Rassle Inn #11

On Sunday, Survivor Series will mark thirty years of deadened dominance for The Undertaker.  The career of one Mark Calaway cranes back even further than three decades, which is astounding to consider.  He possesses every trait that you would need to be a superlative, distinguished professional wrestler.  He checks all of the boxes.  And then you realize that he has always put the business first, ahead of politics and ahead of self-serving vainglory.  Hey, all due respect to Shawn Michaels, but that's why I rank The Heartbreak Kid behind The Phenom when it comes to placing the best of the modern era in formation.

'Taker has stated - definitively - that he is retired from in-ring competition.  Naturally, I expect him to engage with a few superstars in acutely physical ways at Survivor Series.  But whom?  And how?  I've read rumors and guesstimations.  It wouldn't surprise me to see The Fiend make himself conspicuous, but technically, he's a babyface.  Good God.  That opens a can of sandworms.  The comic, cosmic audacity of Vince McMahon's logic-defying booking is tantamount to that of Superman's gravity-defying bullshit.  You know that Superman is an asshole.  Don't argue with me.

My point (???) is that anything could happen.  I sincerely hope that Calaway isn't pressured into working "one more match."  The only dream bout left is opposite Sting, and no, I don't want to see it.  Ten years ago?  Fuck yeah, I'd pay the full pay-per-view price to order that sumbitch.  Even five years ago!  In 2020, it's not worth it.  Let the man rusticate to his native Texas.  Let him REST...I can't believe I'm actually using the catchphrase...IN...this is far too cheesy...PEACE...you dicks, you didn't stop me.  Here's a badass picture of The Undertaker leaving the 1993 versions of Crush and Bob Backlund in the dust.  I made that sound intense.  But they're just, like, walking.

No comments:

Post a Comment