by Jeb Tennyson Lund
OnlineOnslaught.com/CitizenScholar.net

"Sometimes I wish they'd just take a commercial break during a promo."
         — Brad Smoley

I decided to do a recap again because the last time I did one, Rosie beat a cat to death, Test declared Stacy was his whore, Kane tied RVD up like The Gimp, and Bischoff made all rapey-rapey with Linda McMahon. FUN! This is not to say that I wanted to bring down some bad juju on fellow Raw viewers because I was recapping the show. I just figured that the odds were pretty good that I'd have fun.

And I did. That Triple H: Loon and Psychotherapist promo, followed by the Shawn Michaels promo was pure gold. Something else happened, too. Don't ask me. I wrote it down so I wouldn't have to remember.

Before I write anything else, I would like to thank the USA Network's commercials for the Westminster Kennel Club Dog Show for embedding the song "Jerk It Out" so firmly in my brain that neither booze, electroshock therapy or a rusted trowel will remove it.


THE SHOW
We are Live! from the Rose Garden in Portland, Oregon.

JR and Lawler welcome you and announce a Triple Threat Match for the Intercontinental Title between Booker v. RVD v. Orton. Plus Benoit v. Flair and Benoit v. Contract v. Triple H v. Contract v. Carpet.

Cue Goldberg's music. His beard is obviously chewing away at layers of his skin like so much blood from a face-hugger alien. Goldberg looks at people as he makes his way down to the ring as if to ask, "Who's next? Are you next? Is there a 'Now Serving' number thingy? Someone is NEXT."

See, Goldberg and JR and Lawler don't know who's next, either.

And his opponent is... VINCE? "No Chance" plays and Vince pumps his arms so much while coming down the ramp that he might as well complete the visual image and just use a wheelchair. Either that or he just power walked around downtown Portland with ten-pound weights around his wrists, and the sensation of unweighted arms is starting to make him feel tingly, in a manly way.

He grabs the mic. "I'll be damned if it isn't Vince McMahon in the same ring as Bill Goldberg." Vince imagines Goldberg wants to know who's next, especially since that's his catchphrase. Vince says that there is no more "next" tonight. As of this moment, Vince is officially canceling the match. Stone Cold Steve Austin comes out. Somewhere Suzanne Somers weeps as she realizes that the proud tradition of sheriffing (sheriffitude? sheriffation? sheriffic?) has passed her by.

Big Stone Cold chant.

Vince is frustrated that he's been interrupted. Stone Cold wants to know what in the hell Vince is doing on this show. He says Vince has already broken two of Sheriff Austin's laws: being in the ring; pissing Austin off.

Vince counters that he too is pissed off. In fact, he's incensed at Stone Cold's manipulation of talent, especially at what Austin seems to be doing by giving Goldberg a ticket to No Way Out.

A big asshole chant fills the arena, and Austin does the "Do you hear that? That's ten thousand people calling you an asshole!" thing.

Vince says that last week Austin talked about equal time on shows, apparently in reference to Raw stars getting equal time to mess around on Smackdown. I can't tell because I'm trying to listen while walking to the fridge for sweet booze to numb the pain of minute eight of the promos. Vince announces that he has invited someone here to Raw, someone "who may soil Raw forever!" If it's this meth-head I know named Graham, Vince is out of his fucking league. Sell the company! Sell the children!

Cue Paul Heyman's music — entitled, "It's the Music That Plays When Paul Heyman Enters and Exits the Ring." Hey, wait a minute! It is Paul Heyman!

Heyman says that Vince has saved the best for last. Can he really mean it? Is Heyman the last person who will cut a promo in the first hour? Don't you bet on it. Heyman then accuses Stone Cold of using a legal loophole to get Benoit on Raw. This sounds important for a second, but it's not: just more "Since it's wrestling, let's mention lawyers because Lawyers Make Wrestling What It Is" talk.

(You guys remember the Titanium Litigator, too, right? I know that in my life, there was no one who spoke more eloquently about Tort reform than that man, when he held someone in a headlock and spat out of the small hole in his black hood. Let's just say that when I'm in a polling booth, I think of his promos and that sweet legdrop he called "Motion to Dismiss.")

Anyway, Heyman is here to talk to Goldberg. He says that Goldberg will not be able to come to No Way Out and ruin the main event. But he invites Goldberg to come and enjoy watching "the superior show." He can only watch it, though: no interference. The price for interference is dire. He says Goldberg is a big fish in a small pond, but that Brock Lesnar is a shark that could eat him alive.

He goes on to add that Lesnar told him to tell Goldberg to watch Brock defeat Guerrero. (He also told Heyman to tell Goldberg to tell Austin that Torrie doesn't like Austin, and she told Dawn Marie to tell Sable to tell Lesnar that.) And, of course, Lesnar said not to interfere, because otherwise Brock will, "Be forced to deal with Goldberg."

(Then he'll cope with him. Then bargain with him. Later, will come understanding and acceptance. It seems as if Lesnar is going through Stages of Grief with Goldberg. Or vice-versa.)

Finally, Heyman quips, "After Brock beats you, Goldberg, people won't look at you and say 'Who's next?' They'll say, "Who's Goldberg?" Goldberg gets all twitchy and volcanic and manly, because he's a mannish manly man. "I've said it before and I'll say it again. BROCK LESNAR... IS NEXT!"

Heyman then wanders around and cuts this promo. "I'M PAUL HEYMAN! I'M PAUL HEYMAN! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM? I'M PAUL HEYMAN." I guess we can't say he isn't feeling like himself. Of course, he wanders in circles rather obviously, turning his back for extended periods. Goldberg crouches in wait for him to turn around, then spears him.

Austin's liking this. He kicks Heyman out of the ring, then grabs two beers, opens them and shoves them in his face. Goldberg readies himself to spear McMahon, but McMahon dodges, and Goldberg spears Austin instead.

JR: AUSTIN MAY HAVE BEEN BROKEN IN HALF!

Thanks, JR. So what's he down to now? About 1/128th his original size?


Outkast wants you to know that Ice Cold is cooler than Cool. This is going to be a long recap. I've heard that song for 76 straight days. Please, Lord. I like it, just as I like Zeppelin, but I need a break. If you can disappear "Whole Lotta Love" for two years, I will convert to whatever you choose for me. Except Mormonism. Then I'm throwing a goddamn bottle at you, Jesus. Evan Williams will fight you to the death — mine, presumably.


After 16 minutes, we finally go to:


Commercials.


We're back! Moments ago, Austin was put asunder, split in twain and forced to say, "Hey, Ya!"


BACKSTAGE:
Austin broken-in-half-edly sits down on a crummy chair or some rigging. I didn't notice because Goldberg was making a lot of noise asking some techie if he was next and then shouting, "AUSTIN! Hey, Austin!" He walks up to Steve and tells him that the spear was a mistake. "I ain't apologizing [to your ass], but it was [an ass] mistake. That's [assin'] what it was. [Ass.*]" He wants to know if Austin can accept that, or if he should expect to be walking out one day and get a stunner. Austin says that, if he gives Goldberg a stunner, "It won't be no mistake." Goldberg says he can live with that.

* — "Ass" added, because Goldberg obviously meant to say it but forgot.


BISCHOFF'S OFFICE:
Vince is screaming like a guy who needs to get slapped to "snap out of it" in a disaster movie. He tells Bischoff that Goldberg is "a lunatic... a ticking time bomb. He tried to spear me...! You go tell your man Bill Goldberg that he's OFFICIALLY SUSPENDED!" I guess Vince never got the memo that Bill has a switch that deactivates him. He then leans in to Bischoff and adds, "If Bill Goldberg shows up at No Way Out this Sunday, then it's going to be YOUR ASS." See, there's the "ass." Now everyone's happy.


Chris "Awkward" Jericho and Trish "Bubbles" Stratus v. Molly Holly (Women's Champion) and Matt Hardy Version1 (Jobs to Zach Gowan) in a "This Is Supposed to Only Be Man-on-Man or Woman-on-Woman Tag, But We All Know That Condition Will Disintegrate Around Minute #2" Match
Nice cape, Trish. We go back to her match with Kane from last week. Jericho Past comes out to help her and gets hurt. Back to real life, where Jericho Present comes out. (There will not be a Jericho Future until anyone believes he has one.) He and Trish smile and stretch, and put their hands on each others' shoulders. Jericho's leg is heavily wrapped. JR makes a note of it. Molly Holly comes out, followed by JobsToGowan1.

Jericho and Matt to start. Lockup. Headlock, then reversal. Jericho elbows Matt's head. He knocks him down, then runs the ropes. Matt gets up only to eat an elbow. Jericho throws him into ropes, holds him, then chops him. Into the ropes again, and Matt goes for sunset flip, which Jericho converts to the Walls. Matt grabs the ropes, then rushes to tag in Molly after Jericho breaks the hold.

Molly goes to hit Jericho. Jericho grabs her arm and looks at her. Small cheer. He wrenches her around and then hits her in the small of the back. See, he's still a jerk. He tags in Trish.

Trish comes in and gets a waistlock takedown on Molly. Molly powers out of it by standing up and goes for an armbar takedown, which Trish reverses into an armbar of her own, then a pinfall attempt. Trish goes for a pin. Molly breaks out and stands up. Trish grabs a headlock; Molly pushes out, runs the ropes and takes a clothesline. Trish's pin is no good. Both get up and trade punches. Trish whips Molly to the corner, but her whip is reversed. Trish hops the corner turnbuckle and bounces off for a 'rana. Molly's down. Trish rushes Molly, but Molly pulls Trish down so that Trish's neck bounces off the bottom rope. Molly straddles her and goes for a Face/Mouth Camel Clutch, I guess. What do you call that? She then pulls Trish up and goes for a Northern Lights suplex, but Trish kicks out. Molly picks her up again, whip to ropes, but Trish ducks a clothesline and gets a neckbreaker. Both women roll and struggle to make the tag.

Why am I listening to "Heart of Glass" right now? Oh, yeah, I'm drunk. Also, Debbie Harry will kick your fucking ass. I don't care if she's forty: she OWNS you. And she still looks prettier than your girl.

Anyway, Jericho and Hardy are in. Jericho gets a flying forearm on Hardy after some rope-bouncing and running. Hardy's up, eats a shoulder block. Jericho misses a clothesline and hits the corner, but gets a boot up on Hardy's charge. Jericho goes for an enzuiguri on the dazed Hardy and barely clips him. Yeah, he made almost mosquito-ish contact, but it was still there, albeit barely. (Still not a "Whiffed RKO.") Hardy recoils, even though he wasn't hit, but Jericho bounces up and connects with a enzuiguri seconds later.

Hey, he fucked up a spot. But he corrected it before you could even think about it. And Matt sold the flinch on the first one well enough that you could buy him getting hit by the second. That's fuckin' teamwork. Whatever.

Jericho's pinfall attempt barely gets two. Matt gets up and eats a chop. He reverses Jericho's whip to the ropes, but Jericho holds onto the ropes, and Matt charges. Jericho ducks and hoists Matt over the ropes. Matt lands and stands dazed on the apron before Jericho hits him with a springboard dropkick. Matt's on the ground. The dropkick hurt Jericho's bad leg, so he swoons around the ring. Molly's climbing the top turnbuckle, about to take Jericho out, but Jericho limps (backward) into the ropes and crotches Molly inadvertently. Then he sees Matt and leaps out of the ring, missing Matt and landing on the bum leg. He's hopping. Matt grabs him and throws him at the steps. Jericho takes them knees-first and flips over them, in proud Foley tradition. He's down. Trish, in the ring, hits the ankle-canrana on Molly, who was still on the turnbuckle. While she waits for Molly to get up and take some more finishers, Hardy reaches over the ropes and yanks her to the ground by the hair.

Christian runs in and pulls Matt off the apron, kabonging Matt's head on the apron in the process. He then whips Matt to the barricade. In the ring, Molly goes for the handspring elbow on Trish, but Trish climbs atop the turnbuckle and lifts her legs up and out of danger at the last second. She puts her legs over Molly's shoulders and flips her forward into a rollup for the pin.

Trish goes to see if Jericho's okay as Christian backs up the ramp, sneering at everything. JR and Lawler play up Jericho's injury as well as Christian's ambiguity.


Commercials.


Members of the Portland Trailblazers are in the audience, and you can't even see where their drugs or weapons are. Because of this, I don't actually believe that these are real Portland Trailblazers.


BACKSTAGE:
Christian meets Trish backstage and apologizes for being a childish jerk over the past couple of weeks. He says that, since she and Jericho are "just friends," there's no reason why they all can't get along together as friends. Trish thinks this sounds okay, but there's a little moment where she seems startled when Christian makes the "just friends" comment as if it were official. Christian asks about Jericho. She says his knee is sprained and he might be out for three weeks. Christian goes in to check on him, but stops and looks back while the door's halfway open. He tells Trish that she looks really good today.

(Just for drama's sake, why couldn't he have closed the door again before saying that? Does he want Jericho to know he's flirting with Trish? I don't think so, so why possibly blow the whole deal with that kind of sloppy delivery? Why do I think about these things? Maybe I should close my eyes and rub them real hard and marvel at the strange flashy colors that appear when you do that. If I spend any more time questioning WWE dramatic structure I'm going to wind up squatting by the dryer, in the garage, holding an Elementary German primer, staring at the cat and saying, "Guten tag! Wie gehts?" — then crying openly when the cat refuses to respond and instead licks himself.)


MEANWHILE:
Jindrak and Cade are backstage on one of the Official WWE Couches, looking at Torrie and Sable in Playboy. Stacy and Jackie come out to ask Cadedrak what they think they're doing. Cadedrak look embarrassed that they were caught looking at porn. Stacy and Jackie are furious that they couldn't be the porn that gets looked at. Cadedrak are suddenly in the very-WWE position of now feeling embarrassed for looking at pornography that doesn't feature women they work with everyday. Those bastards! Maybe they can make up for it by assaulting either Jackie or Stacy in the shower. Jackie and Stacy leave after saying that they'll show the world that Playboy made a mistake.

Could this be the time that we've all expected but almost never dared believe in? The time when two women defy the company, defy the FCC, defy even expectations and define themselves as complete, confident and empowered women by stripping totally naked and licking each other on free television? I think it is. I really do. I'm starting to feel very proud of them. And Susan B. Anthony is starting to get very HOT in her grave.


MEANWHILE:
Foley is backstage. Coach comes to ask why he's here, especially since Orton has embarrassed him so much. But Foley says he might just embarrass Orton, cost him his IC championship, or maybe both.

UP NEXT. OMG~~~!!!! BENOIT!!!!! v. NATURE BOY~~!!!! OMG!


Commercial.


RAW REWIND: Flair tells Benoit he'll never grasp the big one. He means the belt.


Chris Benoit v. Ric Flair for the Smark Nitro Title
Flair comes out, having ripped apart one of Queen Elizabeth's chairs and covering himself with whatever pieces of cloth he could stitch together. Benoit comes out, and they show a replay of his match with Mark Henry and mention that Benoit injured Henry's shoulder. He robbed Henry of his STANK.

Benoit and Flair circle each other. Lockup. Flair pushes Benoit to the corner. Benoit breaks out. Lockup, Benoit in corner. Flair chops. Benoit chops back, then breaks out of the corner again. Benoit shakes his head as if to focus more clearly on what's coming. Another lockup, another trip to the ropes and...

My wife wants to know something. But because I was touch-typing and locked into Raw and then had to break my concentration, I now not only have no fucking clue what's happening on the screen, but I don't know what she wanted to know. I know nothing! Given the fact that I look like I'm chewing glass, I'll never know what she wanted, because she says something like, "Whatever, only a cosmetic fire," or, "will probably survive," and backs away. That problem will put itself out. Sure, I feel terrible, but I know she doesn't really care. If she did, she'd be back, or never leave. The upshot of this all is that now I can't begin to tell you what's happening in the match. JR is no help.

JR: Benoit not showing any surcease. (Of what? Sorrow? Delivery of dry goods?)

Flair's chest is bleeding. GODDAMN! Either he bladed, or Benoit chopped him like a deranged Canadian God-Head. Fuck, who cares? And why do I not know this for sure? Flair picks up Benoit, punch to forehead. Benoit's down again. Flair picks him up again. Whip to corner. Chops. Benoit reverses. Chops. Chops. Benoit whips Flair to the opposite corner.

I want pork chops RIGHT NOW. I can't express this sincerely enough.

Flair comes out. Elbow to Benoit's head, but it's a mutually painful strike. Flair flops to the mat. Up to his knees. Benoit's still down. Flair runs off the ropes and lands a kneedrop on Benoit's head. Flair goes outside, to the top rope. Benoit's up, punches and chops Flair. Flair falters and stays standing on the bottom ropes outside. Benoit wrenches him up top for the SUPERPLEX. (God, that impact scares me.) Flair twitches on the mat.

Benoit drags his thumb across his throat! He's going up top, and the swandive headbutt—MISSES! Flair rolled out of the way. Both men are down.


Commercial.


Welcome back to Nitro.

Benoit's hanging over the second rope in the corner. Flair's down. As he gets up and grabs Benoit by the back of the head, we get a clip of Flair posting Benoit's left shoulder during the break.

Punches to Benoit's head in the corner. Benoit struggles to mid-ring. Somehow he makes it up and chops the chop-choppity out of Flair. Flair counters and gets Benoit back in the corner yet again for more chops. Benoit grabs Flair's forehead and cuts off the chop offense. Yet another reverse and more chops.

Benoit pulls Flair out and whips him to the ropes, hoping to grab him off it for either a sleeper or some lock. Flair reverses, however, to a sleeper. Before he can lock it in fully, Benoit runs toward the turnbuckle and dives. The momentum yanks Flair forward and face-first into the top of the turnbuckle. Flair's dazed.

Both men down. Flair's up first and grabs Benoit, going for a side-headlock takeover. He almost has Benoit on the ground in the headlock when Benoit cinches his legs around Flair's neck and reverses it. The reversal is incomplete. Flair pops his head out and keeps his back on Benoit's chest and neck, reclining almost — full leverage. Flair grabs Benoit under the arms, plants his feet and tries to use more leverage for the pin. Benoit keeps getting the shoulder up, and the ref's there with his eyes almost parallel to the mat to make sure. Flair gives up and stands up. Kick to Benoit's head. Picks up Benoit. Whip to the corner. Benoit ricochets off, stunned. Flair's dazed, too. Flair goes to backdrop Benoit, but Benoit flips out of it and goes for a waistlock — German suplex. Second German. Flair tries to grab at the ref's belt. No good. Third German. Flair grabs again at the ref and finally gets hold of his shirt. As the ref struggles, he low-blows Benoit with his heel.

Benoit is down. Flair makes his way to his feet, and locks in the figure-four! Benoit flails viciously and almost spastically makes the ropes before even three seconds pass. Flair won't release the hold for a few seconds, but the ref starts to lose patience. Flair breaks the hold and picks up Benoit, leaves him standing awkwardly, then runs to the ropes and bounces off to take out Benoit's knee from behind. Benoit's down; Flair's up.

"Wooooo!" Struts.... Kicks the knee. He goes for the figure-four again, but Benoit grabs his head and wrenches him forward. Benoit scrabbles his way over Flair's shoulder and locks in the crossface! Flair taps. It was an ugly reversal, but it looked real. I don't think there could be a technical term for Benoit just yanking Flair like that. If there is, I'm an idiot. Email me with the name. Who cares, though? It looked damn good, hard-scrabble, desperate and intense. The match was about 15 minutes long, if you count the ad break.

After the match, there's a fairly decent cheer for Benoit. Good match.

Triple H is backstage watching. He gets a ref to come over, then barks orders at him: "Go tell Bischoff to get that ring ready. Tell Bischoff the contract signing with Benoit is next." Well, we all thought he was a booker anyway.


Right now, I could consider beating a man for a cheeseburger.


Commercial.


Chris Benoit v. Triple H in an X-Treme Contract Signing with Eric Bischoff, Carpeting and PENS!!! Yes, PENS!!!!!
Bischoff stands behind the table, which is set between the two typical office chairs and atop the plush red carpet of contractual action! Bischoff introduces Benoit, who's standing sweatily in place... looking, to be honest, very much out of place. Bischoff then says, "And now, a man who needs no formal introduction..." then gives Triple H a formal introduction.

Cue the six-minute entrance. Granted, we've all seen it, and for many it's tiresome. But this time it's pretty special. Triple H goes through his antic flexing and waving the belt around and hoisting himself on ropes. During all this, Benoit stands stock still. I mean this. I can discern no movement on his part at all. None. (If he were a cheeseburger, I would know his every move: this is how vigilant I am.) Somehow the contrast makes Triple H's vain repetitive pageantry look incredibly pointless and dumb. The music dies down, and Triple H comes to a standstill. Benoit's body language — however (likely) unintentional — seems to say, "Was that it?" Hilarious.

Bischoff asks them to be seated. Benoit doesn't move. Triple H, as the champion, has the option of signing first. He signs. Bischoff then moves to take the pen from Triple H, but he won't hand over the pen. "Hold on a second," he says.

Triple H: You've gotta be feeling pretty good about yourself right about now, Chris. You won the Royal Rumble. You get to face the champion at WrestleMania. You get to go to Madison Square Garden — the BIGGEST STAGE in the WORLD. And maybe you win the title. So you've got to be feeling pretty good, Chris. You've made it, Chris. You're one of the best, Chris. But you have to ask yourself what it means to put your name on that contract. You have to ask yourself what comes after that, Chris. Do you have a picnic without being afraid of TANKS, Chris? Are you so arrogant to think that TANKS don't HAPPEN to CANADIANS? Because they can, if your lip doesn't stop curling at me. You like curling, though, don't you, Frenchie? The point is the contract, though, PIERRE. YOU SPEAK ENGLISH??? Because when you put your John Asscock on that contract, ass yourself this, "Ass it all worth it, Blanco Niño?" Chris, Chris, Chris? A bird in the hand is worth almost thirteen in Vancouver, Chris. Do you live there? It's like England, but you can drive there. (At this moment, listening to Hunter, Benoit realizes the #1 benefit of being on Smackdown: not listening to Hunter.) Picture yourself, Chris, on a train at the station with the Rock's marshmallow pie. You think you know what it's like to tangle with the PIE? You wouldn't recognize The Big Madison Square Garden Pie even if you were in an EconoVan with goggles on. I can't even believe I'm saying this shit, man. I'm the champion, and I'm so awesome that I'm actually frightening myself. Do you know what it's like to wake up each day and look at yourself in the mirror and say "SHINGLEMEAT! WHO IS THAT BAD-ASS MANIAC"? No you don't, Angela. I do. I signed this contract for the title match because I HAVE to face me. I don't have a choice. My therapist told me to do it. Sometimes the saddest face is the one looking back at you from the oven. But you don't have to do it. You're short and look like a bag of golf clubs. Do you think you can drive in the ring, Clubs? Ha! Chris? LAUGH! Life without laughter is like life without a truck. You sicken me. Me. The GAME. Do you ever think that robins look lonely — like they want you to touch them, but they can't trust you? Look, I need to tell you something. I'm hungry. I mean it. I'm fucking hungry. Hungry for the title, yeah. But also like that ice-pick-in-the-gut hungry. Do you think you could wait for me to get the hot-dog guy over here? You're just standing there, Mom. I was just thinking of something. We could have a Falls Count Anywhere match at 'Mania. That way, if you "Foley" everything up and hit me with, like, a bag of popcorn, it can bust open, and I can eat some of it. God, I shouldn't have brought the whole PIE thing up. Look, do you know what you're getting into with THE GAME? Sure, you're good. You have lots of muscles. Did I ever tell you about this place in Boston that has really good mussels? ARE YOU LISTENING TO ME? CAN YOU HEAR ME? Unnnngghhhhh. FUCK YOU. GAME GAME GAME! Game HELLO? Should I do the Cena Thing and wave my hand around? Um.... Benoit? Benoit? BENOIT? Sometimes I don't understand this job. Look, I need a milkshake or something, Statue Dude. Remember that thing I said about jobs. If a pigeon starts to crap on you, just put it in the crossface or something, okay? Man, nachos would be good too.

— FIN —

(In fairness, Triple H did an admirable job of mentioning that Benoit would want to hear the fans chant his name, "Ben-oit... Ben-oit... Ben-oit." It didn't work. There were subdued Benoit chants, by no means dominating or numerous. Trust me on this: I like Benoit, and even I have to break down and say Triple H's efforts didn't work. I think the previous six minutes of monotonous, familiar and uninspiring grunting did something to exterminate enthusiasm, however.)

Anyway, for some reason that I can't understand because I'm sleeping at the time, Shawn Michaels comes out to talk to Benoit. I don't know if he has scared off Triple H, or if Triple H had walked off and no one had noticed he'd stopped talking until the "Whaa-ah! Whaa-ah! Whaa-ah!" of Shawn Michaels' music began. Anyway, Michaels is there.

He says a lot of stuff about how he respects Benoit and how — despite the fact that he's not the number-one contender and has lost to Triple H about three times in a row — he will be the one to face Triple H at WrestleMania. I guess it makes sense to someone. And I'm also guessing that that someone is someone who didn't see their last "Let's Bleed In Different Parts of the Ring" match. Anyway, Benoit tells Michaels that he and the audience greatly respect him, but it will be Benoit in the title match at WrestleMania. Following this, Michaels superkicks Benoit. He then signs his name to the WrestleMania main-event contract and leaves the ring, leaving a confused audience, a prostrate Benoit and no clear chants for anyone behind.

Sometimes you have to admire the way two men can really fire down an audience while another man stands there looking like he's getting brutally assfucked without even the courtesy of a reach-around.


When people turn twenty, does someone pass them a "Now You're An Elvis Costello Fan" badge and insist that they tell everyone else about it?


Oh! After fourteen minutes of promos, we have:


Commercials.


MOMENTS AGO:
Something you slept through and ghhhnnzzzzzzzzzzzz.

JR and Lawler discuss the show so far. They are interrupted by Kane's pyro. Kane goes to the ring and tries not to notice that he's been buried again. Ahhh, foreshadowing!


Kane v. Hurricane for Some Reason
Hurricane comes out. Don't kid yourself: it's over before I could really even hit transcription stride.

Kane goes to do his pyro thing and... nothing happens. A pretty big "TAKER" chant rings out. It's not the best chant of the evening: that honor still goes to Austin, but it's big, especially in comparison to everything Triple H, Michaels and Benoit said. Kane tries the pyro-wing-flap again. No good. He walks around, I guess drumming up static electricity. The third time's a charm, and the pyro kicks off a video on the Titantron.

Another medley of Undertaker images, accompanied by the text, "In 34 days, the dead will rise again...." Following that, there is the faintest glimpse of the Undertaker on the screen. The ring is bathed in blue and purple light. A bell tolls.

Kane looks like Brittany Murphy finding a cockroach on Ashton Kutcher's neck, and we're all better for that.


Commercials.


BACKSTAGE:
Benoit stalks angrily amongst the rods and load lifters. He speaks Bocci, too. Bischoff runs behind him, shouting, trying to get him to stop. Benoit says, "Back off!" (Ooooh! He's like a grumpy poster tacked on a cubicle wall!) He wants to know what the hell all of that was about; he wants to know how Michaels can sign his name to the contract and get a match and the world and laughter and the love of Jesus and nice mini-Snickers bars and, O, everything! And what's going on? Bischoff is apologetic, not knowing what happened, and says that he needs the attorneys to sort out all the legal issues about Shawn Michaels having his name on the contract. For now, he gives the gift of Benoit v. Michaels for next week's Raw. If I were Benoit, I'd grin from ear to ear and sing traditional Canadian songs of joy, like "Ironic."

Now, I don't pretend to be terribly legally savvy, but I've signed enough significant documents in my time — loyalty oaths, confessions for the D.A., general stuff — to know that signing your own name at the bottom of a contract doesn't actually obscure or obliterate someone else's name... a name that will probably be listed about two-to-twenty times on each page of said contract. Also, there is the initialing of each page. So much initialing. Initials dance on the page like Pixies cavorting on the bar after whiskey #14. The initialing, it is abundant. Initialing everywhere, beating you down. There is no end to initialing. So Benoit's in the clear, right? He did not now or ever engage in initialing. He's golden, yes? Of course not. Because why would the WWE incorporate a real-life plot element without fucking it up to the point of exasperation and insensibility?


MEANWHILE:
The Terri Runnel's robot asks Randy Orton if he has any thoughts about his upcoming IC Triple Threat Match or Mick Foley. Orton cuts a promo.

Orton: Thoughts? What are those? I like women double, triple. I have imaginationary. A titled match title this close before the WrestleMania? I told Vegas that I could blow 37 spots before 'Manium, but no more. You give me an extra match... I don't know what match even MEANS. That pushes it to 51 maybe, or 12. Take off your top. And what if I lose my title? Champagne room? I don't think so, Beverly. So when you tell me that Mick Foley may be out there, let me tell YOU, I wight mell started what finish beginned underage prostitute room 514. PANTS. And that's all YOU know, Terri.
Terri: Uh...?
Orton: Lick my nipples.


MEANWHILE:
Coach wants to know if Goldberg is going to Disneyland because of his recent suspension. Goldberg says he doesn't give a damn what anyone says. "Cause I've still got my ticket. I'm still going to No Way Out. And Brock Lesnar is still NEXT."


Commercials.


Japan footage. Jericho sings The Beatles' "Help" with a Japanese guy. Oh, Jesus, I realize now how weird that sounds. It's real. I swear. The Triple H and Orton stuff: bullshit. Made up. Everything else is okay. Jericho was having a good time with this guy in a hotel corridor. The guy kept saying, "Herrlp," and Jericho followed with, "I need somebody...." It went on charmingly, all through the first verse. I mean this.

Foley comes out to the ring and cuts a promo about how people often condemn others for what they fear most about themselves. In the case of Randy Orton, he suggests that Randy called him a coward because Randy knows that he himself is one. He shows a picture of Marine Private First Class Randy Orton on the Titantron. He also exposes that said Private First Class went AWOL for 82 days and was given a Bad Conduct Discharge. (This is true: don't let my disgust with Orton obscure this. If you doubt it, feel free to visit his website: RandyOrton.net. He talks about it in his most recent commentary.) Foley says that he was cowardly about his own career and wrestling, but that Randy was a coward when in service to his own country.

It's an intense promo, but not among Foley's best. Nonetheless, Orton appears on the Titantron, furious. Taunts are exchanged, as well as a challenge for a WrestleMania match. Orton then says that he's "back in catering" in the arena and challenges Foley right now. Foley says, "YOU WANT ME BACK IN CATERING?" and runs off — thus producing a healthy spike on the Unintentional Comedy Scale. Why he didn't say, "You want me back in catering? You need me back in catering!" I'll never know.

Foley goes backstage, asking each person along the way where Orton is. I guess he doesn't want to pull a Spinal Tap/Jericho & Ralphus move. He finds Randy against a wall at the back of "catering." He charges in, then looks behind him to see Batista and Flair gather around him. Fight-or-Flight kicks in and he charges Orton anyway. Evolution holds and punches him. Batista puts him through a table laden with Cheez-Its and sundry snackables. Foley is coughing up his lungs like Doc Holladay at the end of Wyatt Earp's Ride of Immortals in Tombstone. (For the record, Earp not only treated Holladay like shit, but forgot him as soon as he blew town: and that's the only thing that bugs me about that movie, apart from the fact that Kurt Russell couldn't carry a dozen eggs without fucking up, much less Val Kilmer's jock, acting-wise.) Orton then smacks Foley's head a lot and says, "You asked for it, you sonofabitch." Orton walks offscreen, then comes back to kick Foley in the head one last time. He then walks off.


Commercials.


We get a full, total and very familiar replay of what happened between Foley and Evolution backstage.


Randy Orton v. Rob Van Dam v. Booker T in a Triple Threat Match for the Intercontinental Title
Booker T and RVD come out to face the ad break.


Commercials.


We're back! Let's take speed! I can chew more of my own teeth out of my head than you can! I know how you breathe when you sleep!

Orton begins his three-minute entrance.

Orton taunts with the belt. Booker goes for Orton, and Orton bails. Brawl outside. Booker knocks him down with a clothesline, manhandles him then throws him into the ring to RVD. RVD goes for a spinning legdrop and the cover. It gets one. Orton goes outside as Booker gets in the ring and grabs RVD. RVD spin-kicks him. Goes for the pin. They both have some exchanges of punches and kicks. Kind of regular. No fine exchanges, really. Orton is still outside.

Booker kicks RVD and goes for the pin. RVD's out after one. Booker picks up RVD, kicks him, then goes for the scissor-kick finisher. (To be honest, I refuse to learn it's name, because I'm lazy, and that kind of move is not a finisher.) Orton pulls Booker out by the leg. Booker drops Orton, for his meddling, on his neck on the guard rail. Booker's back in. RVD kicks him in the back, then drags him upright in the corner. More punches — which are RVD punches, so let's call them "Closed-Fist Hellos!"

RVD whips Booker to the opposite turnbuckle. Kicks to head. More punches. Shoulders to the gut. Then the jump up to the chest and slingshot flip. "Monkey-flip." Who cares? Cover on Booker — no good. He drags Booker up and suplexes him in the middle of the ring, with a nice mid-air roll for the cover. No good. He picks up Booker again. Booker knees RVD in the gut and takes control. He puts RVD in the corner. Chops. An Irish whip is reversed, but Booker pinions off the turnbuckle with a jump and turns to hit RVD. RVD's ready for it and kicks Booker's head. Booker's down, and RVD bounces off the ropes, into a cartwheel and then a standing moonsault. I guess that's the Cheerleader Thunder. Whatever. Orton slips back in the ring, punks RVD, and DDT's a suddenly standing Booker.

Orton's pinfall attempt gets a two because RVD breaks it up. RVD goes for Orton. Heel kick, then a spinning leg drop. RVD's cover of Orton gets two. Orton gets up, and delivers a "smell-my-pits" uppercut to RVD's face. (Honestly, what do you call that sorry ass SKY PUNCH? "Hi, you wrestle me. SMELL MY PITS!")

RVD eats two more smell-my-pits uppercuts in the corner. Orton stomps RVD. Pin attempt gets squat. Knees to the back of RVD's neck followed by punches to his chest. RVD's down on his back. Orton leg drops RVD's neck. SO MUCH OFFENSE! Another pin attempt gets one. Orton pulls RVD up and whips him to the ropes, but RVD grabs Orton's heel and does the step-over heel kick. Another whip reversal sequence results in RVD holding up Orton as if for spinebuster — but Booker comes out of "dead somewhere outside the ring" to land a heel kick on the upheld Orton. This confirms my notion that Orton is carried to anything resembling entertainment. Anyway....

Now Booker and RVD square off again. Punches at the ropes, Booker gets whipped to the corner. RVD hits a snapmare thingy, then a springing splash off second rope onto the prone Booker. Punches to Booker's head. Booker gets dragged up for a superkick of sorts. He's down... then Rolling Thunder. Pinfall gets — nothing: Orton pulls RVD to the outside. By the apron he gives RVD a wicked dropkick. It looked good. Damn good. And, yes, I'm gnawing on my own tongue.

Orton slides in the ring to pin Booker. Two pinfall attempts get a two-count each. Orton chokes Booker with his forearm. He then pulls Booker up, chokes him on the ropes, kicks him in the back. Booker whipped to the corner. More smell-my-pits uppercuts. Booker fights back with punches. Whips Orton to the ropes. Orton kicks him in the gut and does a reverse neckbreaker. Pin attempt gets one. Orton wants Booker to get up and does the come-hither taunting thing. Booker's up. Orton for the RKO—NO! Booker pushes him to the turnbuckle, then gets him on the rebound and holds him up horizontally. RVD leaps off the top rope to splash him. (Again, my "Orton is carried" comment.) Everyone's down. The ref starts the count.

RVD is the first to move, and he tries to pin Orton, but only gets 2 3/4. He moves over to Booker and grabs for for the pin. Booker kicks out after two. RVD decides to kick Booker's back to keep him down. Then he gets Orton in the corner and does his monkey-flip move — landing his feet on Orton's chest, about to slingshot Orton back in the ring. But Orton seizes him and shoves him over the ropes to the ground. (It looked like he heaved him on the steps, but I won't damn Orton at all unless I hear RVD's clipped steel.)

Booker hits a kick to the gut and a scissors kick on Orton. Both go down. Booker goes for a pin attempt, but RVD comes out of nowhere — flying like some sick alien leotard-creature — to break it up. Why, Jesus? What is the purpose? Why is RVD Lazarus? Why not Stone Cold? Where are the second-life priorities? RVD goes to the top rope. FIVE-STAR FROG SPLASH ON BOOKER!

But the only move RVD can sell is his own! He's in horrible pain! Booker's been destroyed by a finisher! Can RVD capitalize? No! HE'S BEEN CURSED BY HIS OWN HUBRIS! THE ONLY PERSON WHO SELLS WORSE THAN HE HAS FOUND HIS WEAKNESS! ORTON HAS DISCOVERED THE SECRET!

That's right! Wait for RVD to almost win the match, then exploit his broken-by-his-own-finisher body and roll him away! That's exactly what Orton does. As soon as RVD flops to the side, rolling away from Booker in Five-Star agony, Orton shoves him out of the ring and off the apron! He rolls over on Booker, grabs the leg, goes for the pin. 1, 2, 3! It's over! ORTON RETAINS!

But hold the phone, Dora! More Folksy sayings!

Flair and Batista come to the ring. It's an orgy of evil. The dastardly element is well-fed and jubilant, nourished by suffering! But wait! What? Just as Evolution is celebrating, Foley comes down the ramp!

He can't walk upright. He's crippled, but Orton looks scared to death. Foley looks like he wants to eat people. But then Orton seems fine, because he sells like RVD! He slips outside the ring, runs up and RKOs Foley on the protective matting! Flair and Batista kick and powerbomb RVD and Booker T. Your landlord is at ringside wearing something of yours that you consider personal! Someone kicks your mom right in the groin! It's THAT kind of show!

But, hey, it's still pretty good.


Now, you may be out of gin (and I'm not), but let's all mix a martini and dance half-lidded around the room and politely warble or happily belt out "Witchcraft" to ourselves or our friends, feel warmer and better for this terrible experience. Even if there aren't caring hands to catch us, surely there are beds, carpets, couches, or even abundant shrubs in the backyard.

If you all will excuse me, I'm going to smear myself with sunblock, lie down in the grass in my backyard — take advantage of the last month of the year in which Florida doesn't suffer mosquitoes and fire ants — and fall blissfully, stupidly and most of all wonderfully asleep.
 

E-MAIL JEB LUND
BROWSE JEB'S ARCHIVE

Jeb Tennyson Lund is going to die.

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