[Reviews] WWE Smackdown/ECW, Nottingham Trent FM Arena 08/11/09; WWE Raw, London O2 11/11/09
[*pant pant* Here we are, I promised I'd have it done by the end of the week, panthology! *waves*]
*flops*
*looks at official programme, at various train tickets, at nearly a hundred quid's worth of event ticket stubs, at frantically scribbled lists of match results... and finally at pair of now-innocently-defunct official DX Army glowsticks*
...y'know, you guys, it's just possible I'm a tiny bit of a mark. >.> But at least that means you all get to read about it for free, right?
Before I get into serious listing of who kicked whose ass and all that good stuff, I want to do something more important - list the shining moments. The moments that made me go I am so fucking glad I was part of that, because those are what make every damn penny I spend on these ridiculous adventures worthwhile.
So! The roll of honour!
***
From Smackdown/ECW:
- Goldust! I'm really fond of the golden one and I didn't know he'd be on the card, so I got a little markout moment all my own when he popped up.
- John Morrison vs Dolph Ziggler. I can watch those two all DAY, seriously. Both of them are beautiful, both of them are damn good, and watching them try to out-posture each other is brilliant. Love.
- Getting to see Christian defend the ECW belt. Aside from the obvious coolness of this, seeing Christian helped a little with the hole in my heart that was left by my beloved Edge not being fit to wrestle on this tour; also, I've always thought the ECW belt with its gunmetal platinum is physically the most beautiful piece of metal in the whole WWE belt canon, so getting to watch Christian lift it under the blaze of the lights was a moment of pure aesthetic joy.
- Matt Hardy's entrance. Because, well, complicated, but basically Matt being right there in front of me was the moment at which I stopped having that bizarre cognitive "this is still kind of like watching the TV" feeling and switched to "I am through the looking glass, or more precisely through the screen, and this IS the WWE Universe and not my own home dimension, I'm really here!" I'm not sure why. (Also, I'd have loved to have watched Jeff wrestle - and since that definitely won't happen at least for a while, I am damn well going to enjoy cheering for the Hardy we do have!)
- Practically dying when, after a particularly loud round of "SIX ONE NINE!" chants from Rey Mysterio's fans, I heard someone behind me moot an alternative chant of "FIVE FOOT SIX!" Just... maybe you had to be there, but I freakin' laughed. ^_^
- The Undertaker, oh my gods. The Lord of Darkness in person, the sheer power of his presence spreading out over the arena like huge unfurled black wings. He is... everything his reputation makes him, he really is. The shiver down my spine was everything I could have wished for. (nephthys_abode? I screamed extra loud for you... *grin*)
From Raw:
- Walking in, through the huge outer ring of the Millennium Dome O2 arena, excuse me, feeling the hair stand on the back of my neck with the atmosphere and the excitement of it all. That's what I imagine it must be like in the huge American arenas. It felt very different to Smackdown/ECW, put it that way.
- Randy Orton vs Kofi Kingston! Both an excellent choice of match-up, and a chance for me to see the Legend Killer in person and cheer him on. Randy Orton is a gorgeous, gorgeous blackhearted bastard and one of those people it's a pleasure to cheer even while he's glaring at you. (Also I envy his tattoos like burning.)
- The moment when the simple words "tag team match" caused the fucking roof to lift several inches, because we all knew who that meant. Followed closely by the even more overwhelming outbreak of screaming fan-ecstasy when DX themselves actually showed up. They are magic, they really are. They got the same all-engulfing response of we are the crowd, we are one great beast with eighteen thousand hearts and every single one of them is wide open for you that I'm used to from the absolute best of metal gigs. So amazing.
- Laughing myself sick along with everyone else when Legacy got their pants pulled down. I KNOW that shit isn't supposed to be funny once you're older than about twelve, but when DX do it, somehow it's hysterical regardless. As, indeed, are midgets. And glowsticks.
- Cheering, cheering, screaming for Shawn as he stretched to Hunter in a desperate effort to tag out, even though they always do that excruciating beat-Shawn-to-hell routine, because they make it so real every time and its impossible not to flinch and gasp and dig your nails into your palm for them. Because they are DX and they are, both of them, THAT DAMN GOOD. ♥
- Watching Shawn fairly throw himself into Hunter's offered arm after the bell, his head thudding straight onto Hunter's shoulder like he absolutely, incontrovertibly belonged there, and Hunter's hand settling on his back in unhesitating confirmation. I love watching people who mean that much to each other and aren't ashamed if the whole damn world knows it. It makes my heart lift in a way that I can't even put words around.
- Cheering defiantly for Chris Jericho and feeling nothing but gleeful affection for him even as he abused the lot of us. Some people it's an honour to be roundly insulted by, and Chris Jericho - like Randy Orton - is one of them, especially when he puts on a completely farcical English accent so mangled that I couldn't even work out which side of the Watford Gap it was meant to be...
- ...closely followed by dying laughing when someone's lucky one-off shot with a glowstick was followed by an absolute storm of the damn things, as the DX Army decided that Jericho needed to, as it were, STFU. Classic impromptu fan awesomeness.
- John Cena, in his schmaltzy farewell speech, declaring that we were real wrestling fans and he respected us because he'd been able to hear people cheering for Jericho during their match. As one of those people who had indeed been cheering for Jericho, I found myself doing a sudden volte-face of sudden respect for Cena too. Just for that.
***
So those were the moments... now here are your full-length reviews and results, with varying degrees of colour commentary!
***
Smackdown/ECW:
This trip wound up being just me, Oliver and Mark, since April was feeling too ill to want to go out (we missed you, lass - hope you feel better now!) The drive up to Nottingham mostly consisted, from my point of view, of me sitting in the back and not being able to hear a word of the conversation the lads were having up front - however, since what I was sitting in the back of was Mark's gorgeous black Celica GT import, this was not really cutting into my enjoyment. That car is awesome, seriously. Those bucket back seats wrap around your hips wonderfully and are amazingly comfortable even with the lack of legroom, and it's got a proper stomach-punching kick on the acceleration. Man, I love sports cars... ^_^ It made a great setup for the rest of the day in terms of adrenaline levels, put it that way.
On arriving in Nottingham we hooked up with Baz and Emma for lunch, which was great fun as they dragged us to a pub rejoicing in the name of The Old Salutation. This turned out to be a brilliant, ancient, crookedy sort of rock pub with a kickass jukebox and huge amounts of food, and it was lovely to sit round and have a laugh with everyone. (Laugh of the day award goes to Oliver, in fact, for describing Madonna as "not even mutton dressed as lamb any more... she's more like Mumm-Ra dressed as lamb!" which caused Emma to get Strongbow up her sinuses. Nice one mate!)
From there, we moved on to the Trent FM Arena. There was an interlude here that involved us looking for a ticket tout, so Mark could offload April's ticket. Sadly - and bizarrely - we couldn't find one, which meant not only a financial loss but also the sad waste of a ticket that, as it turned out in the end, wasn't quite front row but was pretty damn close...
I think we must have been about five or six rows back, in fact, to be precise - though on the "wrong" side, as these things are measured, since the ramp was on our right and that meant that from the conventional WWE perspective the action would have its back to us. Luckily, it turns out that although the cameras are generally round the other side, the wrestlers are actually very good at making sure that the entire crowd gets a fair look at what's going on. After a few hefty winces at the merch prices, we got drinks and settled in, all ready for the excitement...
First match was Cryme Tyme vs the Hart Dynasty: I couldn't help laughing at the irony of seeing Cryme Tyme up first, when we'd just searched the entire arena for a ticket tout - cos who could forget Shad and JTG selling DX scalped tickets after they got thrown out of the arena that time and had to get back in? Anyway, this was a fun match - not one to set the world on fire, but good solid entertainment. An auspicious beginning!
Zack Ryder vs William Regal was up next, and since I remember Zack Ryder fondly from the Edgeheads I was all up to cheer for him. Unfortunately, nobody else really seemed to know who he was... and in this country William Regal's a face whether he likes it or not, so he got most if not all of the applause. Although it was cool of Regal to thank us all "for cheering for an old villain like me" at the end. ^_^
Next up was Ezekiel Jackson vs... Goldust! This caused me considerable delight. I don't quite know what it is about a man in black and gold Kiss makeup and a huge blond wig that makes me want to mark like a mad thing, but there you go, so this was an awesome surprise. Just a shame he lost - though he did collect the crowd approval after Jackson had gone. ♥
Then came the Divas Battle Royal, which was what it says. I am so bad at watching Divas matches, I admit it. They almost always come off looking like a catfight rather than a wrestling match, and I guess I'm just not bisexual enough to appreciate them as eye candy. :p The only good thing about this match was Beth Phoenix, who won the right to challenge Michelle McCool for her title later in the evening. I do respect Beth, I have to admit, because she at least can wrestle. Not to mention do a shouldercarry with two people at once, which is a fantastic party piece if you can manage it.
I was dragged in again by Drew MacIntyre vs Finlay, though. MacIntyre was new to me, and I have to admit I kinda liked him, despite him saying rude things about us Sassenachs. I'm not one to mind if a heel insults me, and he's pretty kickass - once he stopped doing the heel-running-away thing, anyway. *grin* And he won, so fair play to him.
And then! Dolph Ziggler vs John Morrison for the Intercontinental Championship! I practically bounced in the air when Dolph's music hit, and not just because "I'm Perfection" is so damn danceable; I adore both of these guys, and a match where I'm happy no matter who wins is always a pleasure. Ziggler's heel "charm" may be supposed to be unconvincing and hateable, but you know what, his preening I'm-the-next-big-thing strut works fine for me. Meanwhile, John Morrison IS some kind of deranged cross between his namesake Jim Morrison and a young Shawn Michaels, and you truly can't go wrong with that (and that coat looks soooo gorgeous in real life, I want to steal it). And wait, what's that, both of them can actually wrestle? Well, hang out the flags! ;) This was definitely my match of the night so far, at that point.
(Here, there was the interval. Not much happened in it that was worthy of note.)
The excitement definitely cranked up a bit as we went into the second half, because everyone who'd turned up to sit and snooze through the low and mid-card matches started waking up and paying attention. Christian vs Yoshi Tatsu for the ECW Championship was up first; Yoshi Tatsu was new to me, but based on this bouncy, energetic good-guy showing, I like him, and I really do hope he does well. However, Christian is a total badass and it was great to watch him win, so that was lovely.
And then it all went off the boil again, with Michelle McCool vs Beth Phoenix for the Women's Championship. Given that Titles Don't Change Hands At House Shows (TM) there wasn't even any suspense, and while I do like Beth I couldn't muster up much enthusiasm for this. This match could probably have been cut from the card without disappointing anyone except the twelve-year-olds behind me who were perving on the girls with alarmingly mature ease. Michelle won. Beth made a gallant attempt to sell a damaged leg. The crowd were unimpressed. :/
I gather that the next match had been billed as Rey Mysterio vs Batista. Now, as not-a-fan of either of these two, I'd have been a bit bored sitting through that. Luckily for me, though, someone made a snap decision and turned it into a Triple Threat match featuring... Matt Hardy! ^_^ Which was the point, as mentioned above in the highlights, where something a little odd happened in my brain. Until that moment, it somehow hadn't quite sunk in that I was really there, actually at a WWE event - it felt more like watching the telly in surround-o-vision, if that makes sense. But being that close enough to the actual one and only Matt Hardy was somehow the point at which I mentally passed the fourth wall. I guess it's easy for me to treat the WWE as fiction, because I only ever see it on the screen - so mentally recombining the WWE Universe with my own home dimension took me most of the show, apparently. How weird.
Either way, the match was great. With Batista as the heel, Rey as the face and Matt deftly manoeuvring in the tweener's space, they turned in a cracking performance - including that rarest of moves, the Surprise 619! The 619 is not easy to execute without people seeing it coming, as anyone who's ever seen the customary setup for it will understand, so I was very impressed. (This also led to the overheard moment mentioned above, of someone suggesting a chant of "FIVE FOOT SIX!!!" for Rey Mysterio. I so would have joined in that. Am I a bad person? >.>)
And finally, the main event... The Undertaker vs CM Punk in a casket match for the World Heavyweight Championship! Now, let's be honest here, with my mark hat on I hate CM Punk's heel persona. Little sod makes me ashamed to be seen drinking Pepsi, seriously. But of course, that's just kayfabe - out of storyline, I got no problem with him at all.
Despite this, there was no question who I'd be cheering for in this match. Let's face it, I was here for the Deadman. Oh yeah. And from the first stroke of that bell, I and everyone else in the arena came completely freakin' unglued. He is... terrifying, magnificent, utterly deserving of every OTT epithet he's ever been given. And he and Punk proceeded to have a spectacular match: in and out of the ring, in and out of the casket, all over the place. They did a great job of hauling up the suspense levels, despite the rule of TDCHAHS; 'Taker was actually in the casket quite a few times, but popped up every time like some demonic Jack from a box, usually with a hand locked around Punk's throat.
It's the definition of a great pro wrestler, for me, that they can make the crowd buy in and believe despite everything our meta-understanding of pro wrestling as a form of entertainment tells us. The guys who win our hearts are the ones who can have us all, from kids to grandfathers, from cynical smarks to slasher fangirls, on the edge of our seats like ten year olds; and in the case of the Undertaker, he deserves all the adoration he gets, because he can. And it's even more impressive coming from him, because he's got to sell us the supernatural stuff on top of the wrestling side of it; and he succeeds. It's genuinely easy to believe that you're watching someone who isn't all human. And it's a measure of CM Punk's talent that, up against that, he could hold his own as a believable opponent. Many, many kudos to both of them. When the bell finally rang I felt like I'd been holding my breath for a straight half hour, which I practically had.
And then I had to hold it again as we waited for the Undertaker to get to his feet - before he suddenly straightened up, tossing his hair and raising the belt, and turned to lean on the ropes and silently allow the crowd to cheer him to the echo. I love how understated he is in his acknowledgement, and how much more it somehow means to the crowd as a result. I don't know how it is that one simple act by one person can have that kind of impact on an entire arena full of onlookers. I don't know what it is that can make so many of us somehow choose that we will let this man, this ritual, have power over us. But I'm glad that that switch in the human brain exists, wherever it is, because being in the middle of the crowd when it gets flicked is amazing. All hail the Undertaker. We are truly, as the saying goes, not worthy.
And that was it. Abruptly, suddenly, tipping me out of the WWE Universe and back into my own world with the cold shock of fresh air and the stretch of cramped legs as we left the arena and walked out into the night. It's an odd thing, but I love leaving windowless places, especially event venues. What's it like outside?
The answer this time was "cold, and clear, and full of city lights", as I found Mark and Oliver again and we headed back to the car for the long drive back to Cambridge. Walking in the cold, footsteps light with adrenaline and afterglow, we geeked, we gossiped, we compared notes. We sat in the car and compiled a list of all the matches and the running order from our collective memories, surprised at how easily various matches had slipped our respective minds. Too much data, too short a space of time.
And I sat back, thoroughly pleased with my evening, and content in knowing that if I'd seen that and then not been going to Raw as well, I'd have felt like I was leaving the job half done. But I was going to Raw...
***
Raw:
It's always weird going to a big event on your own, at least, I always find it so. Surrounded by couples, families, or gangs of friends, I always have this odd sense of my own insubstantiality - as though the fact that nobody is sharing the experience with me makes it in some strange way unreal. The O2, it turns out, is a hell of a venue for that feeling, just because it's so huge. The vast, tentlike structure covers not merely an arena but an entire circular arcade of shops, restaurants and bars. I felt as though I was wandering through a movie set; the sheer spectacle of this much space, money and resources being devoted purely to entertainment was quite something.
My seat, this time, was on the "back" side of the arena again, up at the top of the lower block of tiered seating. A little further out than I'd have liked to be, but the tiered seats do have one big advantage - you can see the floor of the ring, and have a view of the surrounding area. I made myself comfy, cracked my shiny new set of official DX glowsticks and assiduously shook them to make sure they'd do their thing properly, pulled my metaphorical mark's hat snugly down over my ears and settled down to wait. For want of anything better to do, I watched the light-board strips that run around the arena; this turned out to be quite educational, as they scrolled various pictures of Superstars up them. It's amazing how interesting male musculature looks when you're only seeing a narrow stripe of picture that's scrolling up with positively loving slowness to reveal, say, Triple H or Shawn Michaels. *g*
The first thing I noticed when the show began was the sudden revelation that holy shit, they have pyros! Smackdown hadn't, making do with only lights - presumably the venue was just too small - but Raw had, if not the whole nine yards, then at least three or four yards of explosives. I bounced up in my seat like a kid, squeaking with excitement as a series of Superstars came charging out and piled into the No.1 Contender's Battle Royal announced as the opening match. Awesome!
The full list of competitors, the Internet informs me because I didn't manage to write them all down at the time and I couldn't recognise the ones I don't know so well at that range, was: Chris Jericho, Randy Orton, Big Show, Sheamus, MVP, Cody Rhodes, Ted DiBiase, Santino Marella, Jack Swagger and Mark Henry. I couldn't tell you exactly who went out when in the early part of the Rumble (I am so bad at watching big matches like this, I just can't keep my eye on everyone enough) but the final four were Jericho, Santino, Mark Henry and the Big Show. I was dead impressed when Jericho managed to throw Henry and Show out together, using Show's weight to get the extra momentum to toss Henry over the ropes; then Santino came flying up and chucked Jericho out only a moment later. Unfortunately, as he turned away to run across the ring and do a victory flail, Jericho - who was on my side, so I saw this perfectly, yay! - had grabbed the ropes, kept his feet off the floor, and swung himself back in to give Santino an ignominious chucking out. I cheered, oh yes I did. Chris Jericho vs John Cena for the WWE Championship? HELL yes. I'd been kind of dreading having to sit through Cena's match, but if he was facing Jericho? Well, I would be cheering with the best - though not for the face. *g*
Next match was a surprise ECW guest match - Paul Burchill vs the Hurricane! Hurricane was new to me, due to my terrible habit of never seeing anything other than the PPVs, and I was instantly smitten with him. Pretty little flying superhero thing! And it was pleasing to hear Burchill get roundly booed despite being English - while national solidarity has its benefits, having the fans get too bloody-minded about it can make things a little weird. I was only sorry the Hurricane didn't win, but hey, it was fun to watch.
Folllowing this was The Miz vs MVP for the US Championship. The thing that mainly sticks in my head from this match is that the Miz is a posing, swaggering bastard. *grin* He looked to be having way too much fun tramping around the ring propping himself on the ropes and collecting boos from the crowd. MVP acquitted himself well - I've gotten quite fond of him on the sly since his face turn - and this was a respectable match. Unfortunately, the momentum rather collapsed after this, because of:
The Divas' tag team match, featuring Gail Kim and Melina vs Jillian Hall and Alicia Fox. Jillian attempted, briefly, to launch into earshattering song but thankfully that stopped fairly quickly. I have really no recollection of this match, although it did cross my mind during it that I feel kinda sorry for the Divas. It's easy to dismiss them as just eye candy, as chicks who can't wrestle being put out there to give the guys in the audience something to look at; but despite this, those are real women and this is their career. I know I wouldn't exactly feel great about myself if millions of people worldwide considered my coming out to do my job that I loved, their cue to go and use the bathroom while nothing interesting was going on - and yet the Divas have to live with that. I do feel kind of bad about that... although unfortunately, no amount of pricking of conscience can make me enjoy the majority of Divas matches. It's just a shame, really. :(
Next out was Evan Bourne vs Chavo Guerrero, which was a good, solid match and picked up the crowd's interest again. Watching Evan is always entertaining and Chavo struck me as a good choice of opponent for him, being fast and agile enough to keep a good pace going, and light enough that Evan's high-flyer moves don't just bounce. I don't have a huge personal stake in either man so I didn't really mind who won; no objections at all to it being Evan, though. Boy deserved it. ^_^
This took us into the interval, wherein I, out of both hunger and a desire to get fully into the spirit of this sports-entertainment thing, went and acquired a hot dog and a coke. It's a funny thing, I never feel like I've quite done a big event like this properly if I don't end up with a plastic pint glass and some junk food somewhere along the way. It's practically ritualistic. Sitting back down again and munching contentedly, I waited for the second half.
Before beginning the second half of the show, they briefly dipped the lights completely to black; the answering cheer was huge. It was very cool looking around and seeing the whole arena glowing faintly green in the blaze of hundred and hundreds of glowsticks. The DX fan army holding vigil for their heroes... quite the impressive sight.
However, the DX contingent had to wait a bit longer, as the first match of the second half was Randy Orton vs Kofi Kingston. This was a cracking good match, frankly. I was cheering indiscriminately for both of them throughout, though I'll admit to being gleeful when Randy finally took it. They work well together, though - fast and vicious with plenty of aerial shenanigans from Kofi, and it's great to see Randy show off how athletic he can be with the right guy to play off. And, on a purely self-interested level, Randy is, frankly, gorgeous, and also has the kind of tattoos that I can only envy and wish I could afford. *s*
And then. The moment we had all been waiting for. "The next match is a tag team match..."
KERBLAM. The fucking arena went sky high and the competitors hadn't even been declared yet. I honestly felt my heart thump against my ribs. I was... well, I wasn't a kid again, because all my childhood heroes were people like Admiral Nelson and King Arthur and Robin Hood, and you don't get to cheer for them. But I got my chance now, two decades late, yelling and waving my glowsticks like a crazy thing -
"Are you ready?"
Yes. YES WE ARE. The O2's circus-tent-style roof must have visibly strained at its moorings as Hunter and Shawn sauntered out, bouncing and grinning and waving to the crowd, both of them so covered in spare glowsticks that they resembled demented Christmas trees. I don't think I've ever quite realised, or respected, Hunter's strength of arm as much as I did when he started tossing his spare sticks to the crowd and I realised that he was pretty effortlessly getting them to the back of the first tier. It's the little things, sometimes; the little things that stand out in the midst of the cataclysm of light and pyro and music, and the wall of noise and glowing green X's generated by eighteen thousand people all going OMG, DX, we love you! at the full pitch of their lungs, hearts and souls. Fucking magic. ♥
"Are you ready?" Hunter asked us, teasingly. The instant roar of response was so lightning-quick that you'd think he'd physically bounced the words off a wall to make an echo. "No, London, I said, ARE YOU READY?!!" Louder, this time, the reply, much louder - I think my voice cracked to something resembling a demented peacock, but I doubt anyone more than two seats away could tell. "Then, for the thousands in attendance... and I mean thousands..." a pause, Hunter pointing at the upper circle, "Wow, that's high. Just outta curiosity, just that top row make a buncha noise..." Obedience ensued, as the cheap seats voiced their glee at being acknowledged. "'s pretty impressive. Now, where was I, oh yeah. For the thousands in attendance... for the millions not watching at home - just to be fair, we did TV in Sheffield this time-" BOOOOOOO! "-and trust me, between you and me, they weren't nearly as good as you-" YAAAAAAAY! "-so with that in mind:
"Lllllllets get ready to SUCK IIIIIIT!"
"And if you're not down with that-" Shawn speaking now, though the crowd were gleefully doing his line for him, "then we got TWO! WORDS! FOR YA!" An outstretched microphone, and:
"SUCK IIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!"
[Yes, I did just transcribe the entire routine. Shut up, this is my souvenir review for my own reference, and I can if I want to. -Rath]
At this point, Legacy finally got to get a themetune in edgeways. Now, I adore the Legacy boys and it's been great watching them go from Randy's sidekicks to a force in their own right. I love tag team wrestling, and Legacy currently look like its best young hope in the WWE. However, I will guiltily admit that while I did cheer them - unlike most of the crowd - I may not have been looking at them as much as I should've, because my eyes kept straying back to DX. But nonetheless Ted and Cody stalked out proudly, showed their stuff, and took their corner under the near-visible cloud of DX fandom that was floating in the arena atmosphere...
If there's such a concept as "calculated anarchy", that would be the perfect description of what it's like when DX wrestle. All the normal rules of order, reason and serious matches go flying out the window, but the stuff that happens instead is recognisable to the point of being set pieces. Legacy got their pants yanked down and chased out of the ring fairly early in the proceedings (and I'd forgotten until I found it on Youtube, but Hunter did briefly make threatening moves on the referee's pants as well - I can only assume he got carried away in the excitement). They did the traditional "put Shawn in and beat him until the entire crowd whimpers" thing, which I never know if I love or hate (on the one hand it's good showmanship, but on the other hand Shawn, noooooo!) and then once Hunter finally tagged back in, descended into gleeful four-way mayhem with the referee no longer making the slightest attempt to enforce things like "legal man" or "no interference". Legacy, of course, can cheat with the best so kept up just fine, eventually going so far as to toss Shawn out of the ring before backing Hunter into the corner and enthusiastically beating the hell out of him -
- but wait! Whence that sudden roar of laughter from the crowd? Cue Hornswoggle, in a DX shirt, clambering into the ring and racing to the rescue! Attempting Shawn's Sweet Chin Music - with a ten-stomp tuneup, no less - and succeeding at cripplingly kneecapping Cody Rhodes (his feet just won't go that high, bless him) Hornswoggle distracted a bewildered and outraged Legacy for just long enough to throw them into the arms of a returning DX, who deftly snagged them up and planted them down for a classy double-pinfall win.
And then as Hunter stood up from Pedigreeing Cody, he stepped over towards Shawn and reached out his arm - and Shawn fairly fell on him. Eeeeeee. ♥ Your intrepid reporter promptly missed a few seconds of the action while her slash goggles were fogged up. ;) And the victory celebrations that followed were, to say the least, adorable. Here, see for yourselves.
With the energy levels slowly dropping back to "borderline sane" as Hunter and Shawn left, we settled in for Jericho and Cena's main event match. Jericho was the first to come out, and as you might expect, he decided to have a good trash-talk at the expense of the crowd. Unfortunately, it didn't go quite to plan. Jericho is a great heel, he really is, and his terrible British accent and accusations that we all speak funny and have dental problems were fine by me. I was laughing way too much to take offence.
Somebody did, however. Because suddenly - was it a work? The world may never know - a DX glowstick came sailing out of the crowd and, with magnificent precision, bounced off Jericho's face. Jericho fairly exploded, understandably, and in response, it fucking RAINED glowsticks. I've never seen anything like it. Gods love him, Chris played it to the hilt, yelling threats and "come on!"s at the crowd as they gleefully obliged, until the mayhem was interrupted by a white boy rapper in short pants John Cena coming out to start the match.
And to be fair, what a match it was. The performance they turned in wouldn't have shamed a PPV, with a ton of back-and-forth, near-falls and moments of cranked tension. The crowd were madly into it, chants of "LET'S GO JERICHO" and "LET'S GO CENA" being batted between sections of the arena almost throughout and the energy levels never letting up. Of course, TDCHAHS - but damn, they made it look like a near thing.
A lot of people pretty much walked out as the bell rang, I noticed, presumably trying to beat the crowd on the way out. I half-considered it, but I'm very glad I didn't, because what followed was Cena's farewell/victory speech, and I ended up feeling genuinely sentimental, much to my surprise. Mostly I think because I HAD been cheering for Chris the whole match - so when he told us how much he respected us all because people had been cheering for both him AND Chris, there was a sudden sense of being offered a surprise olive branch that was unexpectedly heartwarming. I may even have joined in a Cena chant, although don't hold your breath for it ever happening again...
Those who left early did, in purely practical terms, have the right idea, though. Getting out turned out to be chaotic, with crowd control at the tube station delaying me enough that I was genuinely worried about missing the last train. Fortunately I did not, so got back to Cambridge via train and bus (why are there always rail works whenever I go to something in London?) for about... oh, three in the morning, I think?
But it was so worth it. Best night since... well, since Smackdown? *grin*
***
Laters,
Rath
*flops*
*looks at official programme, at various train tickets, at nearly a hundred quid's worth of event ticket stubs, at frantically scribbled lists of match results... and finally at pair of now-innocently-defunct official DX Army glowsticks*
...y'know, you guys, it's just possible I'm a tiny bit of a mark. >.> But at least that means you all get to read about it for free, right?
Before I get into serious listing of who kicked whose ass and all that good stuff, I want to do something more important - list the shining moments. The moments that made me go I am so fucking glad I was part of that, because those are what make every damn penny I spend on these ridiculous adventures worthwhile.
So! The roll of honour!
***
From Smackdown/ECW:
- Goldust! I'm really fond of the golden one and I didn't know he'd be on the card, so I got a little markout moment all my own when he popped up.
- John Morrison vs Dolph Ziggler. I can watch those two all DAY, seriously. Both of them are beautiful, both of them are damn good, and watching them try to out-posture each other is brilliant. Love.
- Getting to see Christian defend the ECW belt. Aside from the obvious coolness of this, seeing Christian helped a little with the hole in my heart that was left by my beloved Edge not being fit to wrestle on this tour; also, I've always thought the ECW belt with its gunmetal platinum is physically the most beautiful piece of metal in the whole WWE belt canon, so getting to watch Christian lift it under the blaze of the lights was a moment of pure aesthetic joy.
- Matt Hardy's entrance. Because, well, complicated, but basically Matt being right there in front of me was the moment at which I stopped having that bizarre cognitive "this is still kind of like watching the TV" feeling and switched to "I am through the looking glass, or more precisely through the screen, and this IS the WWE Universe and not my own home dimension, I'm really here!" I'm not sure why. (Also, I'd have loved to have watched Jeff wrestle - and since that definitely won't happen at least for a while, I am damn well going to enjoy cheering for the Hardy we do have!)
- Practically dying when, after a particularly loud round of "SIX ONE NINE!" chants from Rey Mysterio's fans, I heard someone behind me moot an alternative chant of "FIVE FOOT SIX!" Just... maybe you had to be there, but I freakin' laughed. ^_^
- The Undertaker, oh my gods. The Lord of Darkness in person, the sheer power of his presence spreading out over the arena like huge unfurled black wings. He is... everything his reputation makes him, he really is. The shiver down my spine was everything I could have wished for. (nephthys_abode? I screamed extra loud for you... *grin*)
From Raw:
- Walking in, through the huge outer ring of the Millennium Dome O2 arena, excuse me, feeling the hair stand on the back of my neck with the atmosphere and the excitement of it all. That's what I imagine it must be like in the huge American arenas. It felt very different to Smackdown/ECW, put it that way.
- Randy Orton vs Kofi Kingston! Both an excellent choice of match-up, and a chance for me to see the Legend Killer in person and cheer him on. Randy Orton is a gorgeous, gorgeous blackhearted bastard and one of those people it's a pleasure to cheer even while he's glaring at you. (Also I envy his tattoos like burning.)
- The moment when the simple words "tag team match" caused the fucking roof to lift several inches, because we all knew who that meant. Followed closely by the even more overwhelming outbreak of screaming fan-ecstasy when DX themselves actually showed up. They are magic, they really are. They got the same all-engulfing response of we are the crowd, we are one great beast with eighteen thousand hearts and every single one of them is wide open for you that I'm used to from the absolute best of metal gigs. So amazing.
- Laughing myself sick along with everyone else when Legacy got their pants pulled down. I KNOW that shit isn't supposed to be funny once you're older than about twelve, but when DX do it, somehow it's hysterical regardless. As, indeed, are midgets. And glowsticks.
- Cheering, cheering, screaming for Shawn as he stretched to Hunter in a desperate effort to tag out, even though they always do that excruciating beat-Shawn-to-hell routine, because they make it so real every time and its impossible not to flinch and gasp and dig your nails into your palm for them. Because they are DX and they are, both of them, THAT DAMN GOOD. ♥
- Watching Shawn fairly throw himself into Hunter's offered arm after the bell, his head thudding straight onto Hunter's shoulder like he absolutely, incontrovertibly belonged there, and Hunter's hand settling on his back in unhesitating confirmation. I love watching people who mean that much to each other and aren't ashamed if the whole damn world knows it. It makes my heart lift in a way that I can't even put words around.
- Cheering defiantly for Chris Jericho and feeling nothing but gleeful affection for him even as he abused the lot of us. Some people it's an honour to be roundly insulted by, and Chris Jericho - like Randy Orton - is one of them, especially when he puts on a completely farcical English accent so mangled that I couldn't even work out which side of the Watford Gap it was meant to be...
- ...closely followed by dying laughing when someone's lucky one-off shot with a glowstick was followed by an absolute storm of the damn things, as the DX Army decided that Jericho needed to, as it were, STFU. Classic impromptu fan awesomeness.
- John Cena, in his schmaltzy farewell speech, declaring that we were real wrestling fans and he respected us because he'd been able to hear people cheering for Jericho during their match. As one of those people who had indeed been cheering for Jericho, I found myself doing a sudden volte-face of sudden respect for Cena too. Just for that.
***
So those were the moments... now here are your full-length reviews and results, with varying degrees of colour commentary!
***
Smackdown/ECW:
This trip wound up being just me, Oliver and Mark, since April was feeling too ill to want to go out (we missed you, lass - hope you feel better now!) The drive up to Nottingham mostly consisted, from my point of view, of me sitting in the back and not being able to hear a word of the conversation the lads were having up front - however, since what I was sitting in the back of was Mark's gorgeous black Celica GT import, this was not really cutting into my enjoyment. That car is awesome, seriously. Those bucket back seats wrap around your hips wonderfully and are amazingly comfortable even with the lack of legroom, and it's got a proper stomach-punching kick on the acceleration. Man, I love sports cars... ^_^ It made a great setup for the rest of the day in terms of adrenaline levels, put it that way.
On arriving in Nottingham we hooked up with Baz and Emma for lunch, which was great fun as they dragged us to a pub rejoicing in the name of The Old Salutation. This turned out to be a brilliant, ancient, crookedy sort of rock pub with a kickass jukebox and huge amounts of food, and it was lovely to sit round and have a laugh with everyone. (Laugh of the day award goes to Oliver, in fact, for describing Madonna as "not even mutton dressed as lamb any more... she's more like Mumm-Ra dressed as lamb!" which caused Emma to get Strongbow up her sinuses. Nice one mate!)
From there, we moved on to the Trent FM Arena. There was an interlude here that involved us looking for a ticket tout, so Mark could offload April's ticket. Sadly - and bizarrely - we couldn't find one, which meant not only a financial loss but also the sad waste of a ticket that, as it turned out in the end, wasn't quite front row but was pretty damn close...
I think we must have been about five or six rows back, in fact, to be precise - though on the "wrong" side, as these things are measured, since the ramp was on our right and that meant that from the conventional WWE perspective the action would have its back to us. Luckily, it turns out that although the cameras are generally round the other side, the wrestlers are actually very good at making sure that the entire crowd gets a fair look at what's going on. After a few hefty winces at the merch prices, we got drinks and settled in, all ready for the excitement...
First match was Cryme Tyme vs the Hart Dynasty: I couldn't help laughing at the irony of seeing Cryme Tyme up first, when we'd just searched the entire arena for a ticket tout - cos who could forget Shad and JTG selling DX scalped tickets after they got thrown out of the arena that time and had to get back in? Anyway, this was a fun match - not one to set the world on fire, but good solid entertainment. An auspicious beginning!
Zack Ryder vs William Regal was up next, and since I remember Zack Ryder fondly from the Edgeheads I was all up to cheer for him. Unfortunately, nobody else really seemed to know who he was... and in this country William Regal's a face whether he likes it or not, so he got most if not all of the applause. Although it was cool of Regal to thank us all "for cheering for an old villain like me" at the end. ^_^
Next up was Ezekiel Jackson vs... Goldust! This caused me considerable delight. I don't quite know what it is about a man in black and gold Kiss makeup and a huge blond wig that makes me want to mark like a mad thing, but there you go, so this was an awesome surprise. Just a shame he lost - though he did collect the crowd approval after Jackson had gone. ♥
Then came the Divas Battle Royal, which was what it says. I am so bad at watching Divas matches, I admit it. They almost always come off looking like a catfight rather than a wrestling match, and I guess I'm just not bisexual enough to appreciate them as eye candy. :p The only good thing about this match was Beth Phoenix, who won the right to challenge Michelle McCool for her title later in the evening. I do respect Beth, I have to admit, because she at least can wrestle. Not to mention do a shouldercarry with two people at once, which is a fantastic party piece if you can manage it.
I was dragged in again by Drew MacIntyre vs Finlay, though. MacIntyre was new to me, and I have to admit I kinda liked him, despite him saying rude things about us Sassenachs. I'm not one to mind if a heel insults me, and he's pretty kickass - once he stopped doing the heel-running-away thing, anyway. *grin* And he won, so fair play to him.
And then! Dolph Ziggler vs John Morrison for the Intercontinental Championship! I practically bounced in the air when Dolph's music hit, and not just because "I'm Perfection" is so damn danceable; I adore both of these guys, and a match where I'm happy no matter who wins is always a pleasure. Ziggler's heel "charm" may be supposed to be unconvincing and hateable, but you know what, his preening I'm-the-next-big-thing strut works fine for me. Meanwhile, John Morrison IS some kind of deranged cross between his namesake Jim Morrison and a young Shawn Michaels, and you truly can't go wrong with that (and that coat looks soooo gorgeous in real life, I want to steal it). And wait, what's that, both of them can actually wrestle? Well, hang out the flags! ;) This was definitely my match of the night so far, at that point.
(Here, there was the interval. Not much happened in it that was worthy of note.)
The excitement definitely cranked up a bit as we went into the second half, because everyone who'd turned up to sit and snooze through the low and mid-card matches started waking up and paying attention. Christian vs Yoshi Tatsu for the ECW Championship was up first; Yoshi Tatsu was new to me, but based on this bouncy, energetic good-guy showing, I like him, and I really do hope he does well. However, Christian is a total badass and it was great to watch him win, so that was lovely.
And then it all went off the boil again, with Michelle McCool vs Beth Phoenix for the Women's Championship. Given that Titles Don't Change Hands At House Shows (TM) there wasn't even any suspense, and while I do like Beth I couldn't muster up much enthusiasm for this. This match could probably have been cut from the card without disappointing anyone except the twelve-year-olds behind me who were perving on the girls with alarmingly mature ease. Michelle won. Beth made a gallant attempt to sell a damaged leg. The crowd were unimpressed. :/
I gather that the next match had been billed as Rey Mysterio vs Batista. Now, as not-a-fan of either of these two, I'd have been a bit bored sitting through that. Luckily for me, though, someone made a snap decision and turned it into a Triple Threat match featuring... Matt Hardy! ^_^ Which was the point, as mentioned above in the highlights, where something a little odd happened in my brain. Until that moment, it somehow hadn't quite sunk in that I was really there, actually at a WWE event - it felt more like watching the telly in surround-o-vision, if that makes sense. But being that close enough to the actual one and only Matt Hardy was somehow the point at which I mentally passed the fourth wall. I guess it's easy for me to treat the WWE as fiction, because I only ever see it on the screen - so mentally recombining the WWE Universe with my own home dimension took me most of the show, apparently. How weird.
Either way, the match was great. With Batista as the heel, Rey as the face and Matt deftly manoeuvring in the tweener's space, they turned in a cracking performance - including that rarest of moves, the Surprise 619! The 619 is not easy to execute without people seeing it coming, as anyone who's ever seen the customary setup for it will understand, so I was very impressed. (This also led to the overheard moment mentioned above, of someone suggesting a chant of "FIVE FOOT SIX!!!" for Rey Mysterio. I so would have joined in that. Am I a bad person? >.>)
And finally, the main event... The Undertaker vs CM Punk in a casket match for the World Heavyweight Championship! Now, let's be honest here, with my mark hat on I hate CM Punk's heel persona. Little sod makes me ashamed to be seen drinking Pepsi, seriously. But of course, that's just kayfabe - out of storyline, I got no problem with him at all.
Despite this, there was no question who I'd be cheering for in this match. Let's face it, I was here for the Deadman. Oh yeah. And from the first stroke of that bell, I and everyone else in the arena came completely freakin' unglued. He is... terrifying, magnificent, utterly deserving of every OTT epithet he's ever been given. And he and Punk proceeded to have a spectacular match: in and out of the ring, in and out of the casket, all over the place. They did a great job of hauling up the suspense levels, despite the rule of TDCHAHS; 'Taker was actually in the casket quite a few times, but popped up every time like some demonic Jack from a box, usually with a hand locked around Punk's throat.
It's the definition of a great pro wrestler, for me, that they can make the crowd buy in and believe despite everything our meta-understanding of pro wrestling as a form of entertainment tells us. The guys who win our hearts are the ones who can have us all, from kids to grandfathers, from cynical smarks to slasher fangirls, on the edge of our seats like ten year olds; and in the case of the Undertaker, he deserves all the adoration he gets, because he can. And it's even more impressive coming from him, because he's got to sell us the supernatural stuff on top of the wrestling side of it; and he succeeds. It's genuinely easy to believe that you're watching someone who isn't all human. And it's a measure of CM Punk's talent that, up against that, he could hold his own as a believable opponent. Many, many kudos to both of them. When the bell finally rang I felt like I'd been holding my breath for a straight half hour, which I practically had.
And then I had to hold it again as we waited for the Undertaker to get to his feet - before he suddenly straightened up, tossing his hair and raising the belt, and turned to lean on the ropes and silently allow the crowd to cheer him to the echo. I love how understated he is in his acknowledgement, and how much more it somehow means to the crowd as a result. I don't know how it is that one simple act by one person can have that kind of impact on an entire arena full of onlookers. I don't know what it is that can make so many of us somehow choose that we will let this man, this ritual, have power over us. But I'm glad that that switch in the human brain exists, wherever it is, because being in the middle of the crowd when it gets flicked is amazing. All hail the Undertaker. We are truly, as the saying goes, not worthy.
And that was it. Abruptly, suddenly, tipping me out of the WWE Universe and back into my own world with the cold shock of fresh air and the stretch of cramped legs as we left the arena and walked out into the night. It's an odd thing, but I love leaving windowless places, especially event venues. What's it like outside?
The answer this time was "cold, and clear, and full of city lights", as I found Mark and Oliver again and we headed back to the car for the long drive back to Cambridge. Walking in the cold, footsteps light with adrenaline and afterglow, we geeked, we gossiped, we compared notes. We sat in the car and compiled a list of all the matches and the running order from our collective memories, surprised at how easily various matches had slipped our respective minds. Too much data, too short a space of time.
And I sat back, thoroughly pleased with my evening, and content in knowing that if I'd seen that and then not been going to Raw as well, I'd have felt like I was leaving the job half done. But I was going to Raw...
***
Raw:
It's always weird going to a big event on your own, at least, I always find it so. Surrounded by couples, families, or gangs of friends, I always have this odd sense of my own insubstantiality - as though the fact that nobody is sharing the experience with me makes it in some strange way unreal. The O2, it turns out, is a hell of a venue for that feeling, just because it's so huge. The vast, tentlike structure covers not merely an arena but an entire circular arcade of shops, restaurants and bars. I felt as though I was wandering through a movie set; the sheer spectacle of this much space, money and resources being devoted purely to entertainment was quite something.
My seat, this time, was on the "back" side of the arena again, up at the top of the lower block of tiered seating. A little further out than I'd have liked to be, but the tiered seats do have one big advantage - you can see the floor of the ring, and have a view of the surrounding area. I made myself comfy, cracked my shiny new set of official DX glowsticks and assiduously shook them to make sure they'd do their thing properly, pulled my metaphorical mark's hat snugly down over my ears and settled down to wait. For want of anything better to do, I watched the light-board strips that run around the arena; this turned out to be quite educational, as they scrolled various pictures of Superstars up them. It's amazing how interesting male musculature looks when you're only seeing a narrow stripe of picture that's scrolling up with positively loving slowness to reveal, say, Triple H or Shawn Michaels. *g*
The first thing I noticed when the show began was the sudden revelation that holy shit, they have pyros! Smackdown hadn't, making do with only lights - presumably the venue was just too small - but Raw had, if not the whole nine yards, then at least three or four yards of explosives. I bounced up in my seat like a kid, squeaking with excitement as a series of Superstars came charging out and piled into the No.1 Contender's Battle Royal announced as the opening match. Awesome!
The full list of competitors, the Internet informs me because I didn't manage to write them all down at the time and I couldn't recognise the ones I don't know so well at that range, was: Chris Jericho, Randy Orton, Big Show, Sheamus, MVP, Cody Rhodes, Ted DiBiase, Santino Marella, Jack Swagger and Mark Henry. I couldn't tell you exactly who went out when in the early part of the Rumble (I am so bad at watching big matches like this, I just can't keep my eye on everyone enough) but the final four were Jericho, Santino, Mark Henry and the Big Show. I was dead impressed when Jericho managed to throw Henry and Show out together, using Show's weight to get the extra momentum to toss Henry over the ropes; then Santino came flying up and chucked Jericho out only a moment later. Unfortunately, as he turned away to run across the ring and do a victory flail, Jericho - who was on my side, so I saw this perfectly, yay! - had grabbed the ropes, kept his feet off the floor, and swung himself back in to give Santino an ignominious chucking out. I cheered, oh yes I did. Chris Jericho vs John Cena for the WWE Championship? HELL yes. I'd been kind of dreading having to sit through Cena's match, but if he was facing Jericho? Well, I would be cheering with the best - though not for the face. *g*
Next match was a surprise ECW guest match - Paul Burchill vs the Hurricane! Hurricane was new to me, due to my terrible habit of never seeing anything other than the PPVs, and I was instantly smitten with him. Pretty little flying superhero thing! And it was pleasing to hear Burchill get roundly booed despite being English - while national solidarity has its benefits, having the fans get too bloody-minded about it can make things a little weird. I was only sorry the Hurricane didn't win, but hey, it was fun to watch.
Folllowing this was The Miz vs MVP for the US Championship. The thing that mainly sticks in my head from this match is that the Miz is a posing, swaggering bastard. *grin* He looked to be having way too much fun tramping around the ring propping himself on the ropes and collecting boos from the crowd. MVP acquitted himself well - I've gotten quite fond of him on the sly since his face turn - and this was a respectable match. Unfortunately, the momentum rather collapsed after this, because of:
The Divas' tag team match, featuring Gail Kim and Melina vs Jillian Hall and Alicia Fox. Jillian attempted, briefly, to launch into earshattering song but thankfully that stopped fairly quickly. I have really no recollection of this match, although it did cross my mind during it that I feel kinda sorry for the Divas. It's easy to dismiss them as just eye candy, as chicks who can't wrestle being put out there to give the guys in the audience something to look at; but despite this, those are real women and this is their career. I know I wouldn't exactly feel great about myself if millions of people worldwide considered my coming out to do my job that I loved, their cue to go and use the bathroom while nothing interesting was going on - and yet the Divas have to live with that. I do feel kind of bad about that... although unfortunately, no amount of pricking of conscience can make me enjoy the majority of Divas matches. It's just a shame, really. :(
Next out was Evan Bourne vs Chavo Guerrero, which was a good, solid match and picked up the crowd's interest again. Watching Evan is always entertaining and Chavo struck me as a good choice of opponent for him, being fast and agile enough to keep a good pace going, and light enough that Evan's high-flyer moves don't just bounce. I don't have a huge personal stake in either man so I didn't really mind who won; no objections at all to it being Evan, though. Boy deserved it. ^_^
This took us into the interval, wherein I, out of both hunger and a desire to get fully into the spirit of this sports-entertainment thing, went and acquired a hot dog and a coke. It's a funny thing, I never feel like I've quite done a big event like this properly if I don't end up with a plastic pint glass and some junk food somewhere along the way. It's practically ritualistic. Sitting back down again and munching contentedly, I waited for the second half.
Before beginning the second half of the show, they briefly dipped the lights completely to black; the answering cheer was huge. It was very cool looking around and seeing the whole arena glowing faintly green in the blaze of hundred and hundreds of glowsticks. The DX fan army holding vigil for their heroes... quite the impressive sight.
However, the DX contingent had to wait a bit longer, as the first match of the second half was Randy Orton vs Kofi Kingston. This was a cracking good match, frankly. I was cheering indiscriminately for both of them throughout, though I'll admit to being gleeful when Randy finally took it. They work well together, though - fast and vicious with plenty of aerial shenanigans from Kofi, and it's great to see Randy show off how athletic he can be with the right guy to play off. And, on a purely self-interested level, Randy is, frankly, gorgeous, and also has the kind of tattoos that I can only envy and wish I could afford. *s*
And then. The moment we had all been waiting for. "The next match is a tag team match..."
KERBLAM. The fucking arena went sky high and the competitors hadn't even been declared yet. I honestly felt my heart thump against my ribs. I was... well, I wasn't a kid again, because all my childhood heroes were people like Admiral Nelson and King Arthur and Robin Hood, and you don't get to cheer for them. But I got my chance now, two decades late, yelling and waving my glowsticks like a crazy thing -
"Are you ready?"
Yes. YES WE ARE. The O2's circus-tent-style roof must have visibly strained at its moorings as Hunter and Shawn sauntered out, bouncing and grinning and waving to the crowd, both of them so covered in spare glowsticks that they resembled demented Christmas trees. I don't think I've ever quite realised, or respected, Hunter's strength of arm as much as I did when he started tossing his spare sticks to the crowd and I realised that he was pretty effortlessly getting them to the back of the first tier. It's the little things, sometimes; the little things that stand out in the midst of the cataclysm of light and pyro and music, and the wall of noise and glowing green X's generated by eighteen thousand people all going OMG, DX, we love you! at the full pitch of their lungs, hearts and souls. Fucking magic. ♥
"Are you ready?" Hunter asked us, teasingly. The instant roar of response was so lightning-quick that you'd think he'd physically bounced the words off a wall to make an echo. "No, London, I said, ARE YOU READY?!!" Louder, this time, the reply, much louder - I think my voice cracked to something resembling a demented peacock, but I doubt anyone more than two seats away could tell. "Then, for the thousands in attendance... and I mean thousands..." a pause, Hunter pointing at the upper circle, "Wow, that's high. Just outta curiosity, just that top row make a buncha noise..." Obedience ensued, as the cheap seats voiced their glee at being acknowledged. "'s pretty impressive. Now, where was I, oh yeah. For the thousands in attendance... for the millions not watching at home - just to be fair, we did TV in Sheffield this time-" BOOOOOOO! "-and trust me, between you and me, they weren't nearly as good as you-" YAAAAAAAY! "-so with that in mind:
"Lllllllets get ready to SUCK IIIIIIT!"
"And if you're not down with that-" Shawn speaking now, though the crowd were gleefully doing his line for him, "then we got TWO! WORDS! FOR YA!" An outstretched microphone, and:
"SUCK IIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTTTT!!!!!!"
[Yes, I did just transcribe the entire routine. Shut up, this is my souvenir review for my own reference, and I can if I want to. -Rath]
At this point, Legacy finally got to get a themetune in edgeways. Now, I adore the Legacy boys and it's been great watching them go from Randy's sidekicks to a force in their own right. I love tag team wrestling, and Legacy currently look like its best young hope in the WWE. However, I will guiltily admit that while I did cheer them - unlike most of the crowd - I may not have been looking at them as much as I should've, because my eyes kept straying back to DX. But nonetheless Ted and Cody stalked out proudly, showed their stuff, and took their corner under the near-visible cloud of DX fandom that was floating in the arena atmosphere...
If there's such a concept as "calculated anarchy", that would be the perfect description of what it's like when DX wrestle. All the normal rules of order, reason and serious matches go flying out the window, but the stuff that happens instead is recognisable to the point of being set pieces. Legacy got their pants yanked down and chased out of the ring fairly early in the proceedings (and I'd forgotten until I found it on Youtube, but Hunter did briefly make threatening moves on the referee's pants as well - I can only assume he got carried away in the excitement). They did the traditional "put Shawn in and beat him until the entire crowd whimpers" thing, which I never know if I love or hate (on the one hand it's good showmanship, but on the other hand Shawn, noooooo!) and then once Hunter finally tagged back in, descended into gleeful four-way mayhem with the referee no longer making the slightest attempt to enforce things like "legal man" or "no interference". Legacy, of course, can cheat with the best so kept up just fine, eventually going so far as to toss Shawn out of the ring before backing Hunter into the corner and enthusiastically beating the hell out of him -
- but wait! Whence that sudden roar of laughter from the crowd? Cue Hornswoggle, in a DX shirt, clambering into the ring and racing to the rescue! Attempting Shawn's Sweet Chin Music - with a ten-stomp tuneup, no less - and succeeding at cripplingly kneecapping Cody Rhodes (his feet just won't go that high, bless him) Hornswoggle distracted a bewildered and outraged Legacy for just long enough to throw them into the arms of a returning DX, who deftly snagged them up and planted them down for a classy double-pinfall win.
And then as Hunter stood up from Pedigreeing Cody, he stepped over towards Shawn and reached out his arm - and Shawn fairly fell on him. Eeeeeee. ♥ Your intrepid reporter promptly missed a few seconds of the action while her slash goggles were fogged up. ;) And the victory celebrations that followed were, to say the least, adorable. Here, see for yourselves.
With the energy levels slowly dropping back to "borderline sane" as Hunter and Shawn left, we settled in for Jericho and Cena's main event match. Jericho was the first to come out, and as you might expect, he decided to have a good trash-talk at the expense of the crowd. Unfortunately, it didn't go quite to plan. Jericho is a great heel, he really is, and his terrible British accent and accusations that we all speak funny and have dental problems were fine by me. I was laughing way too much to take offence.
Somebody did, however. Because suddenly - was it a work? The world may never know - a DX glowstick came sailing out of the crowd and, with magnificent precision, bounced off Jericho's face. Jericho fairly exploded, understandably, and in response, it fucking RAINED glowsticks. I've never seen anything like it. Gods love him, Chris played it to the hilt, yelling threats and "come on!"s at the crowd as they gleefully obliged, until the mayhem was interrupted by a white boy rapper in short pants John Cena coming out to start the match.
And to be fair, what a match it was. The performance they turned in wouldn't have shamed a PPV, with a ton of back-and-forth, near-falls and moments of cranked tension. The crowd were madly into it, chants of "LET'S GO JERICHO" and "LET'S GO CENA" being batted between sections of the arena almost throughout and the energy levels never letting up. Of course, TDCHAHS - but damn, they made it look like a near thing.
A lot of people pretty much walked out as the bell rang, I noticed, presumably trying to beat the crowd on the way out. I half-considered it, but I'm very glad I didn't, because what followed was Cena's farewell/victory speech, and I ended up feeling genuinely sentimental, much to my surprise. Mostly I think because I HAD been cheering for Chris the whole match - so when he told us how much he respected us all because people had been cheering for both him AND Chris, there was a sudden sense of being offered a surprise olive branch that was unexpectedly heartwarming. I may even have joined in a Cena chant, although don't hold your breath for it ever happening again...
Those who left early did, in purely practical terms, have the right idea, though. Getting out turned out to be chaotic, with crowd control at the tube station delaying me enough that I was genuinely worried about missing the last train. Fortunately I did not, so got back to Cambridge via train and bus (why are there always rail works whenever I go to something in London?) for about... oh, three in the morning, I think?
But it was so worth it. Best night since... well, since Smackdown? *grin*
***
Laters,
Rath