Thursday, 8 October 2015

WCW Nitro, Episode 2

'The Match of the Century'

September 11, 1995
Live from downtown Miami, Florida, episode two of Monday Nitro begins with quite the pyro display, as Bischoff informs us that tonight’s show will feature ‘the match of the century’, with Hulk Hogan putting his WCW World Championship on the line against Lex Luger in our main event. Somewhat less exciting is the news that Scott Norton will also be in action, along with the debuting Sabu.
Mongo boards the hype train before it has time to so much as pull into the station, declaring with a slap of the table that this is where ‘the beef’ (?) is, and we get a recap of last week’s show-closing confrontation between champion and challenger. The highlight of this exchange was definitely the part where Hogan told Luger that he didn’t have to wait a week for a title shot, before pencilling him in for exactly a week’s time.
One man feeling particularly unenthused about last Monday’s events is Vader, who, according to Bischoff, has gone AWOL in the wake of Luger’s line-skipping escapades. Having made the cardinal sin of ‘not filing the proper documents’ before taking annual leave, The Mastodon has been removed from Sunday’s Fall Brawl: War Games pay per view main event, leaving Hogan and friends with just six days to find another partner for their battle against muscular dystrophy. For the sake of those suffering children we saw hanging around with Randy Savage last week, one can only hope that a suitable replacement will soon be found.
Match One: Sabu vs. ‘Das Wunderkind’ Alex Wright 
Following on from last week’s Brian Pillman/Jushin Liger opener, we’re again treated to a bout between two solid workers to kick things off, as Sabu makes his WCW debut against the German Alex Wright. Heenan tells Mongo that Sabu has been suspended from 17 countries, so knowing how difficult it is to enter the United States with any sort of blemish on your record, it’s something of a miracle that he’s made it here tonight. It’s also worth noting that Wright defeated Diamond Dallas Page 24 hours earlier to earn his spot in this match. I couldn’t really tell you why it’s worth noting – it just is.
Sabu sets a quick pace early, hitting a couple of arm drags before choking Wright on the mat and setting him up for a low springboard elbow. A flying headscissors by Sabu sends both men crashing to the outside, but the Suicidal, Homicidal, Death-defying Maniac gets straight back up and nails his opponent with a baseball slide followed by a somersault senton, leaving them both laid out at ringside again.
With Wright prone against the guardrail, Sabu attempts a flying attack of some sort (it’s difficult to tell which part of his body he intended to use), but the Techno Technician gets out of dodge at the last second, and Sabu instead takes a pretty nasty bump into the railings. Heenan suggests that Sabu has never been happier as he rolls around in a barely-conscious heap, absorbing kicks from a reinvigorated Wunderkind, who picks him up before sticking him down again with a pair of European uppercuts and a nicely executed dropkick.
Showing impressive fire, Wright continues his comeback with a hard scoop slam on the floor before rolling Sabu into the ring and going off the top with a beautiful missile dropkick, which sends him sprawling back to the outside. Wright hits a baseball slide and suicide dive in quick succession, and Heenan remarks that a man like Sabu would use, amongst other things, a person’s wooden leg as a weapon if he had to.
Alex ‘Das Liu Kang’ Wright
They kind of suddenly begin moving towards the finish, with Wright hitting a lovely snapped superplex, and Sabu barely connecting with a sloppy springboard spin kick. An Irish whip into the corner sees Wright moonsault over Sabu, land on his feet and nail a picture perfect German suplex for two. However, he gets caught trying to go up top again, and after finding himself crotched on the ropes takes a modified Arabian Skullcrusher for the one-two-three.
Winner: Sabu, via pinfall (Arabian Skullcrusher) 
Sabu heels it up by kicking Wright out of the ring and dropping him face first onto the apron, before setting up a worryingly robust-looking table and then putting him straight through it with a dive from the top rope. Given the thickness of the wood and proximity of a nearby guardrail, it’s incredible that neither man is seriously hurt, which is perhaps why referee Nick Patrick is moved to reverse the decision and award Wright the victory by DQ. The boys in the production truck then make an odd decision to end the replay package for this match with Wright’s entrance.
Winner: Alex Wright, via Disqualification (ECW shit)
‘WC-dub! WC-dub!’
 According to a graphic, Sting vs. Michael ‘IRS’ Wall Street is up next, but the first thing we see after an ad break is Mean Gene holding court in the ring. Standing right in front of an ECW sign in the crowd, he introduces the then-eleven time World Heavyweight Champion, ‘The Nature Boy’ Ric Flair. Gene commends Flair for his performance in a South Beach bar the previous night, before confirming that he’ll face his friend and former stablemate Arn Anderson at the upcoming Fall Brawl: War Games.
Flair laments the fact that instead of joining him for evenings of largesse and debauchery, Anderson now spends his free time engaging in more age-appropriate activities in his hotel room, such as speaking to his wife and son on the phone. Flair breaks out the Horsemen fingers and reminisces about better days, but before we can venture too far down memory lane, number one contender (and a former Horseman himself) Lex Luger decides to hit the ring.
Flair lauds Luger as ‘The Total Package’, and begins reeling off his measurements while informing Hogan that his days as champion are numbered. Luger basically no-sells Flair’s promo, telling him he’s ‘too much’, before turning on his heels and heading back to the locker room. Make that two weeks in a row where Luger has shown up in the middle of a segment and appeared to have no idea what he’s supposed to say or do.
The commentary team discusses Sunday’s War Games pay per view, and Heenan confides that despite having warm feelings towards both Flair and Anderson, the recent poor attitude shown by the latter is causing him to root for the former. Mongo is about to chime in with his thoughts on the matter, but Bischoff shows mercy and hands us over to the ring announcer, who is introducing the next match.
Flair receives his South Beach bar bill live on air.
Match Two: United States Title: Sting (champion) vs. V.K Wall Street 
Not only does Mike Rotunda’s new character embody the spirit of Wall Street, he actually lives there too. Another surprise is that since last week the former tax inspector has dropped the name Michael in favour of ‘V.K’, as in Vincent Kennedy McMahon. Obviously even the most blatant parody of a gimmick which was itself a parody could have WCW wondering if they’re not being just a little bit too subtle, and so the act has been tweaked accordingly.
Sting enters to a decent pop, sporting an Ultimate Warrior-esque face paint design. Bischoff then ups the anti-Vince ante by telling us not to bother switching over to RAW (which was still pre-taped at the time), because it’s already been in the can three weeks and he knows that ‘Shawn Michaels beats the big guy with a super kick’. Any remaining doubts about whose is the superior product are squashed when Mongo points out that the WWF named their show after uncooked eggs.
Wall Street discards the suit and tie he walked out in, revealing a pretty hilarious singlet, complete with Ted Dibiase-style gold dollar signs. Bischoff again brings up Vader’s removal from Sunday’s PPV, only this time claiming it’s a result of him not submitting the necessary paperwork to register as a member of Hogan’s team. Considering there are still six days to go before the event, it seems a little premature to axe someone advertised for the main event over a simple clerical issue; that is unless they’re also taking into account his aforementioned failure to fill out an official annual leave request form before going home.
Wall Street gets the action going with a quick fireman’s carry, as Mongo lets us know that him and his old NFL buddies, including ‘all-time great’ Reggie White, would always watch wrestling instead of American football. Heenan asks if Reggie is any relation to Barry, but it goes over Mongo’s head as Sting unloads with right hands in the corner, leading into a tie-up, a hip toss off the ropes and a pair of drop kicks. Sting whips Wall Street from corner to corner with such force that it sends him rolling to the outside, and the WWF bashing continues on commentary. It’s interesting to note how quiet Heenan gets whenever Bischoff and Mongo decide to start taking shots at his former employer.
Sting levels The Five Dollar Man.
Wall Street turns the tide by using Sting’s own momentum to send him hurtling through the ropes, and he lands hard on the arena floor. There’s no repeat of the hardcore shenanigans Sabu got up to, however, as V.K’s no holds barred repertoire begins and ends with bouncing Sting’s head off the apron before rolling back inside and jaw-jacking with the ref.
Sting propels himself over the top but doesn’t really connect with a flying shoulder block, and Wall Street capitalises with a headbutt to the stomach and consecutive elbow drops. We then get a few classic IRS face bumps off the turnbuckle, followed by a Stinger Splash and top rope cross-body for the finish.
Winner: Sting, via pinfall (flying cross-body) 
We go to another commercial, after which Bischoff breaks the news that this week’s episode of WCW Saturday Night will mark the debut of The Disco Inferno, in addition to featuring must-see action between shameless Warrior rip-off Renegade and generic bodybuilder Max Muscle, as well as Big Bubba (wearing a trilby hat on his graphic) going one of one with Dave Sullivan, who apparently carries a rabbit to the ring. There is one match worth looking forward to, though, as Brian Pillman will take on Alex Wright.
Match Three: ‘Macho Man’ Randy Savage vs. Scott Norton
After almost coming to blows at the announce table last week, Savage and Norton are given the opportunity to settle their not very well-defined differences. Norton is out first, and Mongo nails his colours to the mast straight away by saying he should have taken this guy’s head of last week when he had the chance. Heenan reminds him of his responsibilities as a commentator, and they discuss which position Norton would likely play in an NFL team.
Savage gets a solid pop when a weird remixed version of ‘Pomp and Circumstance’ hits, but Norton, who we’re told is a former arm wrestling champion, cuts him off before he can properly milk the adulation of the crowd. Norton puts Savage down with a short-arm clothesline, before again pointing out Mongo – or ‘McNuggets’, as Heenan calls him – and shouting that he’s next. Mongo continues to talk tough, while Heenan and Bischoff plan their exit strategies for when the trouble starts.
Norton continues to dominate the early going, blocking a sunset flip attempt and then hoisting Savage up into a two-handed choke lift. Just as we hear that Norton benches in excess of 500lbs, Savage rallies with an arm drag and clothesline over the top. Savage goes from the top rope to the floor with a flying axe handle, rolls Norton inside and then lays him flat with another hard clothesline. Savage again goes up top and dives at Norton, but is caught in mid-air and dropped to the mat after a brief bear hug.
The commentators speculate on the injuries those two or three squeezes could have caused Savage – with diagnoses ranging from floating rib to ‘popped heart’ – as the ruler of the Kingdom of the Madness sells big. They seem quite keen on pushing the idea of Norton possessing Herculean strength, with Savage’s potential ailments now thought to be as serious as a busted spleen or broken back. Norton carries on working the lower back, dropping Savage with shots to the kidneys before hitting a Jackknife powerbomb which is good for two.
Scot Norton suddenly remembers that he doesn’t know how to do a back flip.
Not one to miss a chance to bring up his football days, Mongo says he’s played against bruisers like Norton before, and advises Savage to just hang on until the fourth quarter. Norton has no intention of allowing the match go on long enough for Savage’s cardio to become a factor, however, and scoops him up for a series of back breakers, leading into a nearly-botched military slam. Savage is then Irish whipped into a hard powerslam for another two count, and Mongo offers some comfort by suggesting that some players have their best games when they’re unconscious. It’s still not really clear whether or not he knows this isn’t actually an NFL game
Savage shows he’s still in the fight by ducking under a clothesline and hitting the ropes, but he’s caught on the return with a shoulder block which sends him sprawling to the outside. Norton pulls him up onto the apron by his throat, and then proceeds to hit what started off looking like a slingshot suplex, but ended up being a rather dangerous elevated DDT. Bischoff does nothing to allay our fears for Savage’s safety by mentioning how Norton has ‘crippled a lot of people in Japan’, just as the behemoth takes to the top rope. Thankfully, though, Savage shows his ring savvy by sidestepping Norton’s flying lunge and pushing him down face-first into the mat.
We finally get the Savage comeback, as he pushes Norton into the corner with a leaping knee and then whips him to other side, where he fires with jabs and right hands. The whole thing is ruined as quickly as it starts, though, as Earthquake (dressed as a shark) and Kamala run down, only for both to be undone by Savage sending Norton into the ropes as they attempt to lumber in. Earthquake (apparently now known as ‘Avalanche’) somehow manages to be knocked completely unconscious, and finds himself lying on top of Norton’s legs, inadvertently pinning him down long enough for Savage to score with the elbow and steal a win.
No longer Natural, but still very much a Disaster.
Winner: Randy Savage, via pinfall (flying elbow drop)
The rest of the Dungeon hits the ring, but Savage escapes in the nick of time. The Task Master proceeds to run around waving his wizard’s staff, while Brutus ‘Zodiac Man’ Beefcake thrusts his hips at a cameraman and Norton gets in Earthquake’s face. The troops file out before Norton is able to get any meaningful retribution, leaving him with no recourse other than to stand on the bottom rope and shout ‘fuck!’
Match Four: World Heavyweight Title: Hulk Hogan (champion) vs. Lex Luger 
Hogan puts his title on the line for the second week in a row, this time against former Narcissist Lex Luger, who Bischoff reminds us was still wresting for the WW (F redacted) just nine days ago. They run another commercial for Sunday’s muscular dystrophy-themed instalment of War Games, and it’s unclear whether Vader’s inclusion on it is a result of him finally getting the necessary paperwork to the front office, or simply an oversight on the part of the producers.
Out comes Hogan, prompting a bit of politically incorrect back and forth, as Mongo declares the Hulkster a ‘real man’, to which Heenan replies by asking if he thinks Luger is ‘a midget’. They begin planting the seeds for what I can only assume will be yet another slapstick run in by the Dungeon, with Heenan wondering if Hogan’s mind isn’t on Sunday’s showdown with Sullivan and the gang. Mongo again draws on his football experience in order to let us know the potential pitfalls of looking beyond your next opponent.
We get underway with Bischoff still listing the possibly life-threatening injuries suffered by Savage in the previous match, and how it could mean Hogan is now down to just the one partner for his match at War Games. They tie up, and Luger pushes Hogan into the corner and slaps him lightly on the chest. The champion returns the favour, only he decides to take the moral high ground and allow a clean break, before demonstrating his seldom-seen catch wrestling skills, in a sequence ending with what has to be the slowest transition from a half-nelson to a front face lock ever recorded.
‘You don’t leave this ring without finishing your Pastamania, brother!’
Hogan uses the position to stand and hit a suplex (which Bischoff calls a snapmare for some reason), but Luger bounces straight back to his feet and meets an unsuspecting Hogan with one of his own bodybuilding poses. After a brief rest period, Hogan telegraphs a back body drop off the ropes and takes a suplex, but it turns out to be nothing more than an opportunity for him to quickly get his heat back, as he takes his turn to immediately pop up and start flexing.
The crowd is hot for Hogan as he assumes control of the match, allowing Bischoff to take another swing at McMahon by pointing out that Luger isn’t used to facing competition of this calibre. Luger is thrown into the corner but manages to avoid being run over by the Ho(gan) Train, and retaliates with a scoop powerslam before getting Hogan up for the always cool-looking Torture Rack submission. Heenan screams for the bell as the champion looks to be fading, when Luger inexplicably decides to drop him without the referee making a call.
After a short argument with the ref, Luger tries for a pin but Hogan kicks out with authority at two, and begins his ‘Hulk up’ routine. Luger unloads with a barrage of kicks and punches that Hogan wouldn’t sell to feed his starving family, and gets a finger in the face, three punches and a big boot for his trouble. Hogan drops the leg but isn’t quick enough to cover before word gets backstage to send in the clowns, and so Beefcake arrives on cue to force a disqualification, with Task Master Sullivan and the rest of the goons in tow.
Drama now, as Savage rises from his deathbed to help Sting make the save, causing a mass brawl which culminates in Kamala being thrown over the top with such a lack of grace and athleticism that he ends up bundling through the middle ropes head first, with his legs and feet eventually following some time later. The faces stand tall momentarily, until Hogan ruins it by shoving Luger and accusing him of being in cahoots with Sullivan as we go to the final ad break.
Scheme Gene investigates.
Just like last week, the closing segment sees Mean Gene attempt to bring some much-needed diplomacy to an escalating situation, as Hogan demands to know why the Dungeon didn’t lay a hand on Luger during the latest fracas – a question which Savage says goes double for him. Sting intervenes on his friend’s behalf, and puts him forward as the ideal replacement for Vader on Sunday, but this serves only to send Savage spiralling further into a paranoid frenzy, and he’s now accusing Sting, as well as Hogan’s manager Jimmy Hart, of colluding with Sullivan.
Suddenly Hogan stirs, having finally figured out what Sting is suggesting, and in a moment of pure symbolism is given the final say on whether or not Luger makes the team – essentially booking the main event. For his part, Luger still hasn’t given any indication that he actually wants to join this ragtag band of heroes, but with Sting’s encouragement he accepts Hogan’s eventual offer, on the proviso that he’ll receive another title shot somewhere down the line.
We go off air with Heenan naming Savage as the only trustworthy member of Hogan’s team, and the promise of an appearance by The Nasty Boys next week.

Wednesday, 13 May 2015

WCW Nitro, Episode 1

'Where the Big Boys Play!'

September 4, 1995
Live from the Mall of America in Minneapolis, Minnesota, the debut of WCW’s flagship programme certainly achieves its key aim of distinguishing itself from WWF’s Monday Night RAW. The sight of people hanging over balconies and peering down from escalators creates a unique sense of spectacle – a feel of something different than the hokey wrestling shows you could happen upon in any dilapidated bingo hall across ‘90s America.
Lead announcer Eric Bischoff kicks off proceedings by greeting the television audience and introducing us to babyface colour commentator Steve McMichael, who was apparently a very accomplished NFL goon in his day. ‘Mongo’, as McMichael is affectionately known, immediately demonstrates his willingness to embrace the spirit of sports entertainment by dressing up like Steven Seagal, but is cut-off during his maiden voyage into the waters of nonsensical rambling (something about digging ditches with farming tools) by none other than Bobby ‘The Brain’ Heenan.
Although he ended up phoning it in towards the end of his WCW run, Heenan still brought credibility and genuine wit to the broadcast team as its heel voice, and he even manages to shrug off Mongo’s bizarre use of an electric hand buzzer without creating an awkward scene when the two met here. The commentary dynamic is established as Bischoff tells Heenan to repeat the insults he supposedly levelled at Mongo the night before, only for The Brain to do a complete 180 and insist that he has nothing but the utmost respect for his new colleague in the booth.
Match One: ‘Flyin’’ Brian Pillman vs. Jushin ‘Thunder’ Liger
The action gets under way with a match between New Japan Pro Wrestling standout Jushin ‘Thunder’ Liger, and future loose cannon ‘Flyin’’ Brian Pillman. Pillman, we’re told, is just four weeks removed from a year-long absence due to a broken leg, but Heenan says he still expects to see him jumping off an escalator at some point. Liger appears to be paying homage to the Red Power Ranger with his outfit, and gets the high spots going early by hitting a surprisingly clumsy moonsault and cartwheel kick, followed by one of the worst hurricanrana sells you’ll see from anybody not named Kane or Big Show. Liger goes Daniel Bryan on Flyin’ Brian with a surfboard submission – he does it better than anybody else in the world, according to Bischoff – and then rolls nicely into a face lock.


‘I don’t surf. I have someone do it for me.’ – Bobby Heenan

Pillman takes a nasty spill over the top rope, and Liger follows him with a rolling senton off the apron, which Bischoff calls a kick to the head. Heenan attempts to cover for Liger’s sloppiness by pointing out that he’s been favouring an injured leg, and within seconds the Japanese is at it again, taking a suplex to the outside like a Saturday night drunk trying to sandbag a bouncer. Bischoff announces that WCW is where the best live, suggesting some sort of boarding arrangement, as Pillman goes up top and nails Liger with a cross body on the floor. There is a strange moment as Mongo tells Pillman to ‘give it to him how he wants it’, but Heenan makes the save by changing topic before any further exposition can take place.
Brian again tries to go flyin’, only for Liger to cut him off with a dangerously snapped superplex for a two count. Now it’s Thunder’s turn to take a risk, only for his attempted cross body from the top to be countered with a nice dropkick which gets two – Mongo reacts to this by asking how many more athletes Heenan will underestimate tonight, with the number currently standing at zero. The pendulum swings again as Liger hits a powerbomb which is only good for two, and follows it up with a beautifully executed hurricanrana from the top rope for another near fall. He sets up to go for it again, but this time Pillman is able to counter with a tornado DDT out of the corner and gets a two count of his own. However, Liger’s resilience appears to have reached its limit, as seconds later his attempted German suplex is reversed into a roll up by Pillman, who holds on for the 1-2-3.
Winner: ‘Flyin’’ Brian Pillman, via pinfall (roll up).
 Pillman and Liger shake hands, much to the disgust of Heenan, and we get a mercifully short Surfer Sting promo before time-hopping back to earlier in the day, when Bischoff interviewed WCW World Champion Hulk Hogan at his new Pastamania restaurant, conveniently located at the Mall of America.
The first thing we notice about Hogan is that about 1/3 of him appears to be missing. He is a shadow of the man whose 24’’ pythons were the cornerstones of American pro wrestling throughout the 1980s and early ‘90s, having been forced to get off the juice in the wake of a steroid scandal which saw him testify in Federal court in exchange for immunity during the trial of his former employer, Vince McMahon. He does at least have the decency to address his altered physique, noting that despite an enormous intake of Hulk-A-Roos and Hulk-U’s, he’s slim and trim, and ready to force a Hulk-A-Roo down Big (Boss Man) Bubba’s throat after their match tonight. The threat turned out to be more prophetic than the Hulkster probably intended, as Pastamania would run wild for less than a year before going bust – suggesting that the only patrons of this ill-fated franchise were the ones Hogan dragged there himself.


‘I’ve got Pastamania running through my brain!’ – Hulk Hogan

Match Two: United States Title: Sting (champion) vs. ‘The Nature Boy’ Ric Flair
 In-ring action resumes with a US title match between two men who are, as Mongo so eloquently puts it, ‘the purest in the world, with their wrestling moves.’ We get our first dig at Monday Night RAW, as McMichael adds, ‘if you’re not watching this, you may as be watching-’ only for Bischoff to cut him off before he can mention the competition by name. Heenan asks if they’re talking about the Weather Channel.
Flair is out first, followed by defending champion Sting, who is wearing a ludicrous Sgt Pepper/Saturday Night Fever-inspired ensemble that even Chris Jericho would think tacky. The bell rings, but before we can get underway Lex Luger makes a very surprising return to WCW, having wrestled on a WWF house show the previous night. There is an awkward moment as Luger and Sting lock eyes, and the former Narcissist attempts to telepathically ask his friend why he told him tonight’s dress code was Wuthering Heights. Bischoff calls for security to have Luger removed from the building, but Heenan points out that they’re in a public mall.
Realising that a run-in doesn’t really work unless the match has actually started, Luger retreats back to the Lex Express, prompting further debate amongst the commentary team about his intentions. Sting displays impressive strength and athleticism early with back to back leapfrogs and a pair of military press slams, followed by a nicely executed drop kick which sends Flair rolling out onto the floor for a breather. Naitch regroups and catches Sting with a thumb to the eye, allowing him to seize the upper hand and unload with chops in the corner. Sting decides to stop selling Flair’s offence, and backs him up with a series of aggressive poses before hitting yet another press slam. They spill out of the ring momentarily, but Sting manages to press Flair all the way back inside, where they go back and forth until the classic Flair bump off the top rope, which leads to – you guessed it – another press slam and our first near fall.
Just as the gang manages to get over Luger’s impromptu appearance, we’re treated to another run-in when Arn Anderson, resplendent in his mid-‘90s track and field finery, makes his way down to ringside. Heenan has it on good authority that Anderson and Flair have patched things up, as the challenger briefly regains control of the match by capitalising on a missed top rope splash and nailing the champ with a signature delayed vertical suplex. However, Sting resolves to shut up shop again, immediately rises to his feet and clocks a stylin’ and profilin’ Flair with two clotheslines. Flair attempts to beg Sting off in the corner, but is whipped up and over on the opposite side, and then taken off his feet with another hard lariat out on the apron.


‘You know who I am, but you don’t care why I’m here.’

Flair continues to bump all over the place, before eventually fighting his way out of a superplex spot and trading near falls on the mat. Sting again puts Flair up top for a superplex and finally hits it, causing the dirtiest player in the game to writhe around as though he’s being electrocuted. The subject of Luger’s current whereabouts is again brought up, and Mongo suggests that he’s probably gone for a bite to eat at Pastamania. For some reason Sting then decide to focus his attention on the stoic Anderson, allowing Flair to hit a chop block from behind and slap on the Figure Four Leglock. It initially appears as though Sting is going to no-sell this as well, but after a few seconds of mean mugging and beating his chest, he suddenly acknowledges the pain and tries in vain to turn over. Flair grabs onto the ropes for added leverage, and after several unsuccessful attempts to break his grip on a five count, the ref has seen enough and calls for the bell.
Being the Enforcer that he is, Anderson gets in and interrupts the hold himself. Flair doesn’t want any trouble, and offers a handshake to his former long-time friend and partner, but when Anderson responds by revealing a naked torso beneath his track suit top, Flair sees the writing on the wall and starts throwing punches. Arn fires back and chases Flair to the locker room, as Heenan is forced to concede that he must have been fed bad intel regarding the former Horsemen’s relationship. Anderson returns to ringside, briefly teasing a confrontation with Sting, but it turns out he just wants his snazzy jacket back.
Winner: Sting, via DQ.
 Next we hear the sound of a fracas taking place down near the commentary table, where a man I’ve never seen before is confronting Heenan, Bischoff and McMichael, furious about something or another. Mongo stands his ground long enough for ‘Macho Man’ Randy Savage to run down and make the save, spinning the assailant around and showing him what a real crazy person looks like. The two are about to get in the ring and settle their differences, but Bischoff suddenly becomes concerned with bout sanctioning rules and regulations, and orders security to remove the man while Savage continues to go berserk up on the turnbuckle. Bischoff tells him that if he sets one foot in the ring, he’ll never wrestle for WCW again, resulting in a very audible cry of ‘bull shit!’ from the disgruntled employee. The segment ends with Bischoff introducing a pretty cool video package for Sabu, whose run with Turner is news to me.
We’re back, and Mean Gene is in the ring cracking wise. He congratulates Mike Hill of Cullman, Alabama on winning a Harley Davidson sweepstake, and then Bischoff finally informs us that the man causing a ruckus at ringside just a few moments ago was in fact Scott Norton. They plug an upcoming edition of WCW Saturday Night, with a double main even of Johnny B. Badd (Marc Mero) vs. Dick Slater, and a tag match between Sting/Savage and The Blue Bloods, who can’t be that good as they don’t even have a graphic.


Arn Anderson’s fashion sense is often – and unfairly – overlooked.

Time for another vignette, as IRS, apparently now going by the name Michael Wall Street, cuts a thinly veiled promo criticising Vince McMahon’s so-called ‘New Generation’ of wrestlers that can actually work a decent match, and does so while wearing a blazer he must have stolen from Ted DiBiase’s wardrobe on his way out of Titan Towers. His monologue fits neatly within the company rhetoric of how WCW is now the place where ‘the big boys play’, although he neglects to mention the fact no one had even noticed that he’d jumped ship until now.
Match Three: World Heavyweight Title: Hulk Hogan (champion) vs. Big (Boss Man) Bubba Rogers
 I have no idea why the Big Boss Man would wrestle in a full business suit, but that’s what’s happening here. He makes his way to the ring with little fanfare, unlike the Hulkster, who gets a big pop for his Real American rip-off entrance. ‘The Mouth of the South’ Jimmy Hart is in tow, dressed as Apollo Creed, and despite Mongo’s fawning, Heenan declares himself unimpressed with the reigning, defending World Champion.
In the midst of the usual pre-match shirt ripping routine, Bischoff informs us that Randy Savage vs. Scott Norton has been signed for next week’s Nitro in Miami, giving us all something to look forward to. Hogan’s too-long half head of hair provides a distraction from the off, waving as it does in a lighter field of gravity than the one the rest of us occupy. This, coupled with his leaner physique, causes him to bear a quite striking resemblance to the White Walkers from HBO’s Game of Thrones.
Boss Man, whose bizarre outfit is almost as diverting as Hogan’s hair, gets us off to the races with a rest hold, but the champion breaks free and demonstrates his new Pastamania-inspired speed and agility off the ropes. Talking of speed, the commentary team marvels at the Boss Man’s boxing, with Heenan going so far as to claim he has the fastest hands in the sport, after former Golden Gloves champion Mero of course. Heenan continues to big up Boss Man’s refined arsenal, noting how his martial arts background, wrestling knowledge and past career as a corrections officer serve to make him a formidable opponent for anyone. Mongo then throws all of that out of the window by stating, ‘he’s a brawler, plain and simple,’ before describing Hogan as ‘a technician’.


‘You better say your prayers and eat your Pastamania, brother!’

Hogan catches Boss Man coming in for a corner splash with a big boot, not once but twice, with the second shot sending the challenger down to the mat in instalments. Heenan does his best to get Kevin Sullivan’s Dungeon of Doom stable over as a legitimate threat, but listening to the names he reels off, it’s difficult not to envision a selection of absolute no-hopers (Zodiac Man, The Shark, Task Master, etc). There is an odd spot where Hogan is unloading with punches on a downed Boss Man – giving us a great view of a Hogan Sucks sign on the front row – and the referee resolves to pretty aggressively pull what’s left of his hair to break the sequence. Notoriously touchy about his fragile locks, Hogan turns to confront the ref, allowing Boss Man to hit an uppercut and lay him out on the middle rope. Boss Man inexplicably goes outside to intimidate Jimmy Hart, handing control back to Hogan, who throws him inside and uses Hart’s jacket to cover his head while delivering mounted punches in the corner.
Hogan continues to rough Boss Man up, but once against falls victim to that fabled hand speed, prompting Mongo to ask Heenan if this isn’t the best wrestling action he’s ever seen. Boss Man misses with The Ho Train, but catches Hogan with a sidewalk slam off the ropes for two. Hogan decides he’s sold enough for one day, and begins his patented Hulk up routine: no sell → Finger Poke of Doom → punches → Irish whip → big boot → big leg → profit.
Winner: Hulk Hogan, via pinfall (leg drop).
 Before the obligatory pose down can take place, The Dungeon of Doom, comprised of Kevin Sullivan in some kind of Flash costume, a Crow Sting/Ultimate Warrior hybrid and Kamala descend upon Hogan. The Shark (Earthquake) and Meng (Haku) take so long getting to the ring that Luger has already ran in and started making the save by the time they arrive. Luger and Hogan bump into each other and go face to face, shouting at one another until Sting and Savage show up to try and calm things down. Mongo says it’s the most amazing turn of events he has ever seen.
We go to a break with the scene continuing to escalate, and they air a promo for the upcoming Fall Brawl: War Games, where Hogan, Savage, Sting and Vader will join forces in the battle against Muscular Dystrophy. Fighting on behalf of the disease will be the aforementioned Dungeon of Doom, who I can only hope were known as The Dungeon of Dystrophy for one night only.


I can’t even…

Back in the ring, and it’s boots on the ground reporting from Mean Gene. He manages to trick Hogan into confessing that he’s worried about Luger taking his spot, followed by further jabs at the WWF, with Luger claiming he got tired of ‘playing around with kids’. Hogan shows uncharacteristically poor negotiation skills by countering Luger’s offer to wait five years for a title shot by agreeing to face him next week, although he does qualify this sudden turnabout in confidence (seconds ago he was fretting over his future) by pointing out that the Pastamaniacs will be right behind him in Miami.

Tuesday, 28 October 2014

Weekend at Burnley's





A postmortem of Everton’s latest sojourn on the continent – provisionally titled Lille’s Gone, Kid – was originally slated to appear in this space, but as fellow revellers can attest, Friday and Saturday were more about heaving up the last of the teargas and digging those stubborn rubber bullets out of your dome than writing articles for a blog with two followers.
It’s not as though there was a lot to say about the goalless draw in France anyway. Roberto Martinez fielded his Carling Cup team (A.K.A Muhamed Besic and Tony Hibbert), as well as persona non grata Sylvain Distin and Aiden ‘he’s shit him you know, lad’ McGeady in a line up which didn't so much say, ‘a point is sound here,’ as scream it very loudly through some sort of voice amplifying device. 
For all the groans that meet his inclusion these days, it was Hibbert who provided the game’s highlight when he went marauding forward and received the ball with the goal at his mercy, only to nervously stall until one of the Lille players arrived to stop the riot which would have ensued had he opened the scoringIt was a heart-warming moment of social awareness from a lad who many worried would be changed by the status boost that comes with being Huyton’s top angler.
‘But enough about Europe; the real entertainment was at Turfmoor,’ said no one ever… UNTIL NOW!
A Samuel Eto’o-inspired Everton ran riot and recorded their second away win of the season with a 3-1 victory against Sean Dyche’s Burnley. The Cameroonian opened the scoring with a veritable bullet of a header after just four minutes, capping a move which he himself started in midfield, and bookended the performance with a curled finish from outside the box which you can file under ‘delightful’. 
All three goals were excellent in their own right. The first came at the end of a sweeping move which belied the fact Martinez had picked the slowest team on record, as Leon Osman fed assist machine Leighton Baines down the left while Eto’o strolled to the edge of the six yard box, where he thumped a header in off the bar. The scepticism which followed the decision to offer the veteran forward a two-year deal has pretty much evaporated in recent weeks, as with each performance he demonstrates quite emphatically that he’s far from finished at the highest level. 
Both Baines and Romelu Lukaku spoke post-match about how much everyone is learning from Eto’o on the training ground, but you wouldn’t have known it from Burnley’s equaliser. Lukaku came deep to receive a simple pass on the halfway line, and then in a moment of utter turdness contrived to play the ball straight to former Everton Reserves stalwart Lukas Jutkiewicz. Old Jukebox slipped in his strike partner Danny Ings, who calmly rounded Tim Howard and passed in an equaliser. Relieved to have finally opened his Premier League account, the Clarets forward should hopefully no longer feel the need to compensate for a lack of goals with an excessive amount of forehead.
With the home crowd now roused into getting up to all manner of wool fan antics, Dyche's Tykes gained some momentum, and you couldn't help but feel as though this was going to be another frustrating case of dropped points. However, Lukaku – perhaps realising he was perilously close to a half-time torrent of abuse from the travelling Toffees – quickly atoned for his error by somewhat fortunately finishing off another superb stanza of incisive passing. The Belgian bruiser went back and forth with Steven Naismith, had his first effort blocked, but then somehow managed to kick the ball so hard into the ground that it leapt, grabbing its arse in pain, beyond the despairing grasp of Tom Heaton. 
Following what was almost certainly a very positive and pleasant half-time team talk for all involved, the Blues got back to doing what they do best and virtually passed their opponents to a standstill after the break. Naismith hit the bar with a looping header which, in truth, would have only beat the Richard Wrights of the world had it been on target, and was unlucky not to score near the end after quick feet on the edge of the box put him one on one with Heaton. The Scot tends to struggle a bit when deployed on the wing, and is sometimes guilty of limiting Seamus Coleman’s opportunities to attack, but he did well out there on Sunday. 
Everton have an awful habit of allowing even the most commanding of displays to draw to a nervy conclusion by neglecting to give themselves a two goal cushion, but on 85 minutes they decided to flip the script and let the fans enjoy their final allez, allez, allez ohs in peace. Steven Pienaar, again looking bright off the bench, found Eto’o in space on the edge of the box, where he turned, picked his spot and stroked the ball into the corner of the net in about as nonchalant a fashion as possible. 
Tremendous stuff.

Monday, 20 October 2014

Thrilla at the Villa


OK, so it wasn't really thrilling, nor was it at Villa Park. It was all right, though.

 Roberto Martinez wasted no time in getting Seamus Coleman, James McCarthy and Ross Barkley back into his starting line-up, and if for some reason anyone was wondering why, all three were quick to show the thousands in attendance, and the millions watching around the world exactly what this Everton team has been missing.
 Barkley in particular was superb right from the off, bridging the massive gap which tends to open between the holding midfielders and whoever replaces the England starlet in the ‘Cahill role’ during his absences. In a week which saw David Moyes’ return to the world of self-serving interviews (reaching the quarter finals of the Champions League with Manchester United is nothing to be sniffed at, he’ll have you know), it was doubly satisfying to see Barkley get straight back to playing with the air of a man who knows his manager trusts him implicitly. It never gets old watching him show experienced campaigners less than zero respect.
 In fact, it was from one such act of contempt that the first goal came. Barkley fired a shot near post which ‘asked a question’ of Brad Guzan – presumably, ‘what are you going to do about this, Elmer Fudd?’ – and to be fair to the permanently bewildered-looking American, he correctly answered, ‘C. Put it behind for a corner.’ Ignoring the ire which follows every set piece ever taken short, the wonderful Leighton Baines played a one-two, shimmied past some fool and delivered a peach of a cross with his weaker right foot. The ball eluded  Romelu Lukaku’s weird downward jump, but thankfully found its way into the path of captain Phil Jagielka, who opened the scoring with a guided header after just 18 minutes.

 Villa actually looked decent in the first half, albeit in a non-threatening sort of way. Kieran Richardson and dodged bullet Tom Cleverly move the ball neatly in midfield, but with Christian Benteke searching for post-injury form and Gabriel Agbonlahor still being ever the eight goal a-season forward, there was a feeling that the points were pretty much in the bag once Everton got their noses in front.
 Buoyed by the early introduction of comedy centre back Ciaran Clark from the bench, Lukaku had his best game in a while, although he still looks a bit crap whenever opposition defenders manage to stand him up and stop his momentum. Luckily though, there’s no danger of that happening with Clark, as demonstrated on 48 minutes when he contrived to stand two yards wrong side of his man, allowing the big Belgian to drag Barkley’s under-hit pass out from under his feet and get off a shot which Guzan inexplicably failed to keep out.
 Scoring right after a team has had their half-time rollicking is always a sure-fire way of taking the wind out of their sails, and that’s exactly what happened here. Whatever plan Paul Lambert and Roy Keane had outlined during the break was on its arse less than three minutes after the restart, and judging by their players’ reactions, they didn't bother thinking of a backup.
 Speaking of Keane, how is his beard back already? Did he knock Father Christmas off his roof or something, like Tim Allen in The Santa Clause?

 With the visitors seemingly resolved to saving their legs for next week, Martinez sent on Steven Pienaar for the last half an hour or so. Everton are always much more calm and measured in possession when the South African schemer plays, so it was great to see him get vital minutes in a game where he was unlikely to be booted into row Z by some over-zealous yard dog. He still drew fouls though – having never quite mastered the Arteta ‘fall on the ball and award yourself a free kick before they touch you’ trick – one of which led to Leon Osman releasing Baines down the left, and the coolest footballer on Merseyside getting his head up and picking out Coleman’s near post run before the Lower Gwladys had finished berating Lukaku for loitering on the edge of the box.
 According to some Twitter statto, Baines has now notched more assists in his last ten games than England rivals Kieran Gibbs and Luke Shaw have managed in their entire careers. It does make you wonder why the press are so desperate for one of those two non-entities to usurp Baines’ spot in the national team, especially when neither will ever be as good as he is in a million years.
 At 3-0 Lambert said, ‘no mas,’ and in an act of fealty replaced Benteke with Joe Cole – a player too finished for Sam Allardyce. Martinez accepted the surrender, the Villains were spared any further humiliation, and Lambert and Keane confirmed their status as the new age Walter and Archie. 
Up next: the Mongol horde, resplendent in Europa League fishing hats, descends upon the unsuspecting citizens of Lille.

Wednesday, 3 September 2014

Cleverly Fills Kop



That could have been a headline if Tom Cleverly’s proposed move to Everton had gone through, and then been followed by him wading through the crowd at Anfield in three weeks’ time, windmilling punches at his red foes.

However, for better or worse, a deal didn’t materialise before the transfer window was boarded shut like a family home within John Henry’s Lebensraum territory, and so the Blues are forced to go ‘with what they’ve got,’ to quote a certain ginger dolite.

The prospect of making do with the current crop seemed significantly less ominous before late lapses in concentration against Leicester City and Arsenal turned respectable 2-1s into a pair of disappointing 2-2s (or Desmonds, for the academic snobs amongst you). Add in the thrilling but ultimately worrying 6-3 home defeat at the hands of champions elect Chelsea and it’s easy to see why some are getting tetchy.


Roberto Martinez will obviously have seen all of this, especially now that he's 50ft tall and living on the side of the Main Stand, and with the ever-annoying first international break upon us there’s nothing to do but have faith that he’ll sort things out in time for the next game away at West Brom.

Still, there’s plenty to be optimistic about. I for one never believed I’d see Everton pull of a transfer on the scale of Romelu Lukaku’s £28m move from Chelsea, and despite us being all, like, ‘so tense, never tenser – could all go a bit John Spencer,’ Samuel Eto’o looks equipped to make a contribution which belies his advancing years. Transfer-wise there’s also the return of Gareth Barry and development of new signing Muhamed ‘not fucking there, lad,’ Besic to get excited about.

Fingers have been pointed at the back four and goalkeeper that have conceded ten goals in just three games, and rightly so, but the most pressing issue for Martinez to address is possibly the role of James McCarthy. Everyone’s heard the jokes about him getting across more ground than the Russian infantry, but the fact is that his constant covering out wide seems to be leaving him exhausted towards the end of games, as evidenced by the roasting he’s uncharacteristically received at the hands of Santi Cazorla and Eden Hazard in recent weeks.

So yeah, the squad still looks a bit thin, but perhaps Milford men Darron Gibson, Arouna Kone and Antolin Alcaraz will get off their arses and pitch in.


Wednesday, 23 July 2014

ROMSHELL!


That’d be a popular headline if the newspapers were remotely arsed about the fact that Romelu Lukaku doesn't seem overly keen on a permanent move to Everton.

Fresh from giving a rather poor account of himself at the World Cup, the big Belgian goal plunderer has gone off on holiday, presumably leaving his agent with instructions to find him the Champions League club of his dreams.

While you could imagine David Moyes sitting forlornly in his office, like Stan waiting for a reply from Eminem, Roberto Martinez remains typically upbeat about the situation, and seems content to just let this one play out. He’s obviously not going to come out say it, but much of his apparent confidence in the deal coming off probably stems from the belief that no club really fits the young striker’s alleged criteria.

As clinical as he is in front of goal, Lukaku still has gaping holes in his game that will preclude him from leading the line in a team which competes regularly for the highest honours. In short, his first touch and general holdup play are shite, and that won’t wash with snides like Jose Mourinho, who incidentally is the manager at Lukaku’s parent club Chelsea.


Other big clubs are said to be interested, most notably Atletico Madrid and Juventus – both champions of their respective leagues – and even Christmas and Easter title winners Liverpool were rumoured to have made an enquiry before snapping up the annoyingly excellent Loic Remy last week.

Wolfsburg has been mooted as another possible destination, mainly because they’re minted now, but despite this nouveau rich status they’re unlikely to trouble the Bayern Munich-Borussia Dortmund duopoly anytime soon. Like Everton, they had a great season but still only finished fifth, so unless Lukaku decides that he may as well earn as much moolah as possible if he has to lower himself to playing in the Europa League, it’s not somewhere I’d expect to see him go in the near future.

There is, of course, also the option of him simply signing a new deal at Chelsea. It would sort of make sense given that they loaned him out so he’d return to them a better player, but with Diego Costa arriving for £32m there’s little chance of him making anything like the number of starts he did at Goodison (and lots of other grounds) last season. To be honest, coming off the bench and rotating with more experienced forwards would probably suit him well at this point, but luckily he seems reluctant to accept a supporting role now that he’s tasted life as a leading man.

Everton face a tough start to the upcoming campaign, travelling to newly promoted Leicester City and then hosting Arsenal and Chelsea in the week before the transfer window closes. With that in mind, it’d be remiss for the club to again wait until the last minute to get their business done, and so we could reach a point where Martinez is forced to drop the nice guy act and tell Lukaku to put up or shut up, pal, as we’re not prepared to write-off nine points just so you’ve got time to see if Costa looks like he could end up being a bit shit.



Oh, and in other young Belgian striker-related news, Everton are said to be closing in on 18 year old David ‘Cardinal’ Henan, about whom little is known but much shall be expected.

Monday, 7 July 2014

Goodbye to All That


‘It will all be over by Christmas,’ they said, and after one hundred years they finally made good on their promise to bring our brave boys home before we know it.

England fell at the group stage of a World Cup for the first time since 1958, their elimination secured before a ball was kicked in the final game against have a go heroes Costa Rica. A solitary point spared Roy Hodgson’s media-approved squad the ignominy of being known as the worst in its country’s history, but despite stiff competition from woeful World champions Spain they still managed to observe their proud tradition of always being by far the most dire of the teams with a minimum wage of £50,000 a week.

Much of the blame for England’s two defeats was quite rightly laid at the feet of Everton duo Leighton Baines and Phil Jagielka – both of whom had the temerity to not only turn up for the flight to Brazil, but also play when asked. Better, more patriotic men would have stepped aside and allowed giants of international football such as John Terry (0 World Cups, 0 European Championships) and Ashley Cole (0 World Cups, 0 European Championships) to link up with perennial winners Frank Lampard (0 World Cups, 0 European Championships) and Steven Gerrard (0 World Cups, 0 European Championships) for the good of the nation, but those two selfish bastards didn't even consider it.

Baines in particular was horribly out of his depth, evidenced by the fact he wasn't up to the simple task of marking two players at once while simultaneously holding the hand of a forward who is twelve years into his career. The good news for England is that Hodgson has already identified a suitable replacement in Manchester United’s new £27m left-back Luke Shaw, who is already twice the player Baines is and will only get better. The 18 year old Southampton youth product has the combination of defensive steel and attacking prowess required of full-backs in the modern game, and will almost certainly probably improve on last season’s tally of no goals and one assist.


Like most people of pension age, Hodgson is constantly learning and evolving, so fans can rest assured that he will have taken the lessons of this fantastically entertaining World Cup on board. For example, the plight of Spain and success of lesser lights such as Colombia, USA and the aforementioned Costa Ricans has shown that in tournaments where a team’s fate is often sealed within the first two games, a dependable collective work ethic is more useful than a selection of mercurial individual talents that will turn up whenever they can be arsed. It was this line of thinking which led to unpopular decisions being made to leave behind the likes of Samir Nasri, Carlos Tevez and Kaka, and the vindication of those decisions which makes the public pleas for Lampard and Gerrard to extend their international careers all the more baffling.

Anyway, enough about England.

With the finish line sadly in sight, hosts Brazil are set to meet Germany in the first semi-final tomorrow. Juan Zuniga’s Bane-inspired attack on Neymar has left ‘Uncle Phil’ Scolari’s side looking more toothless than an Alabama crackhead, while the Fatherland’s own firepower issues have led to them resorting to all sorts of tactical variations in an attempt to compensate. It’s a tough one to predict – the only certainties being Fernandinho committing an absurd amount of fouls without being booked, and David Luiz trying to boot the ball out of the stadium every thirty seconds if the Brazilians take the lead.

The second semi-final will see Lionel Messi and friends take on Louis van Gaal’s Holland, who despite their pedigree are somewhat unlikely participants at this late stage. Both sides look vulnerable at times but have been able to punish opponents on the counter-attack, and with games becoming increasingly tight it seems safe to assume that this one will be settled by whichever front three gets out of the blocks quickest. It’ll also be interesting to see if incoming United boss van Gaal has any more ‘innovations’ planned for the press to lap up. One can only imagine how his newsworthiness will cause Jose Mourinho to act out in retaliation next season.


Anything else? Oh yeah, Romelu Lukaku has admitted that returning to Everton is at least a possibility, but to be honest he doesn't sound overly keen. He may have to get used to the idea though, as I don’t think the Champions League regulars he’s planning on joining will have been too impressed watching him chase down his own first touch over the last few weeks.