Today, I still find myself suffering the shock of watching the
Undertaker’s streak finally come to an end during last night’s
Wrestlemania. I’m not sure if it’s even
really sunken in yet. I don’t even want
to think about the ramifications of it.
Tonight, I think that I will simply let Raw do the thinking for me on
that front and for the time being I’ll just try not to think about that look on
the face of the Undertaker last night when we had to sit at the edge of our
seats and watch him realize that it was all finally over.
The rest of Wrestlemania XXX was as sports entertaining as
it could be (even if it was a Wrestlemania strangely devoid of celebrity
appearances or performances). The
pageantry was stellar, the setting was perfect and Hulk Hogan for a while had
no idea where the hell he was. Even some
of the first moments of Wrestlemania; when the Rock made as charismatic a
speech as ever, the manliest of tears were already beginning to well up in the
collective, astonished eyes of the WWE Universe. Last night, I smelled it….I truly smelled
what the Rock was cooking.
When Triple H made his grand entrance last night; one of the
most badass entrances I’ve ever seen, I was no longer sure who I wanted to see
win. There was such a large, dark part
of my heart that wanted to see The Game absolutely lay down the law on Daniel Bryan and show us all why he’s in charge. And for a while when Daniel Bryan was being
used to mop up the ring and was very nearly cerebrally assassinated, there was
part of me that felt that maybe he didn’t deserve to be champion after all. When Daniel Bryan came back though and won, only to be brutally assaulted by Triple H, I wanted
the straps to be Bryan’s more than ever.
Though I despise the
Real Americans and how Ceasaro’s weird legs look all the time, when my original
picks in the Battle Royal (Santino, Brodus Clay, Brad Maddux and the guy who’s
married to Natalya) were eliminated and only Ceasaro and Big Show remained, I
knew instantly who the Andre trophy was going home with. I did not however expect Ceasaro to pick Big
Show up like he was nothing and throw him over the top rope so effortlessly. I was astonished and I commend Ceasaro’s
superhuman strength. Sorry Jack Swagger
but the golden Andre gets to be the little spoon every night for one year now.
Husky Jesus looked
super cool in his new duds last night and had a great, compelling match with
John Cena. The Shield came out
positively jacked in their weird, little ninja masks and devastated Kane and
the Old Age Outlaws in a nice, quick match.
The Divas’ championship match was especially entertaining and now I’m
anxiously awaiting the Divas episode where Cameron chides the wardrobe lady for
a malfunction that turned a few lucky boys in the audience into men. Then a suspiciously placed TV nearly killed Randy
Orton during the championship, perhaps Spanish announcers’ revenge, but Randall
wowed me by fighting through and the main event ended just as it should
have.
Still, the end of
the streak weighs heavily on my heart. I
am not troubled that the streak had to come to its end only by how. The last few years of watching the Undertaker
hobble slowly and painfully through long, grueling matches, suffering
devastating maneuvers from his opponents and hardly performing any moves of his
own is crushing to me. The phenom has been my favorite wrestler since I
was a boy. We’ve had to watch him pushed
way past his prime, impressing us for the last few years with only his entrance
and his ability to withstand long periods of relentless punishment. The commentary on his Wrestlemania matches
for the last few years has been the same with only the name of his nemesis
changing. It’s been clear for some time
that the streak had to end so that the Undertaker may himself finally rest in
peace…but of all the great wrestlers; all the people to have come and gone from
the squared circle…why would it have to be some walking canned ham without
an ounce of charisma in his body; a giant, pink turd who just wrestles an occasional scrub between long stretches of hiatus to now stand as the ridiculous name at
the end of the great and mighty Undertaker’s streak? I spit upon his name (and my wife says "don't spit in the house!") I do what I want! R.I.P. the streak!
