The Day After Wrestlemania 30

   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!