WWE: Worthless Wankers’ Entertainment
Wrestling, as much as we might will it, is a far cry from the rough and tumble that American men and boys go mad for all across the country.
Good ol’ Bill Shakespeare might as well have dedicated one of his finest works, “Hamlet,” to my good friend Geoff because that “lady certainly doth protest too much, methinks.”
There is no doubting that the professional wrestlers are extremely talented because the level of stage-fighting skill that they have as actors is breath taking at times. They have some choreographed fights on the WWE that leaves One Direction’s prancing about seem about as riveting as a geriatric’s tea party on a Tuesday.
Further, they have to be commended for the improvisation skills they put on offer because it is an understood law of the professional wrestling community that you remain in character at all times, with no exceptions! That is gutsy.
They find their character, and it’s a real case shining example of, above all else, staying true to thine own self. But, they do not really do themselves many favors.
There is technically nothing wrong, or necessarily evil, about wrestling, but it is the inexcusable cause for increasing the stress and anxiety levels of the young adolescent to some of the greatest and most dangerous peaks, making some of the toughest challenges during his pimple-infested, pubescent phase, such as the daunting prospect of being the chubby clown having to ask one of the pretty girls in gym class to dance during the social dancing block, seem like a walk in the park.
That awful sinking feeling that comes with finding out that wrestling is actually fake is up there with the worst heartbreaks you’ll ever face.
You think back to all those sharpshooters you gave your best friend, reducing him to tears in the cloakroom at dinnertime, and you feel cheated. You think of the powerbombs you gave your teammate on the soccer team, which broke your bedframe, and you feel robbed.
You think of the table you got DDT’d through at your classmate’s 11th birthday party, and you feel like someone ripped a piece of your soul out. Wrestling was incredible because men were beating the sweet Jesus, bless our lord and savior, out of each other on TV.
It was brilliant; but, for the very reason they are incredible actors, is the reason they are the worst of the worst.
It’s shown on the sports channels, and it is parading as sporting entertainment, but it’s not a sport.
It’s a crime against sport. It’s holds a more inappropriate place in the sporting world than Jachimo held while he hid in the trunk and watched Imogen get naked in Cymbeline. It’s disgusting. They should be shot with the whole thing.
Be some of the best actors in the world, but actually be them. Do not pretend to be the mutt’s nuts, while you hide behind your jockstraps, steroids and oversized, skimpy leotards.
You’ve changed wrestling. You’re not what our generation used to know and love. Don’t waste your time suffering through the classless façade.
Just get down your local, and start talking smack to the biggest guy in the place, or go see The Rock’s new movie in the cinema.
That’s about all he’s good for.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to ask that girl for a dance.