‘Why is he running?’ Erwin asked his brother, as the silhouetted figure they were tracking became fainter and fainter, the further he fled into the late summer night. He had ran so far north-east that even the garish amber stripes of his replica football shirt were no longer discernible to the half-pissed eye. ‘He didn’t do anything wrong.’
‘But OK, we have to chase him,’ Ronald replied, his face an unmoving mask of sternness, painted sloppily onto the great monolith that was his head. ‘Because he’s the hero Everton deserves, but not the one it needs right now. So we’ll loan him out, because he can take it. Because he’s not Lukaku. He’s a willing runner. A contented rotation option. A bit shite.’
Twelve months later, with the club in disarray, a bit of shite rises.
Yes, Oumar Niasse is back in the fold and back amongst the goals; first sending David Moyes’d Sunderland packing from the Carabao Cup, and then coming off the bench to rescue Ronald Koeman from a home defeat that really would have had the wolves at the door.
Still reeling from Jose Mourinho’s programme notes sending him Fred West, Koeman dismissed suggestions that the midweek victory over Darron ‘Homer’ Gibson and the gang was anything to do with the fact that he picked a balanced team for once, and went straight back to shoehorning one-paced ‘number tens’ into the team for the visit of Nice Guy Eddie Howe’s Bournemouth. Cuco Martina and Leighton Baines returned as full-backs, with Mason Holgate moving inside to partner Ashley Williams in central defence, and Idrissa Gana Gueye and Morgan Schneiderlin were restored to their usual best-seats-in-the-house-view of the attacking midfield malaise, comprised of Wayne Rooney, Gylfi Sigurdsson and Davy Klaassen. Dominic Calvert-Lewin continued up front after an impressive two-goal display against the Black Cats.
The only notable event of a typically dull first half came when Simon Francis - who is very much into MMA, and really hates it when people say that they ‘train UFC’ - decided that he was sick of everyone taking the piss out of him for doing Muay Thai to keep fit in pre-season, and resolved to show once and for all that Dan Gosling and Harry Arter were a pair of lying wankers for telling the lads that he actually just goes to boxercise with his bird. Speaking to a Match of the Day reporter after the game, Francis would tell how out of the corner of his eye he clocked Rooney leaping like a heat camp circuit straggler, and, remembering what a little fart he looked when Phil Bardsley World Starred him in his own kitchen, that he knew then that it was finally time to demonstrate his formidable knowledge of the art of eight limbs.
Rooney was understandably incensed by a lack of action from referee Martin Atkinson, and even moreso at the assistants who failed to spot a blow that left him looking like Vitali Klitschko at the end of his war with Lennox Lewis. Justice would not be denied, however, as the universe decreed that Francis’ assault would in fact serve as the impetus for a substitution that would turn the game on its head, following an early second half goal from Josh King that looked to have sent the poor old Toffees hurtling headlong towards another shameful defeat. Taking the ball from Charlie Daniels, who was a constant threat out on the left, King strolled past Martina with alarming ease, sent Holgate sliding on his arse like a kid on a function room dance floor, and produced a finish that left Jordan Pickford with no chance. The goal sparked a chaotic 20 minutes or so that saw Niasse and Tom Davies replace Rooney and Klaassen, and Pickford forced to keep Everton in the game with an excellent save from Jermaine Defoe as the visitors poured forward in search of a contest-killing second.
Then, with the manager’s prospects looking as bleak as they have at any stage during his short but eventful tenure, Davies picked up where he left off on Wednesday by driving forward from midfield and picking out Niasse with a sublime through-ball that was duly dispatched beyond the flailing arms of Asmir Begovic, drawing the Blues level against the run of play. All joking aside, it was a moment that again reinforced the obvious quality of Davies - something that should have been clear to Koeman when his promotion to the first team proved to be the catalyst for last season’s upturn in form - and also made a mockery of the idea that there was simply no point in pursuing any other strikers after Olivier Giroud’s supposed U-turn over a move to Goodison.
With the crowd now suitably geed up, momentum shifted in the home side’s favour, and true to their reputation as a team of questionable mental fortitude, the travelling Cherries immediately saw their arses and retreated. Defoe had already been withdrawn when Niasse struck on 77 minutes, and King wasn’t far behind as Howe attempted to shut up shop and take a point. Taken at face value it looked a sensible move, but we, as former long-suffering observers of David Moyes, knew that it would do nothing but invite the kind of pressure that has resulted in many a disgruntled Evertonian shoving copious amounts of cocaine up his nose on a four-hour coach ride home from Anywhere, UK.
‘We’ve had eightnine10 11 years of this now, lad. He can fuck off.’
The winning goal came just five minutes after the equaliser, with more good work from Davies leading to a blocked shot and a bout of slapstick defending that eventually ended with Niasse forcing the ball across the line, Kev Campbell in a scramble-style. A memorable moment to say the least.
Just a shame that he isn’t registered for Thursday.
For the second consecutive season, Ashley Williams was forced to take drastic action at Old Trafford when his over 1.5 goals bet looked all but bust.
Refreshed following a midweek rest, the Wales international put in a performance against former teammate Romelu Lukaku that for a long spell was reminiscent of their meeting in a Euro 2016 quarter-final, when the Belgian was kept securely in Williams' pocket for the full 90 minutes, plus added time. Times change, however, and 15 months later the one-time colossus, who virtually every pundit used to point to as the throwback, no-nonsense defender that could win Arsenal the title, has morphed into a tubby oaf with a stupid David Haye haircut, whose concentration deserts him at all the wrong moments.
‘Once Everton has touched you…’
Ronald Koeman reverted to his preferred lineup for trying to achieve a respectable defeat, bringing Williams and Cuco Martina in to make up a back five. Morgan Schneiderlin and Idrissa Gana Gueye stood just far enough in front of the defence to make it impossible to prove in a court of a law that it was actually a back seven, while Tom Davies and Gylfi Sigurdsson did their best to both cover the full-backs and offer support to lone striker Wayne Rooney. It was an unabashed attempt at ‘parking the bus’ and frustrating a Manchester United side that has made a strong start to the season, which is probably why the players went into panic mode when Antonio Valencia opened the scoring with a belter of a first-time strike after just four minutes.
Another defeat in the manner of those suffered against Tottenham Hotspur and Atalanta looked to be very much on the cards in the minutes following Valencia’s goal, but once the fear of realising that they were effectively set up to defend a deficit eventually subsided, the Blues played their way into the game a bit, and even fashioned a genuine chance when Martina broke down the right flank and centred for Rooney, who should have at least hit the target. Davies’ selection had looked a classic Moyes stitch-up job at first - picking a kid out of position in a game that you know you won’t win, and then dropping him for six months after he gets hooked at half-time - but the ket wig Kaka did a fine job of linking with Rooney and Sigurdsson, while also working back and preventing Martina from being exposed by the attack-minded combination of Ashley Young and Marcus Rashford. The increasingly unconvincing Michael Keane - who definitely doesn’t know how to play as one of three centre-halves - did his best to gift Lukaku a goal with a terrible pass across his own line, but other than that it was mostly a case of letting United knock the ball around between themselves without really creating much of note. It was hardly anything special, but compared with Thursday it was something.
Everton came out for the second-half looking as though 40 minutes without conceding had done their confidence the world of good, as Rooney forced another chance when he rode Eric Bailly’s challenge, only to shoot straight at David de Gea when he again could have done better. United started to get sloppy in possession, with Williams, who appeared to be particularly motivated by his obvious dislike for Lukaku, doing a great job of making their battle the kind of physical encounter that the striker doesn’t really have much of a stomach for. Thierry Henry mentioned before kick-off that Lukaku had been looking forward to facing his former employers, due to him taking offence at fans of such a lowly club having the audacity to point out the flaws in his game; and those comments made it all the more enjoyable when Lukaku fluffed the one on one which came from Keane’s aforementioned error, and despite his current form juxtaposing so unflatteringly with Everton’s, it’s nice not to have such an insufferable blurt doling out unsolicited soundbites about himself all the time. It also came as no surprise to see that he’s taken over Rio Ferdinand’s role of knobhead who runs and jumps on top of everyone while they’re celebrating.
Lukaku would have the last laugh, of course, when this season’s motif of following up a let-off by doing the exact same thing was repeated yet again. The warning came when Jordan Pickford got too cocky with his usually excellent distribution and passed the ball straight to Juan Mata, who drew a foul from Williams and then hit the post with the subsequent free kick. Not satisfied that this was definitely a sign that they should stop arsing around at the back before they get caught out, Williams needlessly gave the ball away under no pressure, allowing Henrikh Mkhitaryan to put the game to bed on 83 minutes. This was immediately followed by ten minutes of complete farce, where a poor free kick by Lukaku caused a scramble that he inevitably scored from, and then substitute Anthony Martial converted a penalty that he himself won by dribbling through the Everton defence until Schneiderlin stopped him with a blatant handball. So it goes.
Grim as things are at the moment, it’s more than likely that this is simply a standard run of poor results - think the ten games without a win, or whatever it was last year - that will turn around as the fixtures get easier. It would, however, be great to hear someone explain the thinking behind the summer recruitment, when they presumably knew well in advance that Rooney would be coming in, and yet made no effort to target players that could complement his strengths or compensate for his weaknesses. Rooney hasn’t, as I feared, taken the piss with his performances on the pitch, but there’s little point in having him here on top money if he’s just going to labour as the focal point of an attack filled with players that are as one-paced as he is. There’s little chance of Koeman’s job coming under serious threat unless it transpires that these recent results are harbingers of a relegation fight, but you would surely think that the same couldn’t be said for Steve Walsh, whose work as director of football appears questionable at best.
With the next four games at home, the outlook should be much brighter come the end of the month; but even if that ends up being the case, it seems difficult to set any realistic, worthwhile targets. Qualifying for Europe through the league is almost certainly going to be a non-starter with this team, and unless something drastic happens in the January transfer window, the fact that they are incapable of winning away from home makes any sort of meaningful cup progress look equally implausible.
After the usual pre-game talk of pressing as a unit and finding a response to a dreadful run of form, Ronald Trump was again made to look like a blustering idiot by his players, as Everton began their first Europa League campaign since 2014/15 with a 3-0 hammering away at Italian minnows Atalanta.
I was lucky enough to miss the opening 10 minutes, but if the subsequent 70 were anything to go by it was yet another case of a scoreline that was as flattering as it was comprehensive. Koeman stuck with the same 4-2-3-1 formation that yielded nothing at home to Tottenham Hotspur last weekend, with Mason Holgate and Phil Jagielka replacing Cuco Martina and Ashley Williams in defence, and Muhamed Besic, Nikola Vlasic and Dominic Calvert-Lewin coming in for Idrissa Gana Gueye, Davy Klaassen and Sandro Ramirez respectively. Maarten Stekelenburg starting ahead of Jordan Pickford was perhaps the most eyebrow-raising change, but to be fair to the oft-maligned Dutchman, he was one of the better performers on the night.
The hosts took the lead around the midway point of the first half, when one of those weird set piece defending routines that seem to backfire on a number of teams every week only went and backfired. Jagielka had no time to react when an in-swinging corner struck his hip and deflected towards the undefended back post, where Andrea Masiello was being played onside thanks to the decision to have Leighton Baines marking the front. It was poor organisation by any standard, but what made it particularly disconcerting was the fact that, much like the Dele Alli chance that preceded Spurs’ third goal on Saturday, Everton had just moments earlier been given a reprieve when Stekelenburg saved well from the same player. As President George W. Bush so eloquently put it, ‘fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice… you can’t fool me twice!’
In keeping with the failure to answer the manager’s repeated calls for a meaningful response following dire showings at Stamford Bridge and again in the aforementioned Spurs game, the goal did nothing to illicit any sort of reaction from the players, who seem to have been constantly under the cosh since Kyle Walker’s sending off in the draw with Manchester City. The home side, playing their first European fixture in 26 years, had the look of a team that smelled blood, as they continued to bite into challenges and move the ball with conviction; and so it came as no surprise when Argentinian playmaker Alejandro Gomez doubled the advantage with a superbly curled strike on 41 minutes. It was quite funny when, in his post-match interview, Koeman mentioned showing his players eight (!) clips of the Atalanta captain cutting inside onto his right foot, as if to say that Farhad Moshiri is lucky not to be expecting an overtime sheet and an expenses invoice on Monday morning.
‘But OK, that’s data roaming charges.’
They say it’s the hope that kills you, so I suppose we should be grateful to Atalanta for sparing us 15 minutes in the half-time hospice by euthanising the game on the cusp of the break. Andrea Petagna, who was an absolute handful up front, reminded the travelling support of what a striker looks like when he collected the ball in Everton’s half, held it up for a few seconds and then centred for the onrushing Bryan Cristante to take ball in his stride and finish from close range. The second half followed much the same pattern, with Petagna hitting the bar after smart work from former Middlesbrough midfielder Marten de Roon, along with a number of missed half-chances that the Italians were never in danger of regretting. The three changes made between the 66th and 76th minutes were barely more than token gestures to the fans that made the journey, with Etrit Berisha’s goal never coming under serious threat until Everton managed to force a couple of corners in the dying moments.
After seeing his defence dominated by Alvaro Morata, Harry Kane and now Petagna, Koeman’s failure to land a centre-forward in the summer has become the pundits’ talking point of choice; so with that in mind, Old Fat Head must be dreading the inevitable headlines when he renews acquaintances with Romelu Lukaku at the weekend. The Belgian has made a flying start at Old Trafford, and such is his proclivity for padding his record against the dregs of the league, you wouldn’t bet against him adding a few to his tally when this struggling Everton side rocks up on Sunday. Still, the sale of Lukaku remains something of a cheap excuse, as while he was undoubtedly the team’s primary source of goals, he contributed very little off the ball, and tended to go missing for long periods of games against the better sides. If it were a case of Everton playing well without finding the net, then yes, it would be fair to point to his departure as being chiefly responsible. However, with nine competitive matches played, the issues appear to go much deeper than a simple lack of a goalscorer.
You would think that, given time, Wayne Rooney, Gylfi Sigurdsson and Klaassen will find a way to complement one another; but even that won’t be enough to compensate for shortage of pace across the board - one that arguably represents an unassailable obstacle in today’s Premier League. On paper the squad looks adequate, but in reality its depth comes from names who the manager has little to no interest in utilising - Lennon, McCarthy, Mirallas, Lookman, Robles, Niasse - which leaves him attempting to select a balanced team from clutches of players that generally occupy the same space on the pitch. A recruitment drive doesn’t need to cost £150m as long as it makes sense, which is why there’s no reason to have multiple central playmakers but no out-and-out striker beyond Calvert-Lewin, who is 20.
It’s far too early to be talking about a manager under pressure, but at the same time, I’m sure the board are relieved to have bucked the trend of rewarding a promising first season with a lucrative new contract last summer.
Everton were pretty much humiliated by a Tottenham Hotspur side that won’t collect an easier three points this season.
Ronald Koeman responded to the chastening defeat at Stamford Bridge a fortnight ago by switching to a back-four, with Cuco ‘B.Ware’ Martina coming in at right-back, and Phil Jagielka dropping to the bench. Morgan Schneiderlin and Idrissa Gana Gueye continued to offer passive resistance in front of centre-backs Michael Keane and Ashley Williams, with Gylfi Sigurdsson on the left of midfield, and both Wayne Rooney and Davy Klaassen operating in the same space behind lone forward Sandro Ramirez. There was no right-sided midfielder.
Following an international break which began with the failure to bring in a much-needed striker before the transfer deadline passed, and ended with the fallout of the tabloid bonanza that was Rooney’s latest off-field indiscretion, it seems fair to say that the club has an air of being in something of a malaise. Even before Rooney decided to make a mockery of the idea that paying him £150k a-week to impart the secrets of living la vida Ricky Hatton to the under-23s represented a wise investment, there was a worry that Farhad Moshiri and the gang were resting on their laurels after a proactive start to the summer; and judging by the four league games that have been played so far, those concerns look to be valid.
As everyone knows, sending out a player who has long been searching for a drought-ending or milestone-reaching goal to face Everton is tantamount to match-fixing, and so it came as no surprise when Harry Kane scored a goal that was both his first of the season and 100th in a Tottenham shirt. It came from a deep cross that Jordan Pickford made a Wright, Richard hash of tracking, and left the young goalkeeper looking even redder-faced than usual as it sailed over his head and nestled just inside the far post. Embarrassing though it was, Pickford’s error will be the least of Koeman’s worries when he reviews the footage of Kane’s strike - the real issue being that the game was no longer a competitive affair after a goal which came less than 30 minutes in.
The hour following a very fortunate and forgivable opener was reminiscent of the worst days of the previous three managers, as Mauricio Pochettino’s men breached the blue defensive line at will. Martina, who is hapless at the best of times, was left totally isolated by an apparent refusal on the parts of Rooney and Klaassen to cover the right side - something that, incredibly, was still not addressed by a double substitution at half-time. Williams’ attempts at getting physical with Kane were nothing short of pathetic, and neither he nor his partner Keane appeared to have prepared for the possibility that Kane or Dele Alli might run around a bit.
It was such an all round insipid display that virtually everyone could make a case for shifting the blame onto someone else. For example, Leighton Baines had one of the worst showings of his Everton career, failing time and time again to deal with balls knocked in behind, but then that’s not to say that he and the rest of the improv troupe at the back couldn’t reasonably point the finger at Schneiderlin and Gueye, whose inability to track runners was the stuff of 20 a-day, ale house league fatties. Meanwhile, N’Golo Can’t-e and Jean Collins could themselves relate their failure to cope with Christian Eriksen and Moussa Sissoko - who is basically their Oumar Niasse - to a complete lack of an out ball up front or out wide, making it impossible to relieve the pressure that Tottenham were exerting on them.
Further up the pitch, Sigurdsson could be forgiven for wondering why Everton saw fit to spend upwards of £45m to pry him out of Swansea when they already had two brand new players to shoehorn into his position; and Ramirez must be wondering why he’s getting booted up the arse up front when there’s literally no one out on the right, where you would think that he’d be much better suited to playing while he finds his feet in a more physical league. At the centre of all of this confusion is Koeman, who has become almost pathological in his insistence on using Dominic Calvert-Lewin as anything other than a centre-forward, despite a performance away at City which showed exactly why the manager was right to persist with integrating him into the first team last season. It’s all very strange.
Despite Eriksen putting the visitors two-up before the break, you got the feeling that there would at least be a token attempt at salvaging a draw when Alli missed a sitter on the stroke of half-time, which would undoubtedly have killed the game as a contest. That miss proved to be the briefest of respites, however, as Martina followed a slapstick air-clearance in the buildup to Eriksen’s goal by losing Kane for his second and Tottenham’s third, just 49 seconds after the restart. It was from then that the match truly descended into farce, with Everton standing shell shocked while their opponents conducted what was effectively a training session for the benefit of their travelling support. In short, they spent the next 45-plus minutes taking the piss.
With the Europa League campaign getting under way on Thursday, you would hope that Koeman will take the opportunity to split sections of the squad that don’t really need to be on the pitch at the same time. Klaassen and Ramirez could, in previous years, have turned out to be disastrous signings that simply never settle; but with at least six extra games to be played at a tempo more akin to what they were used to in Holland and Spain, there’s room for them to continue gelling with their new teammates without being exposed to the physical elements of league football that appear beyond them for the time being. Klaassen in particular looks in desperate need of a confidence-boosting run out.
Don’t even stop to look at the sunglasses in Duty Free, Wayne.
At the end of a difficult week which saw them largely dominated by 10-man Manchester City in a 1-1 draw at the Etihad, and then ease into the knock-out phase of the Champions League’s weird little brother thanks to the same scoreline in Croatia, Everton finally ran out of both steam and luck when they met Antonio Conte’s Chelsea on Sunday.
Ronald Koeman stuck with the same 3-5-2 formation which saw his side get an absolute walloping in this fixture last season, albeit with Mason Holgate and Leighton Baines playing so deep that it was really more of a back-five. Wayne Rooney spent the majority of the game supporting Holgate down the right, leaving Gylfi Sigurdsson to drift in from the opposite flank and help Tom Davies and Idrissa Gana Gueye chase shadows in midfield. Sandro was a willing runner as the focal point of what was theoretically a three-pronged attack, but made little impact as he was routinely bullied by the hosts’ physically imposing defenders.
Chelsea were two up before half-time through Cesc Fabregas’ deft finish and a free header from Alvaro Morata, and with the introductions of Muhamed Besic - who likely would have started, were it not for keeping it real going wrong for his dad - Aaron Lennon and Dominic Calvert-Lewin doing nothing to improve Everton’s chances of so much as registering a shot on target, you would have to believe that Koeman will be seriously rethinking his choice of tactics ahead of the visit of Tottenham in a fortnight.
Much of the post-match discussion (arguing on Twitter) between fans has centred on whether or not there have been sufficiently mitigating circumstances surrounding a start to the season that has felt somewhat underwhelming. After an early summer spending spree on the back of Romelu Lukaku’s move to Manchester United, followed by the more recent acquisition of Gylfi Sigurdsson for upwards of £45m, most of a us are still a little unsure of what our expectations should be; as while it’s easy to get carried away by the numbers appearing beneath Everton’s graphic on Sky Sports News, there isn’t yet evidence to suggest that it’s enough to expect Ronald Koeman to be sat drinking prosecco in his conservatory in May, a la David Moyes in 2005.
In keeping with the theme of chickens being counted before you find out if any of them can play up front, it appears that talk of another fallen dynasty at Chelsea was premature to say the least. Even without their best player, Eden Hazard, the champions had far too much quality for Everton, with Willian in particular looking head and shoulders above anyone in a grey shirt. At the back, Cesar Azpilicueta is about as good a player as you’ll find anywhere in Europe, and with Ngolo Kante’s ability to occupy numerous opponents once, Fabregas has the freedom to pick passes that few others are capable of executing on their Playstations. Add to that the movement of Pedro and general mustard-ness of Morata up front, and all of a sudden you’re thinking that the odds on them retaining their title are more than generous at 11/2.
Koeman seems to think that there’ll be further transfer activity before Thursday’s bi-annual yellow tie bonanza, although that could mean anything from a far-fetched loan move for Diego Costa to a stress-inducing desperation punt on this year’s Enner Valencia. It’s quite unlikely that the club willhave time to get more than one or two deals over the line before the transfer window closes, so hopefully they’re focusing their energies on finding the striker that this team is sorely lacking. Failing that, a winger with the speed and trickery to provide options beyond the current one-paced crop wouldn’t go amiss, but a centre forward is definitely the priority.
It is the autumn of 1997, and the World Wrestling Federation is at war.
After buying, stealing and blackmailing his way to seemingly unassailable hegemony over the professional wrestling business during the 1980s, the mid-‘90s would see WWF owner Vince McMahon finally discover what it felt like to be on the receiving end of unscrupulous business practices backed up by superior financial clout. The worm began to turn on McMahon in early ’93, when TV mogul Ted Turner made the decision to hand over control of faltering interest World Championship Wrestling to an ambitious young upstart named Eric Bischoff - setting in motion a series of events that would alter the face of the industry forever.
Unlike his predecessors, Bischoff wasn’t entrenched in the southern wrasslin’ culture that had left WCW appearing hokey and dated in comparison to their East Coast rival’s bright lights and family-friendly, larger than life characters. He didn’t think twice about introducing radical changes that would inevitably alienate the promotion’s core fan base, who shunned McMahon’s cartoonish ‘sports entertainment’, in favour of the grittier, more in ring-focused ideals that had been upheld with mixed results by past regimes. Despite an inauspicious start, Bischoff was provided with the resources to begin aggressively pursuing WWF’s top stars, and in ’94 he successfully acquired two of their biggest names in Hulk Hogan and ‘Macho Man’ Randy Savage.
Severely weakened by a steroid scandal that necessitated a de-emphasising of the juiced up stalwarts of his company’s lucrative heyday, McMahon turned to a younger crop of talent, labelled ‘the New Generation’, to lead the company in a different direction. However, such was the depth of riches available to billionaire Turner’s camp that even keeping hold of these largely unproven commodities was becoming increasingly difficult, with freshly minted headline acts Kevin ‘Diesel’ Nash and Scott ‘Razor Ramon’ Hall soon following Hogan and Savage out the door. By mid-’96, all that remained were Bret ‘the Hitman’ Hart and ‘the Heartbreak Kid’ Shawn Michaels; and WCW had their eye on both of them.
Shawn defeated Bret clean for the WWF Title at WrestleMania XII
During a seven-month absence directly following WrestleMania XII - where he had dropped the WWF Championship to Shawn in a 60-minute ‘Iron Man’ match - Bret, soon to be a free agent, became the subject of overtures from Bischoff, who was keen to snatch another prized asset from under his competitor’s nose. Bret was offered an eye-watering $8.4m over three years to make the jump, but instead opted to remain loyal to McMahon and accept a compromise 20-year deal that would net him a far lower salary, but came with the guarantee of a behind-the-scenes role once he was ready to retire from wrestling full-time. He eventually returned to the ring in November ‘96 at the annual Survivor Series pay-per-view, beginning a year of turmoil that would culminate with arguably the most controversial moment in pro wrestling history, the Montreal Screw Job.
In the months leading up to the Screw Job, which took place at the conclusion of a long-awaited rematch between Bret and Shawn at the ’97 edition of Survivor Series, the two men had engaged in a bitter feud that evolved from competitive rivalry to full-blow enmity. Insults that landed well beyond the boundary between storyline and real life were exchanged on a near-weekly basis, as each baited the other with accusations of feigned injuries, infidelity and even homosexuality during broadcasts of Monday Night Raw. Ironically, considering his fondness for referring to Bret as a ‘mark’ who took his TV persona too seriously, it was Shawn who brought attempted mediations to an impasse by declaring that he would never agree to lose a match to his nemesis, which of course prompted Bret to adopt an identical stance.
By the time November ‘97 rolled around, McMahon had decided to renege on the deal offered to Bret barely a year prior. He claimed that the WWF’s financial difficulties were such that he could no longer afford to pay the man he had once again crowned champion back in August, and encouraged the Hitman to reopen negotiations with Bischoff and move on. An agreement was soon reached with WCW which would allow Bret to make his debut one month after Survivor Series, where he was booked to drop the WWF Championship to Shawn in Montreal, Canada. This proved to be an issue for Bret, as his character had developed from archetypal babyface to a nationalistic, anti-American heel, making him simultaneously a villain in the United States and a hero in his homeland of Canada. As a result, he remained steadfast in his refusal to put Shawn over in front of a Canadian crowd, but insisted that he would be open to losing under more palatable circumstances.
The McMahons send their regards
Exasperated by the situation, McMahon eventually relented and agreed to allow the Survivor Series match to end in a non-finish, granting Bret’s wish to defer relinquishing the belt until they were back in the US. However, at some point in the days leading up to the event, McMahon conspired with Shawn, along with Pat Patterson and others, to double-cross Bret by prematurely calling for the bell when Shawn had him held in his own Sharpshooter submission. What followed will forever live in infamy, as Bret smashed ringside production equipment, traced the letters ‘W-C-W’with his finger in full view of the hard camera, and finally knocked McMahon down with a punch during a locker room confrontation. It would be nine years before he was seen on WWF/E television again.
How, you may ask, does any of this relate to Game of Thrones?
Like Bret Hart, Robb Stark was royalty in his northern home and an antagonistic rebel to those in the South. Already seated as acting Lord of Winterfell, Robb was declared King in the North by his bannermen after receiving word of his father Eddard ‘Ned’ Stark’s execution at the hands of Joffrey Baratheon. Even before poor old Ned lost his head, Robb had gathered his strength and moved towards King’s Landing, with the intention of freeing his father from the black cells and seceding from the Seven Kingdoms. However, getting an army south involved more than simply marching and fighting his way through the continent; and only when it was too late would he realise that the most important battles were fought not on the field, but at the negotiating table.
Despite its harrowing conclusion, it must be said that Robb’s campaign actually started out with no small measure of success on the political front. In knowing that he couldn’t cross the Green Fork river without first securing passage at the Twins, he was wise enough to send his mother, Catelyn, to treat with the elderly Lord of the Crossing, Walder Frey. With her superior experience, both in diplomacy and in dealing with the cantankerous Frey, Catelyn was able to strike a deal which would enable her son to lead his army safely into the Riverlands, where they would lift a Lannister siege on her own ancestral home at Riverrun. Following less than amicable discussions, Lord Walder’s price for aiding the Starks in their open rebellion would be a marriage contract, ensuring that King Robb take one of his daughters or granddaughters as his queen once the war was won.
Inspiration for the Kennel from Hell match?
It is after the betrothal to House Frey that Robb Stark’s 299 AC (After Conquest) begins to look a lot like Bret Hart’s 1997. In both cases, their greatest and most memorable periods would prove to be their last on the big stage, with Robb meeting a gruesome, arrow-filled end, and Bret suffering a fate worse than a gruesome, arrow-filled end - Vince Russo’s WCW. Despite the misgivings he expressed over turning heel, Bret went on to deliver arguably the best promos of his career during ’97, and being that he was still very much the Excellence of Execution between the ropes, the lengthy feuds he had with the likes of Shawn and ‘Stone Cold’ Steve Austin are rightly regarded as some of the best of their time. Similarly, Robb’s final months before his betrayal are the stuff of legend, as he defeated and imprisoned Jaime Lannister in the Whispering Wood, lifted the siege at Riverrun following the Battle of the Camps, and smashed Stafford Lannister at the Battle of Oxcross.
A major contrast between the two subjects is that while Bret had the rug pulled out from under him when McMahon revealed his wish to cancel their deal, it was Robb who broke his agreement with Lord Frey, albeit under much different circumstances. While recovering from wounds taken in the capture of the Crag, he learns of the apparent deaths of his younger brothers at the hands of his friend and confidant, Theon Greyjoy; and in his anguish sleeps with a daughter of the castle, Jeyne Westerling. Forever striving to follow the example set by his father, he makes the politically disastrous decision to marry Jeyne in order to preserve her honour, and immediately loses the support of the Freys as a result. The situation is made even worse when, stricken by grief for her murdered sons, Catelyn frees Jaime Lannister in exchange for his promise that he would do all he could to release her daughters, Sansa and Arya, from captivity in King’s Landing.
Having alienated a number of his key allies - so wroth was Lord Rickard Karstark after Jaime was sprung that he slaughtered two hostages, and had to be beheaded himself - Robb attempted to make amends by offering Ser Edmure Tully, his uncle and heir to Riverrun, in an alternative marriage arrangement to House Frey. The compromise was seemingly accepted, with a ceremony and feast held under Lord Walder’s roof at the Twins, only for the King in the North to be betrayed and murdered to the tune of ‘The Rains of Castamere’, which in wrestling terms is Tywin Lannister’s entrance theme. He followed his heart and did what he believed was right, even though an easier and more beneficial option was there to be taken; and he was stabbed through the heart by his own sworn bannerman for his trouble.
Just as Vince McMahon insisted that ‘Bret screwed Bret’, citing his refusal to do business the right way and drop the WWF Championship to Shawn Michaels, so too would Robb Stark be painted as the architect of his own demise by those who conspired against him. In A Dance with Dragons, Rhaegar Frey told the Merman’s Court:
‘Robb Stark betrayed us all. He abandoned the north to the cruel mercies of the ironmen to carve out a fairer kingdom for himself along the Trident. Then he abandoned the Riverlords who had risked much and more for him, breaking his marriage pact with my grandfather to wed the first western wench who caught his eye.’
Both Bret and Robb experienced the turmoil of ‘the human heart in conflict with itself’, a tenet of writing famously espoused by William Faulkner and adopted by George R. R. Martin, and both resolved to choose honour over duty. Each man held a crown that proved to be worthless once it was undermined by anyone willing to operate outside of the established rules of engagement - as McMahon did when he altered the predetermined finish of a match, and Lord Walder by disregarding the sacred custom of guest right, as well as the oath of fealty he swore to House Stark - and were ultimately undone by a misguided belief that others would abide by the same moral code that they themselves followed.
It’s fair to say that had Bret either gone to WCW at the first opportunity or agreed to lose to Shawn in Montreal, and if Robb had followed his mother’s advice and simply put Jeyne Westerling aside and married a Frey, their stories could have turned out very differently. They would, however, have only been swapping the treachery of others for a betrayal of themselves, and likely missed out on the immortality that comes with being remembered as a tragic hero.
As an unabashed pro wrestling fanatic, who has never quite managed to reverse the effects of being immersed from a young age in a culture of forged fracas and bogus bouts, I tend to view the world through a prism of suspended disbelief; and so it isn’t uncommon for me to come across situations that I believe mirror WWE storylines in pretty much every walk of life.
Admittedly, the vast majority of the comparisons I draw are figments of an imagination that has been conditioned by copious amounts of Vince McMahon Kool-Aid, and will fall down faster than Mick Foley hurtling from the roof of Hell in a Cell if subjected to any real scrutiny. I do, however, maintain that there are a few too many instances of clear similarities between WWE and Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire plots to be completely coincidental.
Have I stumbled across a discovery of Jon Snow’s parentage proportions, or should I listen to my dad and stop spending so much time watching oiled-up carnies stage phoney fights in their underwear? Here are five examples to help you decide.
5. Hellfire and Cleganebowl
The first, and perhaps most compelling, case for suggesting an element of light plagiarism could be levelled at WWE (then WWF) for the Undertaker and Kane storyline, which began less than a year after George R. R. Martin introduced the tragedy of the Mountain and the Hound in the opening book in the A Song of Ice and Fire series, A Game of Thrones (1996).
During a tournament held to celebrate Ned Stark’s ill-fated ascent to the office of Hand of the King, we learn through a conversation between Ned’s daughter Sansa and the conniving Littlefinger that two of the betting favourites, brothers Gregor ‘the Mountain’ and Sandor ‘the Hound’ Clegane, are in fact mortal enemies. When sweet, naive Sansa questions how such a thing could be possible, she is told of how, as children, the older Gregor pressed Sandor’s face into a burning brazier as punishment for playing with one of his discarded toys. The official explanation for the incident, which left little Sandor horrifically burnt, was an accidental bedding fire, contrived by the boys’ father in order protect his house’s reputation.
Gregor (right) and Sandor (left) clashed briefly at the Tourney of the Hand (Season 1/A Game of Thrones)
Fast forward to spring 1997, and newly crowned WWF Champion the Undertaker finds himself being blackmailed by his former manager Paul Bearer, who claims to possess knowledge of a dark secret that could destroy the Phenom’s career. After months of suspense, it is finally revealed that the fabled funeral parlour where Bearer once worked had been owned by the Undertaker’s family; that was until it was destroyed in a fire caused by Undertaker himself, killing both his parents and, he believed, his younger brother Kane.
As it turned out, Kane didn’t perished in the blaze, and had instead spent his life locked in an insane asylum, dreaming of the day when he could exact revenge on his famous sibling for ‘murdering’ (as Bearer put it) their parents, and leaving him hideously scarred both inside and out. That opportunity finally came when he was released into the care of Bearer - who, weirdly, we later found out was actually Kane’s natural father - presumably without disclosure of the plan to have him embark on a campaign of extreme violence, culminating with Undertaker being thrown into a casket that was then set on fire at the 1998 Royal Rumble.
With all of that in mind, the similarities between the last scions of House Clegane and the Brothers of Destruction are rather striking. Both Gregor and the Undertaker are renowned for their immense size and prowess in combat, leaving Sandor and Kane to share the burden of standing burnt to a pyrophobic crisp in their vast shadows. It is heavily implied throughout AsoIaF that Gregor, in his ‘rages’, disposed of his father, sister and first two wives, while Undertaker was the arsonist who was, albeit unintentionally (to hear him tell it), responsible for the fire that took his parents’ life. Gregor and Undertaker led their own dark, terrifying groups in the Mountain’s Men and the Ministry of Darkness, whereas Sandor and Kane, seeking acceptance having lost everything at the hands of their respective brothers, leveraged their own imposing physiques to achieve gainful employment within powerful groups - the Lannisters and the Corporation - whose malevolent actions would drive them to a crossroads from where they each resolved to follow their own moral compass.
Even as the Game of Thrones TV show passes the book series and begins wrapping up its version of Martin’s story, the parallels between these two inter-feuding families continue. Gregor has finally been slain in combat, only to return as an undead zombie warrior, which is basically the Undertaker’s original gimmick from his first WWF/E run in the early ‘90s; and Sandor, after a Kane and X-Pac-like buddy adventure with Arya Stark, followed by a period of reflection on the spiritual Quiet Isle, is learning to control his demons and even engage in fire cult rituals with his current companions, the Brotherhood Without Banners.
For many GoT and ASoIaF readers alike, the burning [ahem!] question remains will Gregor and Sandor ever have their own WrestleMania XIV, or ‘Cleganebowl’, as it’s commonly known; or perhaps, dare I say it, settle their differences and fight alongside one another, as the Undertaker and Kane did on numerous occasions down the years, in the coming War for the Dawn II against the Others? The altercation they had at the aforementioned Tourney of the Hand whetted the appetite by presenting them as near equals, and went some way towards confirming the suspicions that surround the deaths of the Clegane's father and sister, by demonstrating Gregor's disregard for the long-held Westerosi belief that there is 'none more accursed than the kinslayer'.
[Personally, I think that, in the show at least, Sandor will begrudgingly accept that UnGregor is his brother in appearance only, and agree to make use of him in battle. However, the Night King will then take control of the Mountain’s body - him being effectively a wight - and that’s when we’ll get the fight we’ve been waiting for.]
Although I’d be as excited as anyone to see Cleganebowl happen, to me there’s an even more pressing matter to be resolved. If Paul Bearer is Kane’s father, and his son is almost identical in size to the enormous Undertaker, exactly how big was their mother?
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.
