Back up in yo' ass with the resurrection

"Your time is up,
My time is now.
You can't see me, my time is now.
It's the franchise, boy, I'm shinin' now.
You can't see me, my time is now!"
-"The Time is Now," John Cena

There are those that say blogs are mostly for self-important college geeks with nothing better to do. And I would agree. So the reason I still get to have one is--I'm still in school, bitches! Hopefully that ends any suspense right there. The good news is, that writing sample I submitted to NFL Films (which you can find in an earlier entry of this very blog) worked pretty well. They had me out to Philly, I got a second interview, and a couple months later they offered me a job. The bad news is that the job offer was kinda shitty. I simply couldn't afford to pick up and move to the east coast for no benefits and $20,000 a year. Plus no guarantee I'd even last past the first 6 months. I have too many loans to pay back and too few skills for living alone. So I'm delaying adulthood for another couple years at least and going to graduate school.

What I didn't figure was that coming back to attend NIU here in DeKalb would be a bit more complicated than it sounded. See in order to get my tuition paid for, I have to teach 2 sections of basic public speaking class. The one thing I swore I'd never do since I was eight years old, and it's finally come back to haunt me. Both my parents are teachers. My childhood was spent listening to them bitching about how thankless a job it is at dinner every night. And now here I am. The weird part is that we are now a family of people getting paid (badly) to educate the wastoid youth of America. We have the same long hours, the same disgruntled co-workers and the same dumbass students. I don't think the three of us have ever been closer, but we hate it.

On the upside, it's not a real job, and I am still getting paid. I only have class on Tuesdays and Thursdays, and even though I go 12:30 to 8:30 on those days, I get a four-day weekend every week. And that frees up quite a bit of time to do all the sitting around I've grown so fond of. I mean, you never realize just how much sports there is on TV until you sit down and look for it for 4 days straight. And as good as last weekend was, this one will be even better. The US Open is wrapping up in New York during the days. Tonight my girlfriend Aiea Flower called right in the middle of a 9th inning meltdown by the White Sox. But by the time she started talking about old X-Files episodes, A.J. Pierzynski had won it on a walk-off homer. I'm going to my good buddy Steve-O's new crib in Hoffman Estates to watch ND-Penn State tomorrow. Then Sunday the 2006 campaign finally kicks off in what is sure to be a major beatdown for the Bears in Green Bay. And the baseball just keeps coming throughout the weekend. Digital cable is truly a glorious thing.

Plus there's always WWE and ECW to catch up on. I gotta say, for as old and self-serving as they are, Shawn Michaels and Triple H are damn entertaining. DX are among my favorite attractions every week on Raw. And maybe it's just because everyone else seems to hate him so much, but I find myself rooting for John Cena more and more. He doesn't back down from who he is or the way he performs, and for that I give him credit. My girlfriend (who I'm proud to say is a complete WWE convert, thanks to me) prefers Edge, for the same reason most female fans like Cena and Edge. You know, they both represent a more traditional image of attractiveness. I try to rise above such shallow concerns. Then again, Trish Stratus' upcoming retirement doesn't make me sad because she won't be wrestling every week, if you know what I mean. Not to say Trish can't wrestle. As far as I'm concerned, she's the top female wrestler that actually looks hot that WWE has ever had. She is the best female performer in the company's history, in my humble opinion. So I will miss her, but hopefully her absence will open up a big spot for Mickie James. She is mega-cute, and plays a great psychopath. By the way, I'm really excited for ECW's long-time employees that they finally get to do a show in Madison Square Garden this week. It's well-deserved for their years of hard work, and I hope they get a great response.

My birthday is coming up. As usual, I sure don't feel a year older. And 23 isn't quite old enough to really make me confront my mortality, so it should be a fairly smooth ride. Though I'm not as mature as a lot of 23-year-olds, I'm also a lot more mature than some 30-somethings I know, so I guess that means I'm doing alright. Of course, I still haven't figured out the great mysteries of the universe, such as where belly button lint comes from, the physics of Jell-O, and the female mind. Thus there is still plenty to accomplish before I sleep.

Before I sign off, I'd like to thank my good friends D-Locke, Smash and the 2006 Summer Shakespeare company for a great summer in South Bend. I know I won't forget it anytime soon; the scars I got from putting the set together will never let me. And it was over all too soon. So we should get together and do it all again someday. Hopefully when we're all so rich and old that we just don't give a shit anymore. Of course, judging by the lung problems I seem to have acquired in your presence, smoking and drinking will have killed all of you long before I go.

Go see "Little Miss Sunshine." It is a delight. And read some comic books on your way there; they rock and they need to be bought more so that I can keep reading them forever. Much love to the Sulentic Brothers Band, GradComm and the classes of '02 and '06. Go Barbs, go Huskies, go Sox, go Cubs (I guess), go Bears and go Irish!

~Jakeman

Why would I need to be called genocidal? I've never even killed one person, let alone many people which would constitute genocide.

"At home drawing pictures
Of mountain tops with him on top
Lemon yellow sun, arms raised in a V
And the dead lay in pools of maroon below
Daddy didn't give attention
To the fact that mommy didn't care
King Jeremy the wicked
Ruled his world
Jeremy spoke in class today
Jeremy spoke in class today."
-"Jeremy," Pearl Jam

Summer really cuts down on my music consumption. I don't use my laptop, which has all of my music on it, because there's no wireless connection in my house. And I'm too broke to buy an iPod, before you ask. I watch a lot of TV because there's at least one baseball game on per day, plus the NBA Finals, plus the World Cup, plus Star Trek re-runs, and that leaves very little CD time. And the only radio I listen to is, well, more baseball. So "Jeremy" wins the quote at the beginning of this entry because it's the only song I've listened to in forever, plus I think I could craft a good villain for a thriller or a sci-fi action flick out of the titular character. Huh huh, titular.

As for the title of the post, observant wrestling and movie fans may recognize it as a strange hybrid between a great line from "Wayne's World" and the ridiculous nickname of ECW wrestler Sabu. The line is the famous "gun rack" rant, and the wrestler's nickname is "The Homocidal, Suicidal, Genocidal, Death-Defying" Sabu. That is just wrong for so many reasons. For one thing, homocidal is a fitting, albeit a tad overindulgent thing to call a wrestler. After all, very few men have ever actually died during wrestling matches, and almost never after pre-meditation that would constitute homicide. And it would be hard to stay suicidal for as long as Sabu has been wrestling without either being committed or finally getting the job done and offing himself. But worst of all is genocidal. I mean, I can buy that the guy goes to such lengths to hurt his opponents that it looks as if he wants to kill them. I can even stomach that the risks he takes to win imply that he has a deathwish. But genocidal means he either intends to or already has killed an entire race of people. And even if that weren't too ridiculous a gimmick for a pro wrestler (sadly, it actually isn't), there's no way a 5'10", 220-pound guy from Detroit who pretends to be from Bombay would have the nuclear arsenal required to pull off such profound acts of atrocity. And to top all of that off by saying the guy wants to kill other individuals, himself and entire races but defies death is embarassingly inane; and an oxymoron to boot. So to sum up, the name is ridiculous. But thanks to the launch of the new, WWE-financed version of ECW, I get to hear about the "homocidal, suicidal" et cetera several times a week between RAW, Smackdown and the new weekly ECW show on the Sci-Fi channel. You read right, a wrestling show on the Sci-Fi channel.

That brings me to my purpose in writing this entry. I believe that the over-hyping of Sabu and his ludicrous adjectives as well as the TV deal with Sci-Fi represent in short what is wrong with the new, corporate ECW. But let me start at the beginning. For those not in the know, the original ECW came along in the mid-90s during a slow period for pro wrestling that almost put the enitre industry into the toilet, making its mark while Vince McMahon's WWF and Ted Turner's WCW were floundering. It started as Eastern Championship Wrestling, one of the thousands of small, independently-owned regional wrestling groups that still populate the high school gyms, state fairs and oversized barns of America. ECW came under new ownership in 1993 when Paul Heyman, a former manager character for WCW, bought it from its previous owners and took over full financial and creative control. He renamed it Extreme Championship Wrestling, and populated its roster with a combination of vaguely recognizable WCW and WWF castoffs and journeyman independent wrestlers who were short on talent and usually had a drug addiction, criminal record or a few screws loose. He then gambled and changed the focus of ECW's shows from the same old tired stuff to exactly the kind of content that WWF and WCW had to avoid in order to keep their cable TV contracts. ECW became defined by excessive violence, sexuality and profanity in the form of edgy storylines and chaotic wrestling matches that followed none of the rules that WWF and WCW matches did. Heyman figured that those rules didn't matter since wrestling matches were pre-determined and they were only enforced when convenient, so there was no reason to be restricted by them. And ECW wasn't on cable, they were on local TV late at night. There was little chance they would get kicked off the air, and even if they did, hardly anyone was watching, so no big loss. Well, Heyman's gamble paid off and ECW formed a rabid following that congregated for their shows every week in, appropriately enough, a now infamous converted bingo hall in South Philadelphia. The city known for having the most cynical and unforgiving fans in the world never disappointed in the ECW Arena, viciously jeering pretty boys and traditional do-gooders while worshipping chain smokers, potheads and yes, even the "homicidal, suicidal" blah-blah-blah. The word spread, and wrestling fans across the USA became desperate to find ECW on television. People started coming in from around the world to visit the Arena, proving the benefits of having your shows in the same place all the time.

ECW became an underground, cult phenomenon, and eventually WWF and WCW were forced to take notice of their possible competitor. They did so in their own distinct ways. WCW Vice President Eric Bischoff tried to bury the company by signing its most talented wrestlers to lucrative WCW contracts. Vince McMahon, on the other hand, floated ECW money in order to help save it from Heyman's abysmal money-management skills and also invited Heyman and his wrestlers onto WWF television in order to promote their shows. He believed in healthy competition where Bischoff believed in eliminating threats. In any case, Vince's help and Heyman's innovations canceled out Bischoff's treachery, and ECW was very close to becoming a serious third power in the wrestling business when they finally got a deal to display their product on pay-per-view TV starting in April of 1997. After that, Heyman knew that the final piece of the puzzle was a national cable TV deal, but by the time he got it in 1999, he had to settle for The Nashville Network, which catered to a decidedly non-ECW audience. Worse yet, most of his best talent had left for WCW or WWF, which had started using ECW like a minor league developmental territory. Heyman had serious issues with TNN management stifling ECW's edgy content and constantly moving around their timeslot. The hellish TV deal ended badly with low ratings and ECW's cancellation, and Heyman's money troubles finally caught up with him. The company went bankrupt and sold all its trademarks and licensing rights to the WWF in 2001. Heyman himself took a job with the WWF as its new color commentator and member of the writing staff. The bad seed was apparently dead.

WWF had also bought the bankrupt WCW by this time, and ECW was reborn-kind of-as part of an embarassing effort by Vince McMahon to stick it to his mortal enemy Turner. McMahon started by introducing a watered-down version of WCW and contemplated giving it its own full compliment of wrestlers and weekly shows. When the first experimental WCW matches proved to be god-awful, Vince tanked that plan and added a watered-down version of ECW to WCW to make the Alliance, a lame-ass group of bumbling bad guys who posed a half-ass threat to take over the WWF. In truth, the new ECW looked like a hit...for about an hour on one Monday night. It was made up of all the former ECW wrestlers now holding WWF contracts, and when they banded together to attack a contingent of WWF stars, fans of the old ECW recognized what was going on and exploded. All the momentum was lost later in the show, however, when the new owner of ECW in the storyline was revealed to be Vince's daughter Stephanie. Hardcore and casual fans alike smelled a rat right away, and soon found that almost all remnants of the real ECW had indeed been swept away. The WCW-ECW alliance was thankfully dead by November of 2001.

The reason that version of ECW didn't take was that wrestling fans are not as foolish as Vince often thinks. He was giving them ECW wrestlers, but they weren't doing any of the things that had made ECW so popular. ECW was defined by being counter-culture and inherently opposed to authority, the establishment and what big business said was cool. And being part of a faceless gaggle of generic bad guys did not fit that bill. But ECW's following didn't give up In fact it often seemed as if it was growing despite ECW's timely demise. You see, beginning in 1997, Vince stole something even more important than ECW's talent; he jumpstarted a new era of prosperity for the WWF by stealing many of ECW's ideas. He infused his shows with more violence, bad language and sex. He called it "WWF Attitude," while ECW had called it business as usual. But it was all the same stuff. And from then on, those elements became frequent at WWF shows as well. And anytime fans of the old ECW were in attendance at WWF shows and saw things that reminded them of the bingo hall, they would chant "ECW" just as they did during "extreme" moments in the South Philly shows. This was how ECW lived on, and many people knew it. WWF employees who had been a part of ECW knew that those chants meant there was a small but vocal portion who wanted ECW back, and thought that at the very least, ECW deserved a chance to at least say goodbye properly.

That was how "The Rise and Fall of ECW" DVD came about. Released early last year, the DVD was in my opinion the best that WWE's home video division has ever produced. In an extensive 2+ hour featurette, it used the ECW tape library that McMahon now owns as well as interviews with a lot of ECW's key players to give a truly honest and comprehensive history of the company. It was the most genuine, non-corporate sanitzed piece of work I've ever seen from WWE in regards to a competitor. Maybe Vince was proud of his role in keeping ECW alive. Maybe no one really cared what went on a dead company's history video. But for whatever reason, the real ECW finally came through on this DVD. And the response was huge.

So huge, in fact, that Vince had to sit up and take notice of ECW again. Sales of the DVD were very high, making it one of WWE's best-selling pieces of merchandise ever, right up there with the Austin 3:16 t-shirts and Wrestling Buddies dolls that I'm sure you've all at least seen someone with when you were growing up. ECW chants became more and more frequent, to the point that WWE's front office may have been annoyed that a defunct company was more over with their audience than a lot of their wrestlers. So it happened that when former ECW star Rob Van Dam proposed bringing ECW back for one night in June on a pay-per-view, he found Mr. McMahon to be surprisingly receptive. Numbers didn't lie, and if that pay-per-view sold anywhere near as well as the DVD, Vince was sitting on quite a large windfall. Sadly, Van Dam couldn't wrestle on that pay-per-view due to a serious knee injury, but it didn't suffer much for his absence. In fact, Van Dam was still there, hobbled as he was, and his impassioned interview about his desire to bring ECW back and how the fans made it happen was just one high point on a night that gave an amazing representation of what made ECW great. The event had everything: garbagey, ultra-violent wrestling combined with doses of mat-based wizardry and crazy aerial risk-taking and even women getting beer licked off of their breasts. Not only that, but ECW showed off its famed audacity by swearing up a storm on the live broadcast and unabashedly criticizing the corporate image of WWE even though everyone knew Vince McMahon was paying for the whole damn thing. Now granted, it was clear that Vince didn't have full confidence in ECW's marketability by itself. There were WWE fingerprints on the show, as it was promoted on WWE TV in the weeks leading up to the show using a storyline of disgruntled WWE bad guys wanting to invade the show and destroy ECW's reunion party. That gave McMahon an excuse to have a group of his own talent be on the show. They were treated as pariahs by the hardcore ECW crowd in the small Manhattan Center ballroom that was very reminiscent of the bingo hall. That didn't change the fact that pure WWE fans who didn't know anything about ECW still bought the show to see what the "anti-ECW crusaders" would do. But that wasn't the lasting image of the night. The lasting image was the main event ending with ECW's version of Rocky, Tommy Dreamer, being slammed through a flaming card table. That was followed by the ECW roster overpowering the WWE invaders and then celebrating with beer over Eric Bischoff's fallen body (the former WCW V.P. who had attempted to kill ECW had to swallow his pride and get his comeuppance because he worked for WWE at the time). As ECW play-by-play announcer Joey Styles screamed "ECW lives!" with one of the most involved and excited wrestling crowds ever chanting in the background, you knew that the tribe of extreme had gotten it right just despite Vince's influence, even if WWE did edit out all the swearing on subsequent broadcasts. For one night they had produced the closest thing possible to the real ECW. It was a fitting farewell.

The problem is, it didn't end there. Several ECW alumni earned WWE contracts based on their performance at the pay-per-view, which wasn't the financial success the DVD had been, but still held its own with WWE's biggest shows of 2005. Rob Van Dam's role in the ECW comeback earned him a lot of street cred, and his return from injury came amongst serious fanfare and a push toward the main event from WWE's creative minds. All of this was leading somewhere, but it wasn't clear just what that might be until rumors of another one, maybe even two ECW pay-per-views in 2006 came to the surface. As the Second One Night Stand (another oxymoronic name in a series from ECW) pay-per-view event approached, the rumors grew to include WWE trying to sign long-term contracts with even more ECW stars in order to attempt to give ECW its own weekly show. All of that has since come to fruition with Rob Van Dam winning the WWE championship at Another One Night Stand (its working title), followed by the debut of ECW on Sci-Fi. Now the promotion of the new ECW has been huge. It is annoying, and it is all over USA, the network that owns WWE Raw as well as the Sci-Fi channel, and UPN which airs Smackdown. But that is to be understood. It's the same when any show premieres. The problem I have with it is that it has also taken up a large portion of time within WWE broadcasts, not just during commercial breaks. Over the past month, I have heard Paul Heyman talking what seems like every half hour or so about either One Night Stand on pay-per-view or "ECW, every Tuesday night at 10 (9 central) on Sci-Fi." And since Sabu is one of the biggest stars left over from the old days, he gets quite a lot of promotion to himself. Heyman loves nicknames a bit too much anyway, but when he's in full-on shameless promotion mode he goes into marketable t-shirt-worthy moniker overdrive, hence my frustration. And while I appreciate that Heyman shills with a clear sense of irony, just because he acknowledges the irony doesn't excuse it in my eyes. Shameless corporate advertising is very WWE, but it is not ECW. The original, the real ECW didn't worry about that stuff because of being on local TV and not on pay-per-view. Some would say that was a fault and something that held their company back from becoming a major player. I say it was part of a conscious choice to keep their programming against the grain and too rough for basic cable and their advertisers to handle. Sure, it didn't make ECW a lot of money, but it helped to make them different, and their differences are what attracted their intensely loyal following in the first place. I believe the new ECW is losing touch with that fanbase under WWE's dominion, and if that happens ECW will be just as doomed as when they were part of the Alliance.

And there is yet more evidence. Heyman used to be very vocal about how horrible his TV deal with TNN was, because they fought to make ECW a more palatable product for their conservative, southern audience. Now he's signed with Sci-Fi, and as part of the new deal he's had to concede to the channel's top brass that he introduce science fiction-oriented wrestlers so as not to alienate their usual audience. Thus on ECW's big premiere show last week, we were treated to the Zombie, a scruffy-haired local wrestler dressed in torn flannel, wearing dark shadows around his eyes, wandering around and groaning into a microphone. Now it's true, he was quickly ridiculed by the announcers and brutalized by ECW mainstay The Sandman and his trusty Singapore cane, but I saw right through ECW's charade of sticking it to their new network. The fact that they had to cave in and let the Zombie on the show in the first place proves they are not the old ECW. Not to mention that a vignette later in the show suggested a new vampire character was on the way in the weeks to come. Furthermore, the rest of the show sucked. The main event was a battle royal, a type of match that involves a whole bunch of guys throwing punches and trying to make it look like they're pushing each other over the ropes out of the ring without actually doing it. And sure, weapons were used, but they were lame WWE comedy weapons like trash can lids and street signs. The match wasn't violent or bloody, it was just boring. It was dominated, but not won, by the Big Show. Show "defected" to ECW along with fellow established WWE star Kurt Angle in an effort to beef up ECW's roster with well-known WWE talent. This tactic was used with good result at both a prime time USA special and the One Night Stand pay-per-view. They each featured ECW mainstays wrestling familiar WWE faces, and I had no problem with that. Vince and his writers figured all the talent is under one roof, why not mix them together and help sell all three brands? That I'm okay with, especially when at One Night Stand the WWE guys were villified for not being ECW originals and still used the "hardcore" ECW style. But the pay-per-view is over now, and the cross-promotion should be, too. It's time for ECW to get by on its own merits in my opinion, but Vince still doesn't trust them to do that. That's why Big Show and Angle will be on ECW's show every week, and I'm guessing they won't be the last "defectors." That's why Sci-Fi got its wish with science fiction characters on the wrestling show. That's why Heyman is an omnipresent promotional machine on Raw and Smackdown. WWE is afraid ECW won't sell if it doesn't develop a new audience. But I reiterate, the problem is that if they're not careful they will lose the original loyalist fanbase in the process, and then ECW will have nothing. Case in point, the lowest-rated segment of the ECW premiere on Sci-Fi was the one involving WWE stars Edge and John Cena looking for revenge for what happened at One Night Stand. The ECW fans are tired of WWE poking its rich, bloated ass in their product, and I'm guessing it will be vice versa for WWE fans before too long. But WWE isn't getting that point just yet. Sadly, the segment following the one with Cena and Edge had Paul Heyman promising ECW would invade Raw the following week, and tonight he did show up on Raw-but only to make a match involving WWE wrestlers on ECW's show tomorrow night. And the next WWE pay-per-view will feature, you guessed it, the "Homocidal, Suicidal, Genocidal, Death-Defying" Sabu in an ECW rules match against Cena. So I'm in for more non-sensical nickname nausea, and fans are going to have to keep hoping the real ECW shows up soon. There is hope, however. The highest-rated segment on the first ECW on Sci-Fi show involved a character named Kelly, a buxom blonde claiming to be an "exhibitionist" who will be teasing 18-34-year-old male fans by getting almost naked every week. That proves that whether it's the old ECW, WWE, WCW, or the new WWECW as the internet is calling it, some things never change. And they always work.

Hits quicker than a hiccup:
-The Sci-Fi show did suck, but the prime time special and One Night Stand 2 were both highly enjoyable. I gotta say, though, that I never expected to see a Sabu match end without a finish. Sabu is the same guy who has finished matches with broken jaws, broken ribs and after sealing up a gigantic gash in his arm with super glue. The only thing he has ever stopped a match for was a broken neck. Yet after crashing through a table along with his opponent Rey Misterio at the PPV, Sabu was declared unfit to continue by a whiny physician on the scene. All I know is, he walked away from the wreck, so I feel cheated. I paid $40 to see you kill yourself like you always do, and you puss out now? You're not hardcore. Now 60-year-old Terry Funk, who spent half of his match stuck on a board covered in barbed wire and had me convinced it had claimed his eye, he gave me my money's worth. But to quote the Joker, I am a "vicious bastard." I was also impressed by the efforts of the retired Mick Foley, who set himself on fire for my amusement, Tajiri, Super Crazy and the Full-Blooded Italians for overcoming their respective stereotypes to put on a great tag match, and John Cena for giving a great hardcore effort despite endless attacks by the holier-than-thou ECW fans. He almost silenced the burning "You Can't Wrestle" and "Same Old Shit" chants after he launched Rob Van Dam's head through that chair. The most "hardcore" moment of the night had to go to WWE star Edge, ironically enough. He "pinned" Tommy Dreamer's wife Beulah McGillicuty by bending her in half and thrusting his pelvis on top of her nether-regions with Tommy lying only a few feet away. My hat is off to you, good sir.

-I recently purchased the DVD of Wrestlemania and if anyone's interested, you can see me on camera at one point. Right after the bell rings to end the first match, after Kane has pinned Carlito, you can notice me standing up and applauding in the lower right portion of the screen. I'm wearing a White Sox jersey and man do I look chubby. It works best if you slow down the speed on the DVD and use your remote's zoom button. Okay, it's not much of an appearance, and yes I am a huge nerd, but come on. That means I was seen by millions of people worldwide live on TV, even if none of them knew it. Maybe I'm on imdb now.

-It's been a couple of weeks and a 6-game losing streak since I first thought this, but I think the Cubs would have a really awesome lineup if everyone was hitting at or near their ability. Pierre is among the best pure leadoff men when he's on, Walker is a pretty strong number 2 hitter with some pop, Barrett is rock solid, Ramirez and Nevin can kill the ball, Jacque Jones may be the team's best hitter, and Murton and Cedeno can be brilliant at times. You put Derrek Lee back in there, and it really looks amazing on paper. The problem is, the Cubs can't get all those guys to be on at the same time or for very long. Case in point, Henry Blanco is currently their best hitter. Heck, Jon Garland would be the team's best hitter if he played on the North Side. Need I really say anything more? And I felt even better about the potential of the pitching staff until Mark Prior came back from the DL with nothing on his pitches. One of my personal heroes, Jeremy Piven, was at the park to sing the seventh-inning stretch that day and probably summed up Prior's performance best: "Isn't batting practice over?" He may not get a lot of Cubs fans to go see his new low-budget Jewtastic romp that way, but at least he speaks the truth. Oh, and the Sox rule.

-You know between Tom Zbikowski becoming a circus-entrance prize fighter and all these Bears bitching about their contracts, I am seriously doubting the devotion to old school traditionalism of my two favorite football teams. What these guys lacked in recent success, they made up for by being no-nonsense grinders who suffered through harsh midwestern conditions and never took shortcuts. Now ND fires coaches early and lowers their academic standards and the Monsters of the Midway are a bunch of whiny money grubbers. If I wanted all that, I'd root for Florida schools and teams outside the NFC North.

-For the record to anyone who reads this: I don't like getting stood up or backed out on by friends, but I always accept it because I know I'm guilty of it myself from time to time. But one pet peeve, one thing I really cannot stand is when people make me think we're going to a movie and we don't. Especially during the summer. Hello, people, movies are my life. I have a fuckin' degree in them for the love of Pete! And if it gets much worse, I may have to resort to going to movies alone just so I get the full summer viewing experience. And I don't know what would be sadder to attend alone, Nacho Libre or The Break-up. Please don't force me to make that choice.

-On that note, I'm of mixed feelings on X-Men 3. I saw it twice, liked it both times, but never really got full satisfaction out of it. Part of the problem is that film degree has made me a cynic. I know how the business works, and it irks me sometimes. Same deal with Cars. Although I didn't want to like it as much as I did X3, the fact that the whole movie was such a blatant appeal to the wallets of the bible belt made it hard to giggle along with Dr. Brent at otherwise funny touches such as George Carlin as a stoned VW bus or the John Ratzenberger credits. Next on my to-see list has to be the above-mentioned laffers followed by Superman and then bring on Pirates 2. Sweet Kiera Knightley, back into my life.

-I'll be back in the Bend in a week. I'm trying really hard not to think about my idyllic life of lying around watching baseball and eating Tom and Jerry's like a beached manatee morphing into six days a week of lugging set pieces and taking acting classes in the South Bend heat. Aiea, my dear, remind me again why I thought this would be fun?

When people ask about my future, I think to myself, "Well, it's either back in D-Town or Jersey. Would you call that a future?" I wish I were back in high school. Peace to the nations of Zulu and Islam.
~Jakeman

Taking stock of the end of an era

"We've tried to wash our hands of all of this
We never talk of our lacking relationships
And how we're guilt stricken, sobbing with our
Heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to
Slip, we'd say

I can't be held responsible
Cause she was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never comprimise
For the life of me cannot believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen."
-The Verve Pipe, "The Freshmen"

That song came out very close to 8th grade graduation when I was in 7th grade, and I vividly remember a clever social studies teacher playing it over the P.A. in my junior high school on the last day of classes. All the overemotional girlies in the room with me started to break into tears at the thought of leaving 8th grade behind and becoming freshmen; since that day I've always thought of it as a fitting commencement song. Does it really have anything to do with graduating? Probably not, but I do hear a fairly significant message within it: no matter what stupid mistakes you may have made when you were young and didn't know any better, you still have to take responsibility for your past and move in to the future. Plus, it's all sad and strained and deliberate, so it's great for drawing the waterworks at a time in life when everyone wants to cry for no reason they can really put their finger on. Hence, good graduation song.

So in case it's not clear, the theme of this entry is my recent graduation from *gasp* college. You'll have to excuse me, but even as I write that I have to pause, 'cause it sounds really fucking weird. Before anyone asks, no I don't feel any different now that I'm a college grad. I know I'm different than I was before high school, and I bet you'd only have to ask 1 person who knew me both now and then to find that out, but I sure don't feel that way. I have a theory that my life accelerates faster with each passing year; it seems to me that an eternity went by between the start of kindergarten and the end of junior high, but by comparison the last 10 years have been a blur. There's part of me that longs for the drudgery of a steady full-time job just so that some portion of my life drags a bit. At this rate all my internal organs will be wasting away to uselessness before I've even seen Paris. If I had any interest in seeing Paris, that is. To quote Sir Ian McKellen from a diverting recent literary adaptation, "Never trust the French." But I digress.

The point is that my time at Notre Dame went by so fast that I barely even registered that I was a college man before they were booting me out the door and telling me to come loud somewhere else (sorry, honors student joke. won't happen again). Part of the problem was that I sat on my ass and did nothing for a solid 8 semesters of my time in college, totally forgetting the one thing I should have picked up in high school: if you want to meet people and have fun, you have to go to where the people are. No extra-curriculars = lots of wack-off time. And sure, that has its merits, but even that gets old after a while. Now granted, not overworking myself in my leisure time did allow me to take it easy and focus on my classes. Nothing but A's for the last 2 and a half years or so looks good on a resume, but it doesn't make for a whole lot of memorable moments. But hell, I managed to knock out a good many life milestones during these past four years, now that I think about it. Let's run down the list:

I got arrested, I went to court, I did community service, and I failed a test or two. I got so drunk I threw up, I got so drunk I passed out, and I got so drunk I threw up, passed out & couldn't remember where I was. I nursed both a guy friend and a girlfriend through a near-fatal 21st birthday. For my part, I had one really awful 21st birthday and one really awesome one on the second try. Which means, for those keeping track, that this September 24th I'm turning 21, version 3.o, not 23. And on that subject, I took my last math class ever and then abandoned the subject after being 2 grades ahead in it for all of primary school. I drove drunk, I drove drunks, I drove several golf carts and mowers into ditches and inescapable mud traps, and I drove 3 different roommates to...want other roommates. I also drove trucks, minivans, full-size vans, golf carts, fairway mowers, trim mowers, stick-shift golf carts, and a Volvo (not a beige one, though). I smoked a cigar--and it was good, lord help me--I took straight tequila shots, and I mixed about 6 different varieties of hard alcohol in one cup and lived to tell about it. I had 1 one night stand, had another relationship that really should've been a one night stand, and had what could be considered another one night stand if you count spooning. I didn't show up for work because I was too drunk, I didn't show up for a callback because I was too sick (well, really because I didn't feel like it), I didn't show up for one last day of hell at an internship because it was a day of hell, and I haven't lived to regret any one of them. I had three different jobs that all pretty much sucked, but I had three bosses I actually liked. I played little to no baseball, basketball or football, but I did play team handball, passball, beer pong, flip cup (on two different continents with beer and slushies), softball, wiffleball, home run derby, washers, bowling, drunken & one-handed bowling, wrestling, golf, mini-golf, beach volleyball and competitive stripping. Oh yeah.

Besides my good grades, in class I got to study Shakespeare, Aristotle, James Joyce, the Baghavad Gita, the Tao Te Ching, the Qur'an, Tolstoy, Sappho, Aquinas, Nietzsche, the Trobriand Islanders, Olivier, Spielberg, and Keanu Reeves all at the same school. I had a paper that was good enough to be published in a national journal, I performed in four plays in one year, I was a DJ at two different radio stations, I made movies (!), two of which were featured in the Notre Dame film festival and one which made it to public television, got me interviewed in the paper and on local TV and radio news. I went to Michigan, Indiana & Ohio, Wisconsin (way too much), Illinois & Minnesota-all in one day; not to mention Kentucky, Tennesse, the ATL, Las Vegas, Toronto and England on my first jet flight ever. I also found myself at the world's tallest building, the world's tallest hotel, the world's largest rollercoaster park (home of the world's fastest rollercoaster--which I rode), the world's largest outdoor basketball tournament, the world's largest mall, the world's largest airport, and the home of the most waterparks in the world. I attended pro baseball & football, college basketball, football and baseball, broadway theatre, three Best Picture-winning movies, eight total comic book films and state champion-level forensics in two states. I didn't marry or knock up anyone myself, but I did see two girls I once made out with get married and pregnant. And as for my proudest accomplishments: I was in a relationship for over a year (and counting), graduated in four years from a major American university, saw all of my teams (Bears, Bulls, Cubs, NIU football, ND football & basketball and White Sox) make it to their respective postseasons while one captured the most prestigious title in sports (make your argument if you want, nothing compares to the World Series), ate a twenty-ounce burger smothered in cheese, bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and grease with a side of fries, met my hero Mick Foley and fufilled a lifelong dream by seeing in person the greatest spectacle in sports and entertainment, Wrestlemania.

Since college ended, I've already added getting paid to fly to Philadelphia and interview at NFL Films to that list, proving that my fears that four years of college would amount to jack squat once I went out into the real world were a bit extreme. And if that job pans out, I will be dragged kicking and screaming into the biggest rite of passage of all: moving to a coast and living truly alone for the first time in my life. So my theory about things moving quicker and quicker continues to be frighteningly accurate. But the important question is what has all this taught me? Well, I don't know for sure, but what I do know is that while I felt like I was a lot busier, more involved and better accomplished in high school than in college, the above list is way longer than the one for the previous four years would have been. So maybe the rate at which time elapses isn't the only thing that increases as life goes on. Maybe the sheer amount of stuff you accomplish if you keep pressing onward and at least try a few things also raises exponentially. I think the weirdest part of all, however, is that I didn't feel at all ready for high school to start. I felt even less prepared for college. And yet, I blinked, and they were over. Not only were they over, but I was left with these huge lists of things I did or saw without ever really considering how impossible they were. So maybe the truth, and not just for me, lies along the lines of something my girlfriend likes to say when life is getting hectic. She says, "God doesn't give me anything I can't handle." Even if you're not religious, I think that statement holds a lot of weight. For me it has proven especially true. Because even if I didn't feel prepared for high school or college, or if I still don't feel prepared for whatever the next step is, it doesn't matter. I am ready, whether I know it or not, precisely because of all that I have experienced up 'til now. You get older, you get more mature, and you become prepared to face what's next just by living. And while it never hurts to plan ahead, it takes a lot to screw yourself over as long as you get a few breaks and keep your viewscreen on forward.

To sum up, college was fun. I didn't love every minute of it, but just like high school, it really got good towards the end, and I did a whole lot of living. So a special thanks to those that made it happen and the ones I met along the way. I think you know how amazing you are. At least I hope so. And while there's a chance I won't feel this way in a few months, I'd be a hypocrite if I didn't say bring on the next step. I'm ready to move onward and upward. Set a course for the second star to the right, and straight on until morning. My time is now.

~Jakeman

Oh, NON-fiction, okay. I see where you're going with this...

Okay, so that last one wasn't exactly true. Though it could be by the time the Giants play the Bucs this October. But this next one is 100% on-the-ball, tamper-proof, Grade-A quality veracious. Or at least as accurate as I could make it without research (they said none of that). Enjoy:

The Monster Within

The NFL is not an easy workplace environment. Though it’s only a game, professional football requires its players to lay their bodies and in some cases their lives on the line for victory. If you lose focus or show mercy for even a second, it can mean the game, or worse, it can mean an injury, a paycut, or even a loss of livelihood. Players spend their whole professional lives in this kill or be killed environment. They thrive on the aggression, the competitive edge, the lack of regard for the opponent as a human being for months at a time. Eventually, though, the time comes when all the legalized brutality of the field has to come to an end and these players have to become normal people again. They have to go home to their families and be active, functioning members of a society. Even in the offseason, though, there is training and film study to keep the aggressive juices flowing, and soon the player goes back to his world of violence and struggle. The real test comes when the player retires. When there is no game next week to get up for, no opponent ready and waiting to give the player an outlet for his aggression. So what happens then? Where does all the aggression go? How can a player just turn it off and move on with his life?

Take the example of Steve McMichael. Steve played fourteen years in the NFL with the Patriots, Bears and Packers. He earned the nickname “Mongo” as a member of the vaunted Bear defense that won the Super Bowl in 1985. The name was that of a character in the film Blazing Saddles whose immense size, power and hasty temper coupled with his relative lack of intelligence mirrored that of McMichael on the field. He was often characterized as a cruel brute, but in football that never hurt anyone. In Chicago he was known as an enforcer in a town that historically loved such figures. McMichael had a fair share of football success: a fairly long career, a Super Bowl ring, and two trips to the Pro Bowl in 1986 and ’87. Yet no one would ever call him a hall of fame-level talent, nor is he remembered as a particularly popular teammate or public figure, and his aggressive nature likely didn’t help in either case. Perhaps “Mongo’s” accomplishments, though considerable, were not enough to fulfill him. Maybe he wanted to do something more in the realm of sports to make sure he was remembered. For whatever reason, McMichael chose to move on after football to another area where aggression was the name of the game. He chose the realm of professional wrestling.

In April of 1995, only a month after McMichael retired from the NFL, the World Wrestling Federation (WWF), the leading wrestling company in the world, featured hall of fame linebacker Lawrence Taylor in the main event of their biggest annual pay-per-view show, Wrestlemania. They signed several well-known football players, including McMichael, do to guest appearances at the event in order to draw more mainstream media attention. After serving as Taylor’s second along with Chris Spielman, Reggie White, Carl Banks and Ken Norton, Jr. at the April 4 event, McMichael was invited to show up the next night at a WWF telecast to engage in a staged fight with wrestler Charles “Kama” Wright. Between the two nights, McMichael believed he had established himself enough to start a career as a wrestler. Unfortunately, he had committed an absolute taboo in wrestling by not pulling his punches during the fight with Wright. Allegedly, once the fight began Steve got a bit too caught up in the heat of the moment. His well-known aggressive streak came out and Wright was none too pleased. As a result, the WWF did not offer him a deal as a wrestler.

Several months later, however, the WWF’s chief competitor World Championship Wrestling (WCW), continued their strategy of raiding the WWF’s veteran and cast-aside talent by signing McMichael to a long-term contract as a wrestler. While being trained for the business, WCW used McMichael’s relative fame by employing him as a color commentator on their weekly live television program. Unfortunately, McMichael soon established himself as an embarrassment behind the mic whose only appeal came from bringing his pet Chihuahua Pepe on screen with him. Things didn’t improve much once Steve actually began wrestling. Despite his NFL experience, “Mongo” never really grasped the nuances of pro wrestling. It was a whole different type of physicality, based on making every move look as painful as possible without ever really hurting anyone. McMichael’s smashmouth football mentality and quick temper made it hard for him to use the necessary precision. He took liberties with his opponents when angry that only the most respected veterans were ever bold enough to take, and he was singled out by experienced grapplers as sloppy. Furthermore, despite being paired with WCW legend and famed character actor Ric Flair, McMichael seemed to lack the charisma needed to make the fans interested in him.

Worse yet, WCW had suggested Steve bringing his wife Debra in to play his manager full time after a successful pay-per-view appearance. Steve accepted, hoping bringing her on the road with him would help keep their marriage alive. On the contrary, Steve only distanced himself further from Debra as he continued to have problems keeping his aggressions from work separate from his personal life. She ended up having an affair with Steve’s on-screen rival Jeff Jarrett, then making the affair real. The couple divorced, and Steve was further humiliated when Debra stayed with Jarrett and both were signed contracts with the WWF. She became a much bigger star than Steve ever was after the company required her to get breast implants and she formed a huge following with their target demographic of young adult males. Despite the issues the McMichaels had with Steve’s wrestling career, Debra must have seen something in it because she remarried the WWF’s megastar, “Stone Cold” Steve Austin. Steve, meanwhile, got a worse and worse reputation in WCW, and was fired in 1998 soon after being upstaged by his former opponent from the Atlanta Falcons, Bill Goldberg.

Steve remained a celebrity in Chicago sports despite his inability to get back into wrestling. Then in 2004, he was asked to sing “Take Me Out to the Ballgame” at a Chicago Cubs game. Steve finally got into the spotlight again, but for all the wrong reasons. Before the song, Steve threatened the game’s umpires over a disputed call, leading to his ejection from a game in which he had no official involvement. The incident, reported by many in the press as McMichael thinking he was back on the football field or in the wrestling ring, showed that his aggression still had not subsided after all this time. It also gave him a black eye in the one place he had maintained a modicum of respect. Recently, when Wrestlemania came to Chicago, McMichael reportedly tried to crash a party involving the wrestlers and other talent from the company. His wrestling credentials didn’t even get him past the door. Even in the oft-ridiculous world of pro wrestling, no one wants to have anything to do with “Mongo.” McMichael’s story is a grim, but important reminder of the toll that professional football takes on the life of its players. The game never truly leaves you, whether it leaves you in pain or crippled from physical injuries scars your psyche forever. Steve McMichael isn’t crazy; he just never learned the one lesson the NFL doesn’t teach you: how to leave behind the monster that you have to be in order to survive. Here’s hoping he can finally lay the game to rest some day.

~Jakeman

If you were NFL Films, what would you do?

Hey.

I haven't posted in forever, I know, but I finally have something that I think really needs to go in this blog. The following is a writing sample I was asked to produce by NFL Films to see if they want to hire me as a production assistant. They specified that it had to be about football and non-fiction, which I kinda ignored for the sake of their other requirement, that it be interesting. They didn't appreciate my original thinking, so they made me write another one. I think I like them both alright, but read for yourself and ask only this: would you hire me? Here's the first one, with the next to come in another post:

Duality

The link between NFL players is an indelible one. Men who spend their entire professional lives virtually in the trenches, struggling, pushing and brutalizing each other over one hundred yards of turf tend to become very intimately aware of one another. They know what makes their allies on the sidelines tick, and they also try to know every nuance of their opponents’ games. But some connections are especially personal. The sage veteran will use these connections to his advantage if he can, but in the right context, even an unpolished newcomer can be their beneficiary. Imagine the following scenario:

Sinorice Moss picked himself up off the ground again and staggered back to the huddle. He was getting killed. Not literally, but he may as well have been. His new team, the Giants, was up against it in a tough game with Tampa Bay. Plaxico Burress and Amani Toomer were both down with injuries, and after a good week of practice the coaching staff had given him his first chance to start as an NFL wide receiver. Sinorice was only a rookie, but he knew that a chance like this doesn’t come around every week; he had learned that lesson well enough in college ball. With only sixteen games a year, you have to make every play count if you want to impress enough to stick around. Moss, however, was so busy thinking about his big chance, remembering his routes, not messing up his blocking assignments and trying to forget about all the cameras and lights and people that he was barely able to keep his feet. He was so turned around he couldn’t even remember the name of the corner lining up against him from the team strategy session. All he knew for sure was that number 20 was getting in his face and either crushing him at the line or sticking to him like white on rice every down. And his coaches were not pleased.

Sinorice shuffled to a lonely spot on the sideline after another three-and-out. He did his best just to avoid head coach Tom Coughlin’s eyes. Just then Tiki Barber, the Giants’ star running back walked over to him.

“Tough day, huh, rook? Old number 20’s really got you in lockdown.”

“Yeah,” was all Sinorice could muster as a response.

Tiki flashed a smile that had sold a million Power Bars. “Well, you know what you gotta do with him is, next time we throw you make a double move. You make your plant step like you’re gonna run an out, and turn your shoulders just slightly, then you jab back to the left like you’re gonna do a post, hold on that foot for a fraction of a second, then push off it and fly right past toward the end zone. He always goes for that; and with your speed he won’t be able to keep up.”

“Alright, but--what if we don’t call that in the huddle? I mean, Coach said I’d get released if I ran the wrong route one more time.”

Tiki just laughed. “Trust me, rook, we need a big play. You just do what I told you, and everything else will take care of itself.”

Sinorice contemplated what Tiki had said as the defense forced a punt, and the Giants got the ball back. How could he know that move would work on Tampa’s corner? he thought as he struggled just to get in number 20’s way on a minimal first down gain. I mean, what’s so special about that route? was all he could think as a screen got the Giants another couple. He just seemed so sure…

Eli Manning’s annoyed clap in Sinorice’s face brought him back to reality. “Hey, man, you awake? Let’s go, it’s third and short, but we need to catch ‘em sleeping here, guys.” The young quarterback ran through the play as Sinorice tried desperately to decipher its code. Then out of nowhere, Tiki spoke up.

“Hey, Eli. Keep an eye on the kid on this one. He’s got an edge.” Sinorice could only stare blankly in Tiki’s direction as Eli smiled knowingly and broke the huddle. As he jogged up to the line, Sinorice began to consider Tiki’s plan. He had tried every route the coaches could come up with, and number 20 had not been fooled for a second, but somehow Tiki’s trump card was supposed to get him open. Plus it wasn’t at all like the pattern he was supposed to be running. This was a really bad idea. Then at the last moment he realized it really couldn’t get any worse than the spanking he had been getting already. Why not?

Eli took the snap, and Sinorice trotted forward to set up the out move. He turned slightly to his right, then sharply zagged left and lingered for a hair’s breadth of a second before launching himself toward the goal line. Moments later, sprinting with his head down, he realized he was running alone for the first time all game. He looked up, and there was the ball, floating in a tight spiral toward his head. He stretched out his arms, and the flying orb settled neatly into his open hands. He continued sprinting right into the end zone, and the Giants Stadium faithful erupted. New York was right back in the game, and Sinorice was so dumbfounded at what had happened that he just stood there staring at the ball until his teammates mobbed him.

The young wideout returned to the sideline, still confused as to what had actually occurred, and a young man rushed up and snatched the ball from him, saying he had to preserve it as a memento of Sinorice’s first touchdown. Coach Coughlin and his coordinators were so caught up in being back in the game they didn’t even chew him out for running the wrong route. It was all like the veteran back had told him. Sinorice took off his helmet, sat down and grabbed a cup of water. There was Tiki, standing over him.

“Nice catch, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks for that. But I don’t get it. How’d you know that move would work so well?”

“You still haven’t figured that out? Damn, you really are a rookie. It’s a twin thing, man.” Sinorice looked at him quizzically. Tiki chuckled and said, “Just take a good look into 20’s grill the next time you line up.”

Still baffled, Sinorice lined up for the first play of the Giants’ next series and did as he was told once more. He stared into number 20’s face…and was shocked to see a spitting image of Tiki looking back at him. He looked away and thought, Oh, now I…

Suddenly number 20, Ronde Barber, chucked him right under his shoulder pads, lifted him up in the air and drove him back five yards before dumping him hard on his back and going to make the tackle. Sinorice just laid there, his wind knocked out. Ronde returned and stood over him.

“Tell Tiki to kiss my ass,” he said. Sinorice finally took a second to remember that number 20 was Tiki Barber’s identical twin brother. He looked over at Tiki in the huddle, flashing that same smile that Ronde had as he laughed with his fellow defenders. Sinorice scraped himself up off the turf again and headed back to the sideline to get his scolding from the coaches. He wasn’t angry or dejected (though his ribs were a bit sore); he was actually pretty satisfied. The Barber brothers had taught him a valuable lesson about the intimate connections inherent to playing in the NFL, and how they can make a huge difference between success and falling flat. He just hoped he got a chance to return the favor someday.

~Jakeman

It's Rex Manning Day!

"Oh they tell me there's a place over yonder,
cool water running through the burning sand,
until we we learn to love one
another we never reach the promise land.

There's a hole in the world tonight.
There's a cloud of fear and sorrow.
There's a hole in the world tonight.
Don't let there be a hole in the world tomorrow"
-"Hole in the World," Eagles

Okay, so it's not actually Rex Manning day. I just like saying that it is. Always picks up my spirits. How is everything? Good, good. Spring break starts Friday. I'm not excited so much as relieved. I really need a break. I feel like my body is coming apart at the seams lately, and I'm really sick of spending my time off-campus in a shoddy, ramshackle, dirty old house. Thankfully I only have to pay my outrageous rent to live in that hole for another month.

Over the past week, I have finished two midterms, shot documentary footage of a walking tour of the town of Roseland with its self-appointed dictator, judged another speech tournament, driven to Valparaiso and back in the span of one morning, gone to several Richard III rehearsals, attended my first and only ND basketball game of my senior year, been almost completely wrong about every Academy Award, taken my car to Car-X three times without getting any work done on it, picked up trash in my backyard to avoid a fine twice, manged to go to mass at the Basilica twice and keep my Lenten promises (which are really hard), stayed up far into the morning and woken up before ten every day, and most recently popped a couple of DayQuil, which always does the same thing to me as NyQuil. Geez, no wonder I'm burnt out. And for anyone who wants to shut me up because they think they have a harder schedule than mine (more midterms, more practices, earlier times waking up), kiss my ass. It's not a competition, for one thing. And for another thing, I have at least one sleep disorder that makes me dog tired every day. So what I just listed is a lot for me.

Here's what's been distracting me from what I should have been thinking about (the above stuff):

-The Ocsars. I would like it known that the only category I went out on a limb for, I was right about. I may have gotten every other category wrong when I guessed on the night of the show, but that's beside the point. The only Best Picture nominee I saw won the award. I, therefore, undoubtedly have the most impeccable taste in movies imaginable. From now on, the only movies I will spend my time and money on will be low-brow, non-romantic comedies, comic book adaptations, and the Best Picture of every year. Mark it down. In all seriousness, I'm thinking of downloading all the major nominated films and watching them over break, then conducting my own awards to see if the Academy was right when they disagreed with my every instinct. Stay tuned for that.

-Chicago baseball. So the Sox aren't winning any games and the Cubs only have half of their starting rotation. None of it matters, it's spring training! It's just like the last dress rehearsal before a play: things have to go shitty or they won't work when it really matters. And even if he never gets healthy, I bet Kerry Wood could pitch while sitting on a chair all season and still win ten games. Really. Of course if he doesn't win at least 15 this year, I may personally shove that chair into a very uncomfortable place (the proverbial back of his Volkswagen, if you know what I mean). Trust me, the Cubs will win it all this year, then with all the curses out of the way, the Sox can resume their dynasty next season. All the pieces are falling right into place. And don't forget, Sox fans, Coco Crisp is still not a Cleveland Indian this year. So all is well.

-WWE. I'm getting really sick and tired of Vince McMahon getting the better of Shawn Michaels every single week. This feud is ridiculous--Shawn has not had one moment of victory or getting the upper hand on Vince since the boss starting fucking with him in December. Now they've gone so far as to let Vince and Shane get pinfall wins over him in one night. If I didn't know wrestling better, I would think that Shawn was the dumbest, most easily fooled pansy boy in wrestling history. Which is actually great storytelling on WWE's part if Shawn gives Vince his comeuppance at Wrestlemania. The problem is, I'm not entirely sure he will at this point; that's how extreme Vince's domination has gotten. Shawn's performance against Shane at Saturday Night's Main Event will be important in showing that HBK isn't just a pushover. Speaking of SNME, I am so totally geeked for that show. Actually, I'm more geeked about all the articles and video clips that have gone up in the hype for that show, because they have reunited me with the original SNME. That show provided some of the happiest (and saddest) moments of my life when I was a kid. Since I never got pay-per-view, it was the only time I could see Hulk Hogan wrestle. And nothing could match the excitement of staying up late on a Saturday night to see some earth-shattering development in WWE (which always seemed to happen when I watched). Plus I friggin' loved that theme music. If the new SNME can capture even a fraction of the divine aura that the original has in my memory, I think it will be a huge success. 25 days to Wrestlemania!

-The death of Kirby Puckett. I have never been, nor will ever be a Twins fan. But just the same, my lasting memories of Kirby Puckett will always be of an exuberant clutch performer who set a great example for the game of baseball. He is one soul who I can forgive for his apparent indiscretions late in life because he did so much to enrich our national pastime during his short time on this planet. And I know he's great, because he was my friend Coop's favorite player, and Coop is one of the purest and smartest baseball people I know. Kirby, you will be sorely missed.

-Barry Bonds. The truth may only now be painfully obvious, but my opinion of this man has not changed. Even if he wasn't a dirty cheater, he would still be a worthless piece of garbage with a black mark over his career. Now, thankfully, I have some concrete justification for that opinion, and for thinking that he should be kicked the hell out of baseball before he even has a chance to tarnish its most cherished record. As for after that, *activate Jim Mora voice* hall of fame? Hall of fame? No way in hell should he be in the hall of fame. So go poke your man-boobs elsewhere, Barry. The baseball world has zero patience left for you.

-Comics. After a poor showing the last time I made a trek to the funny book shop, things picked up a bit last week. I only grabbed two expensive issues, but I was a bit more pleased with my investment this time. Here's a quick look.

Batman Annual #25: I was a little irked by the reasoning behind Jason Todd's resurrection. While it flowed nicely with current DC events, I thought it was a bit of a stretch and it made me think that maybe no one had a good idea for why Jason was alive until recently. Plus it was a bit too cosmic for something that happened in the Batman continuity. Not that coming back from the dead is ever realisitc, but Batman has always been more grounded in the plausible than other DC books. So I expected something besides a fold in the space-time continuum being ripped open. Still, the rest of the book was gripping and powerful, making me really feel the angst that must have been necessary to turn Jason eeeeeevil. The only problem is now I wish I had read the Red Hood storyline, especially Batman #650. Oh, well, it will give me some back issues to look for over break. And kudos on the artist's nod to the alternate panel that never got printed in which Jason survived the blast. I was actually running that image through my head before I read the book, so it was cool to see it reproduced in full color. Grade: A-

Infinite Crisis #5: A lot of action considering there are so many plot threads dangling out there, but still not enough for my taste. The Superman confrontation with the nod to Action Comics #1 was way cool, as were the panels where Nightwing saw existence being splintered apart above him and the last page. Though the vast amount of plot that is being explored in the tie-in titles is annoying considering I only want to buy this book, I really like where all the pieces are being laid for the final confrontation. Batman's little strike team is particularly promising. The suspense for issue #6 is killing me, and that's right where I should be, so good work all around. Grade: A

Turn out the lights, the party's over! See you on the flipside.
~Jakeman

...And I Was Shot To Death

"If I am right
If I can be
Constant and faithful
You'll find me

In my devotion
In my devotion

But if you find a fault
Between my purpose and my deeds
Deem me beyond salvation
Judge me to be unworthy

Of your devotion
Of your devotion"
-"Devotion," Tracy Chapman

Tonight's entry is dedicated to my girlfriend Aiea and her senior comprehensive production of "Two Rooms," a play in which I performed. The performance was earlier this evening, and from what I can tell it went amazingly well. We were able to rip the hearts out of a whole gathering of well-wishers, and the best part is that we meant to do it. With this show in the books, Aiea is now only a few simple steps away from graduating Saint Mary's College with a degree in Theater, and though her semester is still going to be tough from here on out, it takes one huge load off her mind that we are both quite appreciative of. I intend to show that girl a good time in the next two days so that she can take the rest of her mind off her stressload as long as possible. Wish me luck on my harrowing (rhymes with arrowing; long story) task.

Anyhow, on to the business at hand. Other than the money-in-the-bank performance tonight, my thoughts are adrift on subjects of great importance, so I'm gonna go with quickish hit format for the whole of the entry proper. Sound good? First off:

Top Ten Wrestling Entrance Songs
-This is a topic that is very near and dear to my heart. I'm a firm believer in the power of music to augment the telling of a story, the development of a character or the overall mood of an audience. While this aspect of music is most clearly played out in motion pictures, it is strongly manifested in the realm of pro wrestling as well. Since the early 1980s, wrestlers have come to the ring while a song played that helped the fan identify with and get to know the character of that wrestler. During the MTV-WWF connection of the mid-80s, entrance music became a vital way for Vince McMahon to tap into the appeal of pop music by having his wrestlers walk out to the strains of top 40 hits. Since that time, a debate has come into being, solely amongst the saddest of wrestling geeks, over whether it is better for a wrestler to enter to a pop song or an original composition that gives him or her an identity distinct from a well-known song. The one constant has been that entrance music is a great way to engage both live crowds and audiences at home, conditioning them to begin responding to a wrestler when they hear their entrance music begin. Thus the proper entrance song is now vitally important to a wrestler's chances of getting over with the fans and pushed by the writers. So in compiling this list, I took into consideration how well the goal of getting a wrestler over is achieved by their song as well as how much the song itself rocks. Only a music whore like myself could think some of these songs are actually good, but when you consider the integral role wrestling has played in my life, you begin to understand that some of these songs are very important to me. That only made it harder to make up this list, but I gave it a try:
#1 "Real American" by Derringer--Hulk Hogan
Only makes sense that the greatest icon in the business would be #1. Hogan used to come out to "Eye of the Tiger" to play up his role in Rocky III, and that was a really awesome song for him. This song was actually first used for the pretty boy tag team of Windham and Rotundo. Thankfully the WWF lost the rights to "Eye of the Tiger" and paired Hogan with the only entrance song that could have ever topped it in order to play up his status as an evil-foreigner-basher. This song inspires me and makes me nostalgic for my childhood all in one 3 minute festival of love. I play it as my "victory song" everytime I finish a tough task or achieve a long sought-after goal. Sometimes I even pose like the Hulkster, too, but only in the privacy of my room. I don't feel any song ever captured the heroic, patriotic nature of a character better than this one, and its riffy guitar rock structure ensures that it only needs to be played for a couple of seconds before the fans explode, even 15-20 years after Hogan's heyday. It's a no-brainer.
#2 "Also Sprach Zarathustra," a.k.a. theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey by Strauss--Ric Flair
Quite the switch in respectability, eh? Doesn't matter if you're a legendary classical composer or a forgotten 80s rocker on this list. WCW (before it was called that) lifted this tune from the movie because they wanted to lend an epic feel to the entrance of their biggest draw. 25 years later, it still works. You could love or hate Ric Flair, like I did as a young fan in the 80s and 90s, but when those three notes played, you knew something important was up. As Flair has become more of a nostalgia icon and less of a wrestling deity, his trademark "Whooo!" has been added to the beginning of the song to help get the fans more into it, and the effect is not lessened. No one takes hold of an audience with his entrance like the Nature Boy.
#3 "Stone Cold" Steve Austin's theme
This song has had several variations under a few different names, including a cover by alternarock stalwart Disturbed, but it has always contained one key aspect that epitomizes a good entrance song: the shattering glass at the beginning. Jim Johnston, the scribe writer of all of WWE's original entrance songs, heard a Rage Against the Machine track that had a driving bass line and a forceful beat augmented by the sound of glass breaking, and Austin's hell-raising, anti-authority persona immediately came to mind. Since 1996, crowds across the world have come to associate the breaking glass with a sign of things getting very interesting during a wrestling show. They even made a t-shirt about it that said, "When you hear the glass, it's your ass." Fans would roar from the moment the song started; they didn't even need to see Austin to know a major league ass-whuppin' was iminent. It was a perfect way to help get Austin over, and it still works. The song by itself works as a pregame pump-up song as well.
#4 Jake "The Snake" Roberts' theme
Pure intensity, just like the wrestler who walked out to it. Made Jake look like even more of a badass than he already was. Also accompanied a scary intense workout video of Hogan pre-Wrestlemania III. Seriously, he looks like he's lifting in a prison yard.
#5 D-Generation X's theme
Another late 90s Jim Johnston brainchild, this tune was a kickin' groove with a great opening salvo. "Break it down!" symbolized exactly what D-X was about to do to the order of things on every show they were at. The only thing that could have made it better would have been the Beastie Boys performing it instead of the Beastie sound-alikes Johnston used.
#6 Mr. Perfect's theme
As if Curt Hennig wasn't enough of a Ric Flair clone, the WWF gave him an epic entrance song that made it sound like a gladiator or a Greek god was walking to the ring. Coupled with Hennig's chiseled physique, his ultra-confident gait and his cocky-ass half smirk, this song was indeed the perfect entrance for Mr. Perfect.
#7 "My Bonny Lass is Comin' Home to Me"--"Rowdy" Roddy Piper
It almost makes too much sense to just play bagpipes over the speakers when a Scottish wrestler walks to the ring. Something about the particular recording of this traditional tune always struck me as inspirational and heart-warming. It lent Piper a noble, heroic quality that only his demeanor and not his actions in the ring backed up. And I'll admit that I'm biased; my Scottish heritage makes it far easier for me to tolerate the bagpipes.
#8 "Voodoo Child" by Jimi Hendrix--Hollywood Hogan
I admit even I am a little sick that Hogan shows up twice on this list, but honestly, anyone who has the balls to walk to the ring to a Hendrix song has to get his props. It figures that during the nWo era, when Hogan was using his political power to screw around the whole WCW roster and make himself out to be a wrestling god, he had to go and put everyone else's entrance music to shame, too. No studio-constructed, lyricless electronic thrasher rock that passed for a generic entrance song could ever hope to stand up to the power of Jimi. I credit this song with getting me into Hendrix in the first place, and I'm sure it did the same for a lot of other wrestling fans. It was awesome as a chaotic, gritty anthem for the evil Hogan and perfect for his goofy little air guitar routine. Only made me hate him more, so it did its job.
#9 Barry Windham's theme
A little known track, Barry & his tag team partner Dustin Rhodes used this instrumental cover of ZZ Top's "La Grange" briefly during 1991 and '92 in WCW. For some reason, I thought it was a really catchy southern rock riff that perfectly captured the badass cowboy essence of Windham and Rhodes. I also have an indelible memory of hearing an extended play of this song at the Clash of Champions in November of '91. Barry was injured and he and Dustin brought out his substitute for their tag title match. The guy took a while to enter as he was wearing a robe with a huge dragon head on it; not surprisingly he turned out to be Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat, one of my all-time favorites! Anyway, this song played on and on, and somehow its relentless note-bending goodness has stuck in my head all these years along with the geeked moment of seeing Steamboat. I think Lance Hoyt of TNA could get over huge if he started using this entrance song today. Eh, maybe not.
#10 "The Game" by Motorhead--Triple H
I hesitate to even put this on the list because it feels like Triple H has been using it way too long. That is a ridiculous statement considering the first two songs on the list, but it's just because Hunter's entrance is so bloated and drawn out (just like his promos) that I'm sick of seeing him do it exactly the same way year after year. I can't deny, however, that he got infinitely more badass when he started using this song at the outset of 2001 and refined his entrance to go along with it. Nowhere were both the positive and negative aspects of this song more evident than when Motorhead performed it live as Triple H entered at both Wrestlemania 17 and 21. The entrances made Triple H look awesome and like a really huge deal, but the fact that they have done the exact same trick with the entrance at two Wrestlemanias proves how badly Triple H needs a change in style or a trip out of the main event. Still, Motorhead rocks and this song is amazing for getting out anger or getting yourself fired up. And the fans definitely respond to it, nowadays by cheering the most evil guy in the business during his entrance. Talk about the power of song.

Honorable mentions, and there are quite a few: Tazz's theme (WWE), Lex Luger's theme (WCW, 1988-1992), "Respect" by Pantera--Rob Van Dam (ECW), "Welcome to the Jungle" by Guns 'n' Roses--The Steiner Brothers (WCW, 1989), Ahmed Johnson's theme, Cactus Jack's theme (WWE, 1997-2004), "Graveyard Symphony"--The Undertaker, "Rollin'" by Limp Bizkit--Undertaker, Kane's theme (WWE, 1997-99), Ricky Steamboat's theme (WCW, 1991-92), Chicago Bulls theme--Ricky Steamboat (WWE, 1987-88), the New Age Outlaws' theme, "My Time is Now" by John Cena--John Cena

The Olympics
-Okay, I know I said a few weeks ago that I didn't care. I still don't, really, at least not enough to skip class or rehearsal or work to watch the games on TV. But I have to admit that every time I do manage to catch some of the Olympiad, I am transfixed. And there is a part of me that, even in this day and age of monkey-brained politics and economic stupidity, gets up to see the U.S. kick some ass (or yells at them when they suck). I railed and wailed at the misadventures of Apolo Oh, no, Bode Swiller, Lindsay Lack-of-cerebellum-is (you no longer get to use my name as part of yours!) and the rest of Team Happy To Be Here, but at the same time I genuinely enjoyed Shaun White's righteous ass-kicking of the entire snowboarding world (until he started talking. yeesh.). My only disappointment? My friend Brent isn't around to make fun of curling with me. Poor guy is stuck in Canada; he probably can't find a TV that isn't going curling nuts right now. I must refer back to the sage-like wisdom of Lewis Black: "If curling is an Olympic sport, then oral sex is adultery. And oral sex should be an Olympic sport. Why? Because it's harder than curling, and if you're any good at it, you deserve a medal."

The Oscars
-I still haven't caught up on the best picture nominees. Maybe now that her comp is over, Aiea will have some time to sleep next to me as I rent them (she has a hard time getting through whole movies, alright?). I'm very intrigued by Capote; I'm usually turned off by Philip Seymour Hoffman, but I may have to start liking him because it's rumored he will play The Penguin in the next Batman Begins movie. I really hated his fat ass in Talented Mr. Ripley, though. That movie was just a shitshow from beginning to end. I'm glad they lampooned it in Jay and Silent Bob Strike Back. Wait, was I talking about the Oscars and now I'm on Kevin Smith? How did that happen? I love ya, Kev, but that's what you get for taking 4 years to write one issue of Spider-Man/Black Cat. You should be ashamed.

So, anyway, Oscars. Yeah, as long as Roberto Benigni isn't up for anything, I'm all good. Make your choices as you may, Academy. Page me when you've nominated a Marvel flick for something other than visual effects.

The Bulls
-Remember them? I would feel bad about neglecting my boys since the playoffs ended last year, but then again I wasn't even following them until after this point last season anyway, so maybe this is a good thing. I actually know a lot. I know Ben Gordon is starting, and that he scored 30 points in three straight games (mostly 'cause the Chicago sports media talks about it like that makes him Kareem Jordan Chamberlain, Jr. or something). I know Tyson Chandler gets paid $10 million a year to not play offense. I would have a joke for that, but it makes me too fucking angry. I know that the Bulls are very much in the playoff hunt and yet the hot topic of conversation seems to be the 2 lottery picks they have in the upcoming draft. And I know that's not a good thing. Most of all, I know none of it matters until the Chicago Not Jordans get a center who can do something more than get eaten alive by Shaq and battered around by the Motor City Wallace Connection (sounds like an old school rap group). Until that happens, the Bulls aren't making it out of the Eastern Conference, and after six titles in the 90s, all I care about is titles, baby. Forget the nostalgia, that was last year. This is '06, and they have to show me something or hit the bricks.

Spring Training
-Games start in a week. Windy City title town, baby. I'm telling you it's somebody in Chicago's year. I'm betting on Marquis Grissom, who may as well be a lock for a roster spot on the North Side. Just remember, Cubs fans, it could be worse. It could be Rickey Henderson. Hell, it could be Pete Incaviglia, but it's not. That's what's important. Oh yeah, the Cubs are gonna be great this year.

Wrestlemania
-It's just 38 Big Time days away. I'm still skeptical about the card, but when I consider the possibilities along with what's already been announced, it at least sounds good:

Triple H vs. Cena for the WWE title
Mysterio vs. Orton vs. Angle for the World Heavyweight title
HBK vs. McMahon
Undertaker vs. Mark Henry? (swing and a miss!)
Mickie James vs. Trish for the Women's title
Edge vs. Mick Foley
Bret Hart, Eddie Guerrero, and possibly Dusty Rhodes, the Road Warriors and Ricky Steamboat (!) in the Hall of Fame
Carlito and 4-5 others in a Money in the Bank match?
Lashley vs. Finlay? (uh-oh)

And that still leaves Kane, Big Show, Benoit, Booker T, MNM, Chris Masters and a host of others with nothing to do. It may be thin on established talent, but it seems like it will be chock full of new agey goodness. If Mysterio wins, though, I may gis myself right there in the arena. So look out for security dragging my soiled carcass away LIVE AND ONLY ON PAY-PER-VIEW!!!

That's it and that's all.
~Jakeman

Normal Vault Rules Apply: Touch Not, Lest Ye Be Touched

"Wellllll,
Well it's the Big Show
Yeah it's a big, bad show tonight, y'all
Yeah it's the Big Show
Come on and crank it up, turn on the lights, y'all
Well, get ready for somethin'
That you'll never know
You won't see it comin'
But I promise you'll know
It's the Big Show!"
-"Big," official theme of the Big Show, from WWF The Music Volume 4

Okay, I had a wrestling-related epiphany today, so I had to post about it. WWE Raw, my favorite TV show, was pre-empted this week. The USA network, on which Raw ran for seven years before it jumped to TNN (now Spike TV), has a long-standing contract with the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show, the world's premiere dog showcase. The Westminster show is famous for three reasons, none of which it is proud of, I'm sure. First, it was expertly spoofed by Christopher Guest's vaunted mockumentary Best in Show. Second, the show was the birthplace of popular Late Night with Conan O'Brien character Triumph the Insult Comic Dog. Third, and most prevalent, the show traditionally is broadcast in prime time on a Monday night, and as such part of USA's contract with WWE stated that Raw must be pre-empted once a year in order to air the dog show. When WWE returned to USA in October, the Westminster proviso was still part of the deal. So this week's episode was taped Monday night to be aired Thursday. Thinking I was not going to be able to see the show on Thursday night, I checked WWE.com for the spoilers of Monday's tapings. If you haven't seen the show yet and want to be surprised, skip down to the quick hits at the end of the page.

*Spoilers ahead! Danger, Will Robinson! DANJAH! Danger, high voltage! Please, dont' shoot!*



The spoilers informed me that as part of the Road to Wrestlemania tournament, which will decide the challenger to John Cena's WWE title at WM on April 2nd (only 45 days 'til I'm there, baby!!!), the Big Show met Triple H in the semifinals. The two battled to a draw. I was shocked to read this. Conventional tournament wisdom dictates that in the event of a draw, the person who was to meet the winner of the drawn match gets a bye to the next round. In this case that would mean the winner of the Rob Van Dam-Chris Masters semifinal would get a bye to, well, the winner's circle and therefore be the #1 contender! Could it be true? Did Vince McMahon and the WWE's powers-that-be have the guts to shock the world and not give The Nose, er, I mean, The Game, his pre-appointed main event slot at the biggest show of the year? Were they bold enough to put a fresh face in the most important match on the calendar and try to capitalize on the success of their awesome ECW pay-per-view in the process? Would this finally be RVD's day in the sun, as there was no chance in hell they had that much faith in Masters?

Sadly, no, as we live in the era of the triple threat match. Apparently later in the taping Vinny Mac himself declared that both Show and HHH were still alive in the tournament (despite the fact that they both blew their chance by getting counted out) and would both face RVD--who did beat the Masturbator, er, I mean, Masterpiece--next week for the title shot. All of this got me thinking. And after seven years of frustration, cold sweats, sleepless nights and massive therapy bills, I've finally figured it out. The Big Show is not a useless waste of space. He has a very definitive role in WWE, and I finally realize what it is. Big Show is Mr. Triple Threat.

Think about it, WWE historians. Every time that WWE doesn't have full confidence in their main event, they add Big Show to it. Every time they don't know what to do with the Show, he gets shoehorned into an existing feud and made part of a multi-way match. It almost never fails, and the examples are endless. The first incidence I can remember is the Survivor Series in 1999. Stone Cold was written into the main event, a triple threat match with The Rock and Triple H for the WWE title. But Austin needed some time off for neck surgery. So they run an angle where he gets hit by a car and is injured. The easy thing would have been to make Rock-HHH a singles match and have Trips keep the belt. But they didn't want Rock to lose face, and they wanted to send the fans home happy (or as happy as could be expected considering they got gipped out of seeing the company's biggest star in the main event). So what do they do? Throw Big Show in there for a triple threat! And voila, Triple H gets pinned but also gets a ready-made transitional chump to take the belt back from, and Rocky doesn't have to job. And somehow out of all of this mess, a heatless Big Show, stuck in a stupid feud with Big Bossman over his (fake) dead father's remains, gets a WWE title run he was promised in his contract. Nice and neat.

It doesn't stop there, though. Skip ahead a few months. Wrestlemania 2000 is coming up, and the whole world knows it's going to come down to Rock and Triple H again for the title. But WWE wants to swerve the fans, spike the buyrate for their April pay-per-view and get The Game over again all without making Rocky look bad. So what do they do? Throw Big Show in there, with Mick Foley on top for spice! That way, they can give Show his other contract incentive (guaranteed main event at WM 2000) and soften the blow of their most popular performer losing at their biggest event of the year. Seeing a pattern?

But wait, there's more. September 2002: Eric Bischoff hands the new World Championship to Triple H. WWE needs a credible #1 contender to lose to HHH and establish him as a worthy champion. They don't have much to choose from; just former champ Chris Jericho (who's been jobbing to Ric Flair), unreliable and unmotivated burnout Jeff Hardy, and hot for all of 2001 but fading fast RVD. It's just not good enough of a field for a triple threat. What do they do? Make it a fatal four way with Big Show! Show's rage gets him disqualified, it comes down to Van Dam and Jericho, and as the only one in the match who hasn't lost to Triple H before, Van Dam gets the booby prize, having gone through not one really great contender but 3 almost great ones in one match.

July 2003: Kurt Angle is returning from neck surgery, so WWE fans of course are making him a face. WWE wants him to rekindle his feud with Brock Lesnar from Wrestlemania, but Brock's also a face, and they can't turn either one of them heel right away. They need them to face each other with the buffer zone of a common enemy, but what can they do? You guessed it: have Brock feud all spring with Big Show and then make it a triple threat at Vengeance! The two guys team up on the 500-pounder for a while, but tempers flare between them before Angle wins, thus planting the seeds for Brock's heel turn and the real start of the feud.

February 2004: Kurt Angle and John Cena are clearly the odds-on favorites to challenge Eddie Guerrero for the WWE title at Wrestlemania. Angle's a heel and thus has to win in order to meet Eddie the face, but they don't want to kill Cena's momentum as a face either. Sensing the patter yet? Oh yeah, they go to Big Show! Even though Cena taps out, the fans are made to think he might not have lost if not for Angle and Show pounding on him, and he gets to beat Show for the U.S. title at 'Mania as a consolation prize.

January 2005: JBL is out of viable face contenders for his WWE title, but the fans are really interested in seeing him defend it against the heel Kurt Angle. Just the same, WWE can't make a heel vs. heel title match for the Royal Rumble, and deep down even they realize there's no way JBL would beat Angle straight up. What do they do? I think you've got the picture. JBL pins Angle, but only because he was preoccupied with Show.

I could go on and on. The point is, there's a very real pattern here. And with a little deduction, it's not hard to figure out why Big Show has been slotted with this role. In my opinion, the main reason is that WWE wants to put Show in big-time matches as a way of justifying the fact that they've made him a big deal in the past. It's the classic self-fulfilling prophecy syndrome; WWE says that Show is a major star, so they arrange things in order to have themselves proven right and put him in major matches even if the fans don't want him there. And part of Vince McMahon's belief that Show should be a major star comes from his unusual love for Really Big Guys. Vince follows the classic logic of fake fighting that just like in real life, the biggest guy should always win a fight because, well, he's the biggest. So there. Or at least he thinks the fans think that way. So if a match needs a gap filled in the form of a viable main event performer just so the fans will buy it as important, there's no better way to fill that gap than with a 7 foot tall, 500 pound giant. Because people will believe he can beat anyone smaller than him. Which is everybody. So if anyone actually manages to win a match he is in, that makes them like, Superman. And people will buy tickets to see Superman wrestle. Yeah. This is the thought process that has brought Show to his lot in life.

Now as long as Big Show is gigantic and a former WWE champion, he will continue to be thrown into these situations. The good side of it is that he will always manage to be featured in a high-profile match every few months. The down side is that he will hardly ever get one-on-one matches or storylines of any consequence. WWE will have him muddle around the middle of the card for a little while, then all of a sudden he'll chokeslam some people to remind the fans just how Really Big he is and get jammed into a three or four-way match (or as is currently the case, a tag title match) like cooking lard in a recipe--just for flavor, not for substance. And he'll never win the big one again as far as I can see. Of course, Big Show could break the cycle if he could get over well enough with the fans to become a main eventer on his own. And if you've listened to Jim Ross' commentary for the last 7 years, you know that Show has all the potential in the world to be a major player. But that's just J.R.'s nice way of saying that Show isn't over with the fans without totally burying a guy under a long-term contract. Cowboy diplomacy at its finest. I don't harbor any ill will towards the Show, per se. Every shoot ("real," non-scripted) interview I've ever heard the guy give have made him seem humble, personable and respectful of the business. And he's a hoot on Conan O'Brien. But I can't say I consider him to be a guy who works hard. Even though he was plenty big already, the only thing I've ever seen Show do to his body since signing with WWE is gain weight. And that includes several months in 2000 when they sent him down to OVW, their minor league organization to get in shape and he actually came back bigger. His moveset has devolved into really slow, lumbering offense that doesn't require him to move very much, and at a relatively young age he's starting to turn into the sad shell of himself that Andre the Giant was becoming in the last years of his career. All of this, coupled with the fact that there's only so much a 500 pound guy can do to look cool to young adult fans and women, would seem to ensure that Show is doomed to stay Mr. Triple Threat until he can't wrestle any more.

The sad fact is, WWE will force him to do so because he was originally signed to a huge long-term contract laden with the ridiculous incentives mentioned above. You may be asking why, and the best answer is that Show has been living off one of the greatest rookie years ever for his entire career. Show had an inauspicious beginning in 1995. He was a former college basketball player discovered by Hulk Hogan, trained to wrestle and cajoled into playing the long-lost son of Andre the Giant in WWE's rival company WCW. That was a stupid idea, not to mention obviously untrue, and was quickly scrapped in favor of an even worse idea. Show (then known simply as The Giant) joined up with the evil Kevin Sullivan's Dungeon of Doom group, a cartoonish collection of bad wrestlers playing characters out of B-horror flicks. During this time, Show did such ridiculous things as explode out of a wall in a cave to attack Hogan, compete in a monster truck showdown and survive a supposed fall off the roof of Cobo Hall only to wrestle later in the night. Eventually, though, Show broke off from the Dungeon and was allowed to show his individual skills. Unlike every superheavyweight WWE has ever tried to market as being "really athletic for a guy his size," Show actually was. He moved at a quick pace and leaped around the ring like a much smaller man, all the while adopting a stoic, reserved killer persona that made him far more intimidating than cheap tricks like a fall off a roof. Show became the rare commodity of a guy marketed as a heel who became so badass that the fans clamored to cheer for him, and thus he was given the WCW World title after thoroughly dominating Ric Flair in April 1996, followed by him running through WCW's other mainstays Sting and Lex Luger. Unfortunately, just as things were starting to really click for the Big Guy, his buddy Hogan turned heel and formed the New World Order, taking the belt away from Show in the process. The nWo storyline saved WCW, but it killed Show's momentum. For the next 3 years, he became the first test case for nWo suffocation, as he became awash in the bizarre and excessive booking behind the group and changed loyalties so many times that by January of '99 literally no one knew what side he was on. WCW let him go, WWE signed him to a deal and at the time, he was considered one of the most important free agent acquisitions in the war between WWE and WCW, mostly based (still) on the promise he had shown in his first year. His new name, The Big Show, was meant to reflect not only his size but his status as a main event player. Show's initial heat quickly fizzled, however, and by November of that year, he was stuck in his current loop.

So you could say that Show suffers from the worst case of the sophomore slump in history, or you could blame both WCW and WWE for not giving him the chance to run with the ball as one of their biggest names. Whatever the case, the only thing for certain is that Big Show is without question Mr. Triple Threat, and I think WWE needs to acknowledge it. It doesn't even matter that he never wins the triple threat or fatal four way matches he's in; they've called the Undertaker the master of the casket match for years and he loses them far more often than not. They created the Buried Alive match specifically for the guy and he's never won one! So why not throw Show a bone and just admit to the fact that you don't have anything better to do with the guy than throw him in triple threats. Maybe it'll backfire in some weird way and actually get him over. Of course, the best way to get him over would be to start calling him Mr. Triple Threat, have him win the match against Triple H and RVD next week, then go on to beat John Cena and Edge in another triple threat for the title at Wrestlemania. But I think we all know that's not going to happen, because I'm going to Wrestlemania and God doesn't hate me enough to let the night end with Big Show holding the gold. At least I hope not. I'll be sure to give up extra stuff for Lent this year, just in case.



*End of Spoilers! We now return you to your regularly scheduled quick hits!*

-Baseball is right around the corner. I'm still juiced, more than I have been in quite some time. Make no mistake about it, and believe no one who tells you otherwise: the White Sox are the pick to win it again this year. Their nucleus is still intact, they've got the Frank Thomas bad blood out of their system, and their pitching staff is actually improved over last season. Best of all, Coco Crisp no longer plays for the Indians. I'm telling you, they're unstoppable! The sentimental pick for me, however, is the Cubs. Let me state once again for the record (as I dodge your rotten vegetables) , I am an admitted 'tweener when it comes to Chicago baseball. I feel the Cubs' pain as strongly as anyone, but even if I didn't, I'd want them to win this year. Speaking from the perspecitve of a Sox fan (or any other fan, for that matter), what better way would there be to both cease the whining of Cubdom and kill their annoying status as loveable losers in one fell swoop than for them to win it this year? Especially after Boston and the White Sox have ended their respective cold streaks in consecutive seasons. I'm telling you, the cards are falling into place (the proverbial cards and the St. Louis ones); the baseball deities have had enough and a change is bound to come. I don't care if the potential for greatness isn't on their roster, this has to be the Cubs' year. And if they do win, I'll adopt the same stance I had about the White Sox: I'm selfish and greedy, and as long as they win a World Series in my lifetime, I don't care if they ever win another one. Fuck the grandkids, I can die happy.

-Movies are hard to get to when you're in college. Therefore, I have to root for Crash for Best Picture because it's the only nominee I've seen. That's not to say I didn't think it was excellent, because I did and I told everyone I knew to see it. But I really have no frame of reference when it comes to calling it the year's best movie. And as a film major, I don't think that's a good thing. Oh well, I'm sure someday I'll be so sick of watching movies that I'll lock myself in a cave and read Reader's Digest for days at a time, so I won't complain too much now.

-I don't know if I'm returning to the comics shop this week or not. As I rediscover the medium, I'm also rediscovering the unfortunate truth that many books don't live up to their covers or the previews of what's going to happen in them. And nothing sucks more than that first exposition issue of a new story arc, but without them, the action-packed later issues are too damn confusing. Damn bloodsucking comics companies, just when I think I'm out, they pull me back...oh never mind.

Excelsior!
~Jakeman