Tagged: OPINIONZ 4 U

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Notable Dudes That Been Here and Still Here: Jay Cutler, Jimmy Clausen, David Fales

New Dude of Note: Shane Carden (Rookie from East Carolina)

25 Year Legacy Top 5: (EXPLANATION: 25 years is a nice, round number, and I’m pretty sure my football mind came  online enough to really know what was going on in like 1989, so starting the time-frame here in 1990 is damn near a perfect “lifetime” list, plus 1990 is another nice, round number. And who doesn’t like nice, round things? Anyway, here are the five best dudes according to me since 1990.)
Jay Cutler (2009-now), Erik Kramer (94-98), Kyle Orton (05-08), Jim Harbaugh (87-93), Jim Miller (99-02)

25 Year Anti-Legacy Bottom 5: (EXPLANATION: same as above, but bad.)
Henry Burris (2002), Jonathan Quinn (2004), Rick Mirer (1997), Caleb Hanie (09-11), Todd Collins (2010) – Really, I could have done a top 35 here if I wanted to suffer.

Best Football Card I Currently Own: (CLARIFICATION: Card can be of any player from history, but only if they’re depicted as a Bear. Even in anarchy, you gotta have rules.) 1992 Pro Line Profiles Autographs Jim Harbaugh

Fantasy Bootleg Jersey: (EXPLANATION : This is an idea blatantly stolen from Raven Mack, dating back to the Confederate Mack zine days, because anciently-scholastic is a good way through which things are often kicked. But if I had $35, plus whatever shipping from China would be, this is an NFL jersey I’d get from a shady-ass bootleg site, sticking mainly to ideas that wouldn’t be allowed by NFL.com on a real, legit, legalized jersey. This assumes I wouldn’t need the $35 for electricity or something, but work with me here.)
It would take some doing and perhaps some ingenuity and seamstressmanship, because even before the NFL started cracking down on bootleg jersey sites, none of them were SO bootleg that they’d let you have a three-digit number, but basically, this:

KVLTER

And since this is a fantasy we’re talking about, maybe have it in the way 90s store-bought jerseys were, where you’d have alternate black versions for teams that didn’t have black anywhere in their normal colors. (Y’all did know that’s navy blue and not black, right?) Hey hey, worship Satan everyday, kids.

Preebok Ebay Jersey: (EXPLANATION: Back in the day, before Roger Goodell ruined football with exclusive contracts for everything and said that only Reebok (and now only Nike) could make official stuff, (and starting next year, only Panini can make NFL trading cards, meaning more more Topps shits that go back to 1955, meaning I haven’t bought a pack of cards since 2013) more than one company could make NFL jerseys, meaning they literally cost about a third of what they’ll run you now. So the 1990s were a decade awash from sea to shining sea in replica jerseys, because they were only 35-50 bucks, depending on whether you got a fancy Starter jersey or a Logo Athletic one, where the numbers would disintegrate after one washing. Now, a fancy new Nike replica will run you something like $120-170, meaning that pro jerseys are the sole domain of uppity  white people who ruin the whole thing by exclusively getting jerseys of the white tight end or a white offensive lineman, because I guess getting the QB makes you a poser, and they don’t be reppin’ no thugs. Then, they ruin it further by tucking their jerseys in pants pulled up to their nipples to look like a goddamn giant toddler, huddled in the stupid “man caves” they had to build, because they married women they don’t even like. The funny part though, is that now thanks to the artificially-inflated prices of the real things, you can’t watch an NFL game without the official NFL cameras panning over a crowd full of obvious bootleg jerseys. But yeah, anyway, these are old replica jerseys of a bygone time that I’d buy off Ebay today if I had the money.)
My first choice here would be an old Erik Kramer jersey, but I actually still have one of those that would still be in good enough condition to wear if I hadn’t got it a size smaller than what would be ideal, followed by  gaining like 40 pounds in the 20 years since. Life is hard. Anyway, Tecmo Super Bowl III remains the greatest football video game of all time, so I’d complete the set on 1995 Tecmo Bear QBs and go with a Steve Walsh #4.

EXPERT ANALYSIS I CAME UP WITH JUST NOW:

jay-cutler

Jay Cutler is a weird thing to think about in an historical context. Because currently, as things stand right now and motherfucking today, he’s not good, and he never will be. He’s been a Bear since 2009 and an NFL starting QB since Bronco times in 2007, and we’re STILL asking whether or not this will finally be the year he “gets it” and delivers on the promise that rat-faced anus-mouthed slave-driver Mike Shanahan saw in him back in ’06. And it’s never gonna happen, you guys. He will never be completely horrible, but he’ll never get much (if any) better than he is right now. He’s an uncoachable, above-it-all prick that teammates just sort of have to endure, because he’s the quarterback. Like as soon as any Bear joins another team, even if it’s his Denver football brother Brandon Marshall, they’re like “hoo boy, lemme tell ya about THAT guy,” and sports writers get another solid two days of tabloidy headlines. And since him and his vapid, useless, reality show wife are anti-vaxxers, he’s not even allowed to attend family-type team functions anymore, because the other 52 players don’t want their shitty little kid spreading parvo to everybody.

And man, that’s a thing, right there. So a guy who’s supposed to be the default leader of the team pretty much got voted out of associating with the rest of the team, just because Jay and Kristen are a couple of dopes who can look a highly-trained medical specialist in the eye and say, “well, you raise some interesting arguments, but Jenny McCarthy was famous for having tig ol’ bitties back in 1993, so we’re gonna go with her ideas.” (And don’t even tell me that there’s some genuine medical concern and first-hand research going on with these two specific people, instead of the weird McCarthy celebrity-cult thing going on. It’s a lifetime-pampered football player and a professional game show contestant we’re (I’m) talking about. I doubt they even know how to use Google.) And while I can appreciate the courage of flaunting the tigness of one’s bitties back in a time when Hollywood was all about Callista Flockheart-styled 8 year old anorexic boy body types, it’s not grounds to consider her one of the leading minds of the new century, 20 years later. Of course, not that the situation there has gotten any better, where every review of a movie with her cousin Melissa McCarthy (where she can only get cast as a female Paul Blart stumble bum) has to mention what a “courageous performance” it was, because the movie industry literally considers it an act of bravery to leave the house weighing more than 130 pounds, and you can still probably find articles being written today referring to Scarlett “Scarjo” Johansson and Jennifer “J-Law” Lawrence as “big girls.” Which is bullshit, because they’re both skinny as hell in real life,  and double bullshit, because “Jay Law” and “Scar Joe” were the names of the two main characters in the post-apocalyptic cop buddy action story I’ve been working on since I was nine, and now, I have to start over. Once again, Hollywood crushes the dreams of a husky young  boy. But anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yeah, Jay Cutler is no good, and no one likes him.

Jay+Cutler+Kristin+Cavallari+Kristin+Cavallari+qvf_Lht7npwl“DON’T CAAAAAAARRE”

But the thing is? He’s the best quarterback that the Bears have had in over half a century.  Think about it. The last time the Chicago Football Bears had a full-fledged, sure thing, franchise quarterback was Sid Luckman, and he retired in 1950 and hasn’t been the opening-day starter since 1948. Think about how long ago that was, y’all. Neither of my parents were born yet, and as of last month, I round up to forty. Sid Luckman was born in 1916. That was during World War I.  If he were alive today, he wouldn’t be alive, because he’d have to be a fucking vampire. The last Bear QB to make the Pro Bowl was Jim McMahon 30 years ago, (and he was really just an average QB on a team carried by Walter Payton and the 46 Defense, and who was hurt more than he was healthy) and the last one before him was Billy Wade in 1963. With an occasional blip here and there, like McMahon’s Pro Bowl year in ’85 and Erik Kramer’s completely magical ’95 season, the years between Luckman and Cutler have been a dark, depressing parade of scumbum garbagefuckers who have not done much more than hammer home the point that the Bears are one 1986 Super Bowl win shy of being lumped in with assholes like the Cleveland Browns for long-term hopelessnes. Jay Cutler is the best Bear QB of my lifetime, and hell, he could be the best I’ll ever see by the time I die. (preferably in a huge fireball, because I’d want to die quick and fireballs are awesome to look at) So we will endure another year or two of Smokin’ Cat Jay Shit Ogre Cutler, and know full well that whoever is up next will probably be way, way worse.

jimmy-clausen-josh-bynes-38ca8c88e2f022be

As for Jay’s backup, you got weird-lookin’ Jimmy Claussen. Fuck Jimmy Claussen. All he’s ever been good for is making Mel Kiper look bad. But I guess you could do somewhat worse for a backup. Behind him are rookie Shane Carden and David Fales, who’s a one year removed from being a rookie himself. Hopefully, Cutler and Claussen stay healthy enough that neither guy ends up mattering. But there’s no way the Bears keep four QBs on the roster, so one of them has to go by the time the Bears get down to the 53-man limit. So I’m guessing Fales is out, because he was the old coaching staff’s guy. Also, his name sounds like “fails,” and jon Fox’s new coaching staff might be like me and fear a world where Cutler and Claussen go down, and this leads to a bunch of stupid “Epic Fales” headlines on shitty sports blogs. And in a Shane Carden world, I wouldn’t have to listen to anyone groping  around in the darkness for a “Carden-gan Sweater” pun or some shit like that, because I haven’t had cable TV in a long time, meaning that in my world, Chris Berman died in 2003.

NEXT TIME: Eh, who knows.

HEY GUYS…Preview preview preview preview. Preview.

Hi. Welcome to this thing right here. My name isn’t important, but I also don’t want you people knowing it, because you’ll end up stealing my credit card or whatever. If you’re here, I’m guessing you’re either my wife, my mom, a Brazilian search engine optimizing robot, or someone looking for Google-searched images that got tricked into coming here because I inserted the words “naked boobs One Direction torrent Nikki Bella download zombie butts Bieber nipple incest Kardashian” just now and fucked up your search results. Hi, though. While you’re here, you might as well stick around fur a minute and read some words about stuff. I am a nice fellow, and it gets lonely here sometimes. So very lonely.

healthy_snacksIf it helps, I can get some nutritious snacks for us.

But if you’re still here, you should know about me, and you should know about my sickness. I occasionally watch the American Football, as perpetrated by the National Football League, which is terrible, and when I do, I watch the Chicago Bears, which is somehow even worse. And on occasion, I will write a thing or two about them, which should be bad, but all things considered, is probably necessary. Because the world of football OPINIONZ 4 U on the World Wide Web is a terrible place, and it’s only getting worse, because the Internets themselves are getting worse.

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Instead of the utopian vision of the late 90s, where this thing would expose us all to a whole new world of new voices and newer and more exciting OPINIONZ, it’s instead closed smooth the fuck down to just a few big time, big money blog portals and news feed aggregator shits, all saying the same things and serving the same masters. Never piss off the sponsors, and A.B.C. – Always Be Contentin’. Keep a steady stream of crap flowing, even if it is truly crap, and the internet world is one of “there’s no new info, so just throw up a ‘Twitter Reacts to _______’ article, because #CONTENT.” There was this one site called Kissing Suzy Kolber, and it was pretty much the best paid and professionalized football site around, until they said the wrong things about Bud Light, the parent company took it down, and all the main dudes peaced out. Now, it’s still there, but it’s seemingly back sliding into more of a generic “Epic Twitter Reactions to Who John Oliver Force-fed Broken Glass This Time, and You’ll Be AMAZED by the Results!” clickbaity bullshit zombie shadow of its former self. Sacrificed at the altar of Almighty Content, just like that fake fetus that those two fake Jesus freaks fake miscarried for their fake YouTube bullshit the other day. And that’s how you know there’s no God right there, because no one was consumed in a fireball of unknown origin as soon as they hit Twitter to brag about how many page views their totally not made-up dead child got. Or just fire-consumed whoever came up with the term “vlog” in the first place. Fuckin’ internet, man. Hail Satan forever. But what was I talking about? Oh yeah.

aclb1

There was another website bloggity thing that existed for a few years, but you didn’t know about it. It was called Armchair Linebacker, and it was pretty much the NFL OPINIONZ site that the world needed, but neither wanted nor deserved. A bunch of dudes who rooted for different (mostly bad) teams came together to share the pain of NFL addiction, resulting in things like the advent of Pro Football Metaphysics, the true story of Donovan McNabb offering a young fan some special sausage, and earliest written records of the tales of The Great Willie Young. It was wild and free and you never knew when a serious analysis of a team’s third string H-back might veer off into a frank discussion of how primal psychic energies might be affected by codeine cough syrup or some such shit. It was NFL fandom of the most noble and horrible kind, where the normal AM sports talk radio/Pro Football Talk bullshit, all the yelling of team-trademarked slogans in a non-mocking manner, all the “this year is gonna be our year,” all the “(white wide receiver that has no chance of making the team because his only discernible trait is his whiteness) is a BEAST,” that kinda bullshit, was mostly sloughed away, and we tried real hard to avoid dry-ass EXPERT SERIOUS ANALYSIS~! of minute details that are ultimately meaningless, although admittedly, I kinda failed on that point quite a bit. But in the place of the usual crap was a huge ball of horror, a giant, twisted, cancerous mass of sadness that is the result of people having their hearts and guts forcibly ripped from their souls by the modern NFL and a handful of its most hopeless teams. (Well, except that one Patriots guy, who I’m pretty sure didn’t even like football, and was just throwing up dry-ass, quarter-by-quarter breakdowns of games, until the adults ran him off. Apparently, he’s like a modestly big deal in the hip hop internet OPINIONZ 4 U scene now, which, judging by that guy alone, must be in even worse shape than the football side of things. One.) And it was mostly Raven and Neil being awesome (Which can continue to happen, for the low, low price of only $4.20. Seriously, you guys, it is a damn thing, and you’d just spend that money on bullshit anyway.) while a bunch of us stood in the background and grinned real big, but it was a helluva ride. I’m pretty sure I meant to do some big eulogy for the site here, but never got around to it, and probably had more than this to say at the time, but hell, it’s been over three years. There are people alive today that weren’t even born yet in 2012.

ap-bears-lions-football-4_3_r536_c534It was a simpler time; and a time of Jason Campbell.

But anyway, it is in the Armchair Linebacker spirit of oddly hopeful blistering negativity that football is probably gonna take over here for a minute, at least until the Bears finally crush my spirit, which I’m guessing will be around the fifth Green Bay touchdown in week one. And it’s like, yeah, I know football played in the American Corporate Style is bullshit, and it’s bad for you. I know the NFL is a shady, brutal, ruthless purveyor of a blood-soaked death-sport, and the Chicago Bears merely one of its hateful tentacles. It’s a game where destitute twenty-year-olds achieve their dreams of being thirty year old millionaires, only to become addle-brained, penniless cripples by forty, and rarely seem to make it to fifty. And I know that in the grand scheme of things, it’s all just a big waste of time. But goddammit, I need this, and we all do, or at least something like it. Because the world is a horrible place, and it’s not getting any better, and we need silly crap like football or video games or Judge Dredd comics or going on social media to tell people that Voivod records are good and that you should buy them. Without distractions like football, I’d take a look at the world we live in, and I’d try to make a meaningful change, but the problem is that the only way to make any change that would actually change anything would be to rise the fuck up and storm the seats of power – not the government, but the mansions, corporate boardrooms, and exclusive, high-priced Southeast Asian child sex dungeons where the REAL shit goes down, and where governments get their marching orders – to storm them sumbitches with anger and furious violence, and put them and their children under the blade, so that all of us street people could just have jobs and be chill. But the thing is, I don’t like hurting people, even bad people, and even if I did like hurting folks, I’d probably suck at it. Not to mention that most people are convinced that the problems come from single moms and poor immigrants or whatever, so I’d probably be the only one rising up to storm shit and cut people, and it would end in hilarious tragedy. There would be a little blurb in the “Weird World” section of the newspapers no one reads, that would be something like “Insane Oklahoma man killed by savage attack dogs today while prowling the grounds of David Koch’s stately pleasure dome, wielding a rusty bayonet attached to a mop handle, and yelling something unintelligible about future former Chicago Bear, Willie Young.” Hell, I’d probably end up being made an honorary Florida Man. And so on it goes, that we will continue wandering the cursed, smoldering Earth as mindless, hopeless cogs in a Reaganomically-devastated economy, and we will spend our lives as listless schlubs taking orders from egomaniacal failures, and we’ll never be able to retire, because no one can afford that anymore, and we’ll work and work and work until we get old, until our bodies break down and just finally reject themselves completely. And when that happens, blood will spray from our eyes and our bowels, and we’ll scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and scream and die, and there is no escape. So with that in mind?

Chicago's Matt Forte celebrates a touchdown run against the Cincinnati Bengals at Soldier Field on September 8, 2013 in Chicago, Illinois. The Bears defeated the Bengals 24-21. (Photo by Jonathan Daniel/Getty Images)FUUUUUUUCK YEEEEAAAAAAH, FOOOOTBAWWWWWWWWWWW

Anyway, the preseason just started like 15 minutes ago, and I still gotta make dinner. The 2015 Bears season preview, broken up by positions and whatnot, should start dropping soon. Let’s make 2015 a great season, you guys!

BEARS

It’s that time again, when I start a new Internet project born of boredom that I’ll never finish or even get halfway done with. (See also that A Song of Ice and Fire / Heavy Metal thing that is probably dead for good, now that the TV show sucks and GRRM is going to die of old age before the next book is done) Over in real life lately, a lot of stuff has happened, where I’ve pulled the Nintendo 64 out of the garage, I remembered that I have a Playstation 2, and <Borat Voice> MY WIFE </Borat Voice> got me those little Colecovision and Intellivision emulator consoles for my birthday, so I’m having Video Game Feelings, and I’d like to share them with you. And since the only languages the internet understands are numbered lists and shithead nobodies speaking authoritatively, I’mma make y’all a list of the Top Vidya Games of now and forever.

There’s a scientific method I’m going to use here, where I’m not actually going to put together a list ahead of time, and I’m not even going to set any sort of parameters for how big or small the list will end up being someday. Basically, I’ll think of a game, write a paragraph, and then throw it on the list, one at a time, and just slot it relative to what’s already on there. This keeps me from burning out and potentially keeps this going forever. I’m super smart, you guys. Furthermore, some entries will be for more than one game, because some games are pretty much the same. So while ESPN NFL 2K5, Joe Montana Sports Talk Football, and NFL Prime Time 96 Featuring Deion Sanders are technically part of the same series, they’re different enough for separate entries, but Prime Time 96 and NFL 95 would share one, since they’re just the same game with a different roster. Trust me, it’ll almost make sense eventually. There will be lots of weird little rules I’ll be making up on the fly, the games I do for this will be mostly in an order coming right off the top of my head, and in general, this is going to be dumb as hell.

And I’m sure that if I was a dude whose opinions held any real importance to the outside world, there’d be some controversy here, (SPOILER ALERT: E.T. for the Atari 2600 is definitely going on here someday)  but if you don’t like whatever list eventually poops out of this, go make your own. And no, I don’t mean that in a shitty keyboard warrior/SAY IT TO MY FACE BRO sort of way; I sincerely want you to go start a blog, get on Tumblr, go see if Tripod still exists or do whatever you have to do, and make your own damn list of things. To hell with it, make a list of any damn thing, and how those things affected your little personal journeys here on Earth. The internet is too big for maybe five big-ass conglomerative portal sites to dominate every conversation with click-bait think-pieces, and working for a website with the highest-paying advertisers shouldn’t give you a more valid opinion than any other dickhead. Let’s Personal Web Page it all up in this bitch, and take the internet back to 1999, when it was still a fun place with more than like twenty voices lording over everybody, and we all wore an onion in our belt, because that was the style. Be the change, and get off my lawn. I’m so old, so very, very old. But anyway, here’s your de facto Number One for now, Mike Tyson’s Punch Out: (more…)

(Hello from 2016. This seems to be the only thing that anyone looks at on the old WordPress version of the site, so perhaps you’d like to see the what I thought about Wrestlemania 32? Maybe?)

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Seth Rollins vs. Randy Orton

Man, this match. I guess it does have some sort of story attached to it, where Randy Orton has always been the #1 Golden Boy of the WWE’s evil ruling Authority, but Seth Rollins has emerged as the younger, faster, hairier model to usurp him. And I suppose this should end up being a good match, because Orton is like the game-manager quarterback who you’re never going to be excited to take the field, but who always makes sure it doesn’t turn into a disaster, and Seth Rollins is fucking amazing when given the opportunity. But Jesus Christ, this is a hard one to get thrilled by or even passingly interested in. Orton is boring in ways that I’ve never been able to figure out. It’s weird, like he’s not just walking around slowly and applying headlocks or whatever, but when I hear his boring music and see his boring face, I just get so bored. Like his Titantron video should just be a little kid resting his chin on his hands, sighing, and saying “ohh brother.” And Rollins is exciting and does flippity flops and KEWL MOVEZ and whatnot, but on, but he’s wrestling Randy Orton, and the WWE has done a really good job lately establishing Rollins as “the guy who always loses, often as a member of the heavy side of a handicap match.” The strongest he’s looked lately was getting kicked in the nuts by Jon Stewart, because at least Stewart understands wrestling and thought to immediately run away from the dude who theoretically should be able to unmake him.
(And on a side note, LL Cool J is the official Host of Wrestlemania 31 now, so get ready for that “kinda old, out-of-shape non-athlete guest star beats up Heath Slater and/or Curtis Axel” segment, because it’s comin’, y’all. Heath Slater once had a future, and Curtis Axel is Curt Hennig’s begotten son. We are lost.)

20140721_RGON_v1God damn it.

Anyway, I really can’t think of anything else to say about this one. Randy Orton is like the Thanksgiving turkey of internet-based OPINIONZ 4 U about pro wrestling, so I’m gonna need a nap now before I finish this one.

Best-case scenario: Seth Rollins Phoenix Splash attempt reversed into an RKO OUTTA NOWHERE

Worst-case scenario: Seth Rollins “flying nothing” attempt easily transitioned into an RKO OUTTA SOMEWHERE OBVIOUS

What will happen:

3709199304_20b880036d“Oh brother.”

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The Bella Twins (Nikki and Brie) vs. The Frenemies (Paige and A.J. Lee)

Gotta start this one with some historical-type back story, leading into the OPINIONZ 4 U.

3709199304_20b880036d“Oh brother.”

Anyway, back in when I was a little kid in the 1980s, WWF women’s wrestling was treated as somewhat of a sideshow attraction, like midget matches or “Andre the Giant destroying ten guys you’ve never heard of” matches, but it wasn’t something that was particularly upsetting to watch. The wrestlers were actual trained and experienced pro wrestlers, and some pretty damn good ones like Judy Martin and and The Fabulous Moolah would show up from time to time.  And speaking of Wrestles Mania, people sometimes forget that when the WWF and MTV joined forces in ’84 and shit started blowing up, Wendi Richter was pretty much the #2 star behind Hulk Hogan himself. Sure, there were some problems, like Bobby Heenan spending the entirety of Jumping Bomb Angels tag team matches making ching-chong jokes, or that weird period where Rockin’ Robin and Sherri Martell feuded over the championship in matches you never saw on TV, followed by the belt just sort of disappearing and not being mentioned for like five years. But  overall, things were okay.

x240-WySI totally went to school with a dude who had Bull Nakano’s Megadeth shirt back in the day. He didn’t chop his up like that, though, because them shits were like $20 even back in ’91.

Then, the 90s hit, and shit was getting so crazy awesome with over in Japan that it spilled over into the WWF, leading to some sort of half-assed golden Age of WWF Lady Rasslers. The WWF made a deal with the AJW promotion to bring in some of their top talent, so every other week, imminent WWE Hall-of-Famer Alundra Blayze and Bull Nakano were having matches that Bret Hart and Shawn Michaels couldn’t top, and walking human hell-machine Aja Kong would occasionally try to give some lucky fan a fun souvenir by sending an opponent’s head flying into the audience, via spinning back-fist propulsion. Shit was nuts. And yeah, there were problems, like the aforementioned ching-chong joke-based commentary being spiced up with fat jokes for Nakano and Kong, and the fact that Bertha Faye was in her entirety a walking fat joke. But we got to see cool rasslin’ with people we had never seen before doing moves we had never seen before, so it was cool. And in hindsight as an internet-ruined wrestling dork, it’s fun to look back and go “Lioness Asuka and Kyoko Inoue were in the WWF? Word?”

smokingGuns2

Then, fuckin’ Sunny and fuckin’ Sable happened, and it all went away. The internet was becoming a thing, and it was in the awkward stages of shifting from a thing that shitty bald men used to talk about Star Trek to a thing that bored teenagers used to look at O.J. Simpson murder scene corpse photos, and then to its final form as something that bored teens used for jacking off. Pictures of Sunny, manager of champions, became the most-downloaded thing on the World Wide Web, and shit went south. The WWF realized that folks liked boobs, women’s wrestling effectively died in North America, and wrestling as a whole turned into a thing you had to watch in a room alone with a finger hovering over the button to change channels, because if your friends or family caught you watching it, they’d just automatically assume you were some sort of sad, twisted masturbation monster and send you away to be locked in a cage and poked with sharp sticks by “doctors.” The WWF mostly stopped hiring female wrestlers and started bringing in bikini and fitness models, (and according to legend, literally had boob job surgery as a required part of the standard contract at one point) and WCW and ECW skipped right ahead to the next level and were just going ahead and hiring ex-strippers and active porn stars.

valAnd I know we’re talking about ladies here, but let us never forget Val Venis: Wrestling Porn Star, and how much of the WWF “Attitude Era” consisted of stupid bullshit. (Val was good at the wrestling, though)

It was a really weird time, because wrestling was the biggest it had ever been, but simultaneously at its most shameful point where you couldn’t admit to watching it, because there was a closeup on some weird, plastic alien boob every five seconds. Wrestling matches got replaced by lingerie pillow fights and Thanksgiving gravy bowl matches. Women became branded as “Divas,” which if you’re into dictionaries, means that the WWE views non-Y-chromosome-havers as spoiled, shitty bitches by default. Vince McMahon crafted storylines where he got to make out with Torrie Wilson and then made Trish Stratus get on all fours and bark like a dog. Someone found out that Molly Holly loved Jesus and weighed over 110 pounds, so they bullied her about being a grossly fat prude on-camera until she quit the business altogether. The Diva Search happened, and people sat on pies and literally called each other “cum-sucking gutter sluts” on live TV. Kelly Kelly happened. Shit, I could go one like this for days. To sum everything up, the WWE hates women, and for about ten years, they went to extraordinary lengths to prove it. Then everyone got busted for steroids, Chris Benoit murdered his family, and the WWE decided to become a TV-PG kid-friendly show, so things eased up a little.

hqdefaultUhh… Thanks?

So here we are, in some weird state of limbo, where things could go either way. On one hand,things are terrible. No one’s had the heart to send Vince McMahon to an old folks’ home or the courage to seal Kevin Dunn inside a barrel and sink him into the immutable sea, so the show is at least still partially run by a senile old man who thinks women in athletic competition is unladylike and barbaric and another old fuckhead who just plain despises them in any form or function. The Total Divas reality show has kept the roster bloated with the worst sort of titty models who accidentally stumbled into wrestling, feeling themselves up on the way to the ring and then flailing around nightmarishly for two minutes until the match ends with a distraction leading to a surprise roll-up. The cast of WWE Diva characters runs the gamut  from “bitch” to “crazy” to “crazy bitch,” no one is clearly designated as being good or bad, and if they are, give it a minute, because it’ll be different by the end of the show.

file_188559_2_Alicia_Fox(2)In the time it took to type up this long-winded bullshit, Alicia Fox switched from fan-favorite to rule-breaker seventeen times.

Then again, things are also looking up: Women’s mixed martial arts has become a thing, and Ronda Rousey has shown the world that a woman can violence just as well as a man can when given the opportunity. Down in NXT land, the future WWE Divas are going goddamn bananas, and it’s become a common occurrence for Ric Flair’s daughter and Snoop Dogg’s cousin (seriously) to have matches that make the nerds yell “MATCH OF THE YEAR OMG” into their computer devil machines. Then, there’s the whole #givedivasachance Twittery-hash tag thing that happened, where the internet rose up in protest of two-minute matches with surprise roll-up endings. And it truly mattered, because Twitter hash tags are we get shit done nowadays, don’t you know. It’s how we managed to get Joseph Kony elected, how we mourned the loss of Larry Shippers, finally brought the fiendish Bruce Dackler to justice, and built that giant “Gamer Gate” that finally kept all the video game nerds from entering the country. Internets, y’all.

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But if you’re still with me, this is where we’re at; the Bella Twins vs. A.J. and Paige. It’s kind of being sold to the hash tag crowd as some sort of final battle between the Old WWE Divas division vs. a theoretical new one. The Bellas are the kind of models-turned-wrestlers that dominated things for the last… hell, twenty years? Christ. and A.J. and Paige are the “anti-Divas,” who are wrestlers first and eye candy second, and are here to save pro-damn-wrestling from the evil Sports Entertainment of Nikki and Brie. It’s one of those things that should write itself, but things are still all screwed up somehow. For starters, at some point, A.J. Lee and Nikki Bella switched places in the WWE Good Wrestler Heirarchy. Once the Unpleasantness surrounding her husband (CM Punk, in case no one’s told you, it’s CM Punk, you guys) got started, AJ Lee just kinda checked out, and it’s becomes more than apparent that she doesn’t give a single flying, drizzling zebra shit about wrestling anymore. She sleepwalks through matches, mouths off to the boss in real life on Twitter, and seems to have just accepted her fate as a temporary employee independent contractor of a company that’s not above firing her for who her husband is at any given second.  Meanwhile, Nikki Bella grew a whole bunch of muscles that she didn’t have previously all of a sudden and switched roles from Gyrating Titty Model to Lumbering, Face smashing Monster. Who… still gyrates a lot, but hey, baby steps, you know? Meanwhile, Paige is still Paige, the second-generation Superstar who screams and kicks people in their stupid faces and name drops Bull Nakano in interviews, and Brie Bella still sucks, but we like her, because she married Daniel Bryan.

bella-twins-cena-and-bryan-2164736…And we all hate Nikki for choosing to side with The Enemy.

 So as far a wrestling match is concerned, this would be way better off as a singles match with just Paige and Nikki, and since Nikki is the champ now, it would make more sense as a Wrestlemania happening, you know? Also, if you separate Paige and A.J., you don’t have to hear the announcers try to pound that “frenemies” bullcrap into our ears, as thought that is a word that people didn’t give up on turning into a word in like 2002. And hell, that’s just more WWE shit right there, where the “good guys” in the match have been pretty much in a constant feud over the last year, with seemingly no one designated as the one you’re supposed to root for. It’s WWE Diva World, where all women just sort of blindly hate each other because BITCHES BE CRAZY, AM I RIGHT FELLAS? Goddammit.

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Best case scenario: A.J. stops mailing it in and Brie steps her game up for Wrestlemania, the people in charge actually give this some time to develop, (rather than the normal Wrestlemania Divas match role of five-minute cool-down/bathroom break before the main event) and this match goes down as a classic that changes a lot of people’s minds about what women’s wrestling can potentially be. Over the next year, Charlotte, Sasha Banks, Bayley, and Becky Lynch finally get called up from NXT, a new golden age begins, and in 2020, Hillary Clinton is elected to her second term, and Paige vs. Charlotte is the main event of Wrestlemania 36. Sadly, A.J. Lee gets fired for being married to CM Punk.

tumblr_n7niqyqJj51slkad2o1_500This is gross enough with us thinking Paige is forty years too young for Lawler to be creeping on like that, but then we remember that’s Jerry fucking Lawler, and he probably thinks she’s ten years too old for him.

Worst case scenario: The match is only given six minutes to happen, with entrances eating up three of those minutes. What little match actually happens is a disaster, with Brie Bella whiffing so badly on a dropkick that she flies over the top rope and has to be carried out by the medical staff, and A.J. misses the match’s pivotal hot tag when she finally gives so few shits about anything that she pulls out a Game Boy Advance – not a smartphone or even a 3DS, a fucking Game Boy – and starts hunting Pokémon, rather than participating in a televised wrestling match. Afterward, Vince McMahon is furious and declares that the WWE Divas division needs a complete retooling, to be overseen by longtime TV producer, Executive VP, and notorious woman-hater Kevin Dunn. Wrestlers like Paige and even Nikki Bella are pushed into the background, Charlotte and Sasha Banks are both released outright, and the division becomes more focused on traditional WWE talent, like Eve Torres, Cameron, and a recently re-hired Jackie Gayda. The WWE Divas championship is re-branded as the WWE Lingerie Gravy Bowl Evening Gown Jello Championship Presented by KY Jelly, and Gayda goes on to have an eleven-month run as champ, during which time terrorism runs rampant, mighty rivers begin to run dry, and faithful dogs viciously turn on their masters. When the first ever “loser gets completely butt-ass naked and rubs all over a buck-toothed WWE Executive” match is announced, the fabric of reality collapses under the weight of such pure evil, the Earth’s crust splits in twain, and all the power of Hell runs rampant over the surface world. Mighty armies fall, great nations are reduced to loosely-affiliated bands of screaming cannibals, and the cities that once defined them shall be as dust, as an unloving God destroys a world no longer deemed fit to exist. The air becomes poison, the water becomes acid, and the land becomes fire. When the screams of the tortured and dying have subsided the only sound shall be laughter of the demons, dancing atop the rubble of all that once was. At some point, A.J. Lee gets fired for being married to CM Punk.

What will happen: A lot of people are watching the WWE with a critical eye toward their on-camera treatment of women, so I doubt this will be the usual blink-and-you’ll-miss-it bathroom break match it would have been in a pre-Twitter world.  They’ll get enough time to tell a story, but this is the WWE, and the WWE could fuck up a wet dream, so I’m guessing a clearly-intoxicated JBL will say the word “frenemies” at least 100 times on commentary, half the runtime will be spent with the match shoved into a corner of the screen so replays of something from an earlier dude match can be shown, and the match will end with a surprise roll-up, probably after one or the other of Paige or A.J. turns on the other, because THEY’RE FRIENDS, BUT THEY’RE ALSO ENEMIES, GET IT? FRENEMIES! BITCHES BE CRAZY! Then, A.J. gets fired, because, well, you know.

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Anyway, Wrestlemania is this Sunday. There might also be some sort of tag team championship match, or there might not be. Either way, may God have mercy on us all.

"Oh hi, just looking for the real killers."

You might not believe this, but there was a time when the world at large actually liked O.J. Simpson. He could run the shit out of a football, he was competent as an NBC sideline reporter, he could sell the shit out of some Dingo Boots and Hertz Rent-a-Cars, and it was really funny to watch him be repeatedly crushed and destroyed as Nordberg 2.0 in the Naked Gun movies. He was such a genuinely likeable guy that it came as somewhat of a shock when they started telling us that he had (allegedly) butchered his ex-wife and some dude that she was (allegedly) totally not boning down with on the regular. In our lifetimes, we had all seen a few high-profile murders and had definitely seen the shit out of some celebrity scandals. This was, after all, at a time when the dust still hadn’t settled from the Menendez brothers trial or various and sundry scandals involving just about anyone who regularly spoke about Jesus on the TV, and after all, Bill Clinton was still the president. But a high-profile scandal involving a murder where a celebrity had (allegedly) done the murdering? Whole new ballgame. No one gave a shit about Lyle Menendez or Ted Kaczynski before they started shotgunning and exploding people, and the things Jim Bakker, Jimmy Swaggart, President Clinton, and Rob Lowe were sticking inside women were decidedly less unpleasant than butcher knives. Things were about to get crazy-go-nuts, and from the initial questioning and low-speed white Bronco chase to the ill-fitting glove and the civil trial that followed all this mess, the O.J. trial was inescapable. It was everywhere, on every television channel, radio station, and printed page, until the whole thing finally came to a roundabout finale when Simpson finally went to jail for trying to rob a dude just a couple years ago. And really, at this point, no one but O.J. himself seems to think he didn’t do it, and hell, he even basically wrote a whole book (allegedly) fictionally confessing to the crime. So there’s no point in arguing whether or not O.J. killed his wife and that other guy. The point I’m trying to make is that in the act of getting all stabby, he accidentally turned us all into a nation of monsters. How, might you ask?

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