t want to see Evolution beat down a worthy foe again? (And again….and again…..and again…..) Yes, it went all according to plan for Triple H. It’s a sick, disgusting wasteland that he has created, and I am very rapidly tiring of it. It was quickly agreed upon that a TNA purchase was in the near future because anything, any alternative, had to be better than the Farce in Phoenix. And for anyone who thinks it will get better anytime soon, Triple H and his cronies have just one word for you. “HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa.” |
Dedicated to The Stick