Last night I was bored and thought I'd give ROH a little look. The "Scramble Cage - Melee" match was available for download on a forums I'm on so I thought I'd give it a look. Perhaps it was a bad match to choose, perhaps it's not always this bad, but frankly it was awful.
"8. Jack Evans defeated Trent Acid to win Scramble Cage Melee which included Loc & Devito, Maff & Whitmer, The Outcast Killaz, Fast Eddie, Alter Boy Luke, and Dunn & Marcos"
First off the concept of the match is terrible. Lots of people in a cage. Platforms in each corner. All you have to do to eliminate someone is to jump on them off the platform. So, stuff that in any other match would simply be a big move or high spot, becomes an elimination. Terrible. If you chuck 10 decent workers in a big cage they'll give you high spots, you don't need to make it a crap stipulation of the match. Even when it gets down to the final two, there's no pinfalls, just people having to jump on each other off the top of the cage.
Barely any good wrestling in the match, a few sloppy high spots and really only two good moments I can remember. Trent Acid's yakuza kick and the selling from Evans on it, and a high spot where Fast Eddie took out about half the participants in the match by flipping backwards off the platform while holding either Dunn, or Marcus, I think.
The match was awful, the concept was awful, none of the workers really showcased anything all that special. by the time it got down to Acid and Evans they were so sloppy that everything looked botched. Acid, limping away, actually made Evans look like a chump and supposedly Evans is meant to be really special.
Production, look etc was as always terrible. There was one defining moment in the whole match for me, and that was the entrance of, I think, Fast Eddie.
He has Blind by korn as his entrance music. Now if you've heard the song you'll realise it's the absolute PERFECT entrance music for any wrestler with the way it builds up and then explodes. We're sat there, hearing the little guitar riff, it's building up, it's getting boring, we're expecting something big I guess, and out comes some little idiot as the music explodes with "arrrre youuuuu reeeadddyyyy!" and just sort of trots out, not trying to impress himself on the fans, not really showin anything particularly intense at all. Just some little worker who doens't know, or hasn't learnt how to get himself over. To me, that's ROH all over from what I've seen.
Have I just been watching the wrong things? Is the promotion really as bad and dull as I've seen?
I've watched one of the Joe Vs Punk matches and for the most part enjoyed it, but most other stuff I've seen has bored me, or just made me lose interest in the match really quickly.
I'm having somewhat of an early life "crisis' in that I have no direction and am not sure how I want to live my life.
My ambitious side desires that I become a productive member of society, working in a meaningful profession and making a difference in the lives of those around me and society in general.
Conversely, my cynical side says that "nothing matters because we are all going to die anyways" and in turn, pushes me towards a lifestyle of enjoying the moment and apathy towards work.
My ambitious side wants me to read books so that I may acquire knowledge and grow in the future, while my cynical side wants me to waste time playing video games. I think you get the picture so anyways....
I'm currently allowing my ambitious side to captain the ship that is my life, as I'm in college and working hard to put together a top shelf resume but the cynical side is slowly pulling at my conscience. I'm faced with the question: will the hours spent hitting the books, working throughout the week, and constantly forcing myself to grow and adapt to function in both the workplace and society be worth it in the end? As life is relatively brief, is it not better to "buck the system" and live a simple life spending time "hanging out", traveling, and accumulating memories?
Essentially, I can't tell if my cynical side is bread from immaturity and that living such a life would leave me unfulfilled when I grow older; OR if my cynical side is enlightened and has given me the early realization that the wear and tear of the life society promotes is a waste of our short time on earth and that in old age I'd be regretful of all the time I had spent working if I lived according to my ambitious side.
Feedback???
Hey to those who decided to read my blog. I know I'm kinda new to the forums so I hope me creating my own blog won't be a problem.
I've read a lot of reviews recently for Coldplay's 'new' album, X&Y. Most of them stating just how nice Coldplay are, and how lovely their music sounds. Their new single is fairly listenable, in a way, and they're the first British guitar band in ages to get somewhere in America.
So why do I detest them with every fibre of my being?
Well, it's a hard question, but one I can answer. For a start, they have no literally ambition whatsoever. I'm not talking about wanting commercial success, but rather a desire to stretch their abilities, their audience, and the format of music. They've risen from an unspectacular and overly insular indie band (with a couple of distinguishable singles) to an unspectacular and overly rich pop band within a fairly short space of time, so someone must like them, or so you'd think. But that's the thing - no-one really does. Coldplay are the perfect band for those people who don't really take an interest in music, but think they need a couple of pop culture items in their living room to accompany their digitally remastered Shawshank Redemption DVD and paperback copy of The Da Vinci Code. It's this coffee table, background music mentality that is killing innovation and keeping the radio interest-free. Not that it's new, but it's certainly not right.
One thing to note is the wildly varying reviews for the album, which range from 'poor' to 'classic'. This highlights exactly what is wrong with Coldplay, namely the way they meld cliche into cliche so effortlessly that they could do it forever, and no-one would ever know if it was any good. Despite claiming Thom Yorke et al as an influence, they are really the anti-Radiohead, taking all development out of popular British music and replacing it with perfectly boring songs about aboslutely nothing. I really can't be fucked to search for some Coldplay lyrics, but if you have a few minutes, try it.
And yet, three patchy albums into a half-baked career, Coldplay are now possibly the biggest band in the world. Which is undoubtedly a problem for us, as comsumers, because the signal it sends out loud and clear to record companies is 'we love mediocrity'. So what do we get? Endless hours of emotion-by-numbers from bands like Snow Patrol, Keane and Athlete, none of whom will have Coldplay's success, but all of whom could make average records for average people for the rest of their lives.
So here's something; rather than waste the best part of an hour, and an even better part part of fifteen quid buying X&Y, check out British Sea Power's album Open Season, which is pretty much everywhere for a tenner. Same influences, more originality, and it's actually good.
I'm going to try and write a story and I really don't know how good or bad I am as a writer so I would really appreciate any feedback or comments, good or bad.
So, without further ado, I bring you: TRIPLE THREAT.
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Now.
Orlando dived behind a pillar, hiding his large body from view, as there was another loud crack of gunfire. He cursed under his breath and looked around for his brother. There was a blur of blue and his brother appeared beside him, his brown hair ruffled far more than he’d usually let it become.
“Ryan!” Orlando yelled above the noise going on all around them. “Will you please do something about these fuckin’ mooks!”
“What do you care man, it’s not like the bullets are gonna hit you!” Ryan yelled back.
“I only did that once.” Orlando bellowed. “I can’t do that for 200 at the same time!”
“Pussy!” Ryan grinned.
“This is not the goddamned time!” Orlando glared at him. “Besides, you’ve been saying for weeks now that you’re faster than a speeding bullet, haven’t you? This is your chance to fuckin’ prove it!”
“I’m not Superman, you idiot!” Ryan yelled at him.
“I don’t care if you’re an overgrown boy-scout or not!” Orlando grabbed him by the shirt. “Do something about these fuckin’ guns!”
“Fine, fine.” Ryan screamed over the noise of machine guns. “Hold on!” He blurred for a moment and there was a thunderous bang, followed by silence. He sagged slightly, then thrust his hands into his jean pockets. “Happy now?” He asked.
“Thank you!” Orlando snarled at him, before stepping out from behind his cover. The street was covered in rubble, destroyed cars and now, several limp bodies.
“They dead?” Orlando asked.
“Only if they hit their heads badly on the fall.” Ryan shrugged. “But I didn’t kill ‘em.”
“Good.” Orlando nodded.
“Why do you care, man?” Ryan looked incredulous. “They were trying to fuckin’ kill us!”
“That doesn’t make it right to kill them.” His brother frowned. “Where’s Chris.”
“Right here.” A voice came from behind him. A much smaller man stood there. Instead of having brown hair, like his brothers, his was brilliant blonde.
“Where have you been?” Ryan scowled at him.
“Hey, never mind.” Orlando cut in. “You ok?” He asked Chris.
“Of course.” His brother nodded. All three turned to look at the devastation.
“How are we gonna explain this to dad?” Ryan asked.
Three Months, Six Days ago.
The crowd cheered as the rich red shirts of the 49ers streamed onto the field. The cheerleaders’ moves flowed seamlessly from on to the next as the Quarterback ran up and down the sidelines, pumping up the crowd. There were a large number of signs in the crowd with the number “00” on them, mimicking the number on his shirt that sat under the name “R.Fyar”. He pushed on his helmet, squashing down his immaculate hair, before running onto the pitch to join the rest of the team.
Orlando sat in the crowd, soaking up the atmosphere. For the first season in god-only knew how long, The 49ers were undefeated, and it looked to stay that way. His brother, Ryan was on a hot streak like never before. He was hitting 60 and 70 yard passes with regular frequency, destroying every piece of opposition in their path. Tom Brady and the Pats had been annihilated only two weeks ago, suffering their worst defeat in decades. Ryan’s worth was increasing every game he played, and this was only his rookie year. Orlando cheered as the ref’s whistle signalled kick-off. Three hours later, it was all over.
Three Months, Five days ago.
Craig Chalice walked through the sliding doors into the main lab, carrying his morning Mocha and a copy of the Chronicle. He sat down at his computer and swung his feet up on his desk. He heard a door swing closed from across the white lab, and looked over to see Chris Fyar, dressed on a long, white lab-coat wandering over.
“You pulled another all-nighter?” Chalice asked.
“If it’s morning already, then yes.” Chris pinched the bridge of his nose, then picked up the paper. “How wonderful, it looks like my dear brother won again.” He scowled.
“You all set for tomorrow?” Chalice asked.
“I will be by tomorrow.” Chris nodded. “I still need to run a couple of tests on the new recalibrations.”
“Chris, get some sleep!” Chalice said. “You look terrible.”
“I’ll sleep once we’ve proven this.” Chris shook his head.
“No, you’ll sleep right now.” Chalice said sternly. “Go to my office and get some rest before I have you carted off home. Jensen will cover for you. But you’re no good to me if you collapse before we show this to your father.”
“He’s not my father, he’s the Governor.” Chris yawned and shook his head. “He’s not going to give us more funding just because I’m his son.”
“And he’s not going to give us more funding if you mess up this experiment because you were too tired, either!” Chalice stood up. “Go! Sleep! That’s an order.”
“Well, yes sir!” Christ threw a mock salute and scowled.
“Good. I want you on tope form tomorrow, or not at all.”
“Oh don’t worry about me.” Chris scowled again. “Tomorrow will be historic.”
Two Months, 30 Days ago.
“I can’t fuckin’ believe you!” Ryan screamed at his brother.
“Ryan, calm down!” Orlando tried to hold his brother back.
“This little piece of crap knew this would happen, and he didn’t tell us!” Ryan struggled to free himself from Orlando’s grip.
“No-one asked you to be a hero!” Chris shot back over Orlando’s shoulder.
“What, like we were just gonna let you fry in there?” Ryan yelled.
“It wouldn’t be the worst thing you’d ever done to me!” Chris spat back.
“Oh let it fuckin’ go, you worthless little runt!” Ryan glared at him.
“Everyone shut up!” A booming voice rang out. All three men stopped and stared at their father. He was a tall, broad, cigar smoking man with dignified sliver hair and a matching moustache. He stepped into the bright, small room they were in and closed the door behind him. “Ryan! Sit down!” He commanded. Ryan’s legs seemed to follow the order of their own accord, Ryan scowled.
“Good for nothing little…” He began.
“And shut up!” His father barked. “Now Chris.” He turned to his smallest son. “What the hell actually happened in there. The truth this time!”
“I don’t know!” Chris stood there for a moment and faded slightly, seeming to become slightly transparent for a moment. With a look of concentration, he forced himself to become solid again. His father stared at him with a mixture of shock and fear on his face. “There’s no scientific reason for this. It shouldn’t be happening.”
“But it is!” Ryan raised his voice.
“Ryan!” His father glared warningly at him.
“Technically speaking, all three of us should be dead.” Chris scowled. “I can’t explain why we’re not, and neither can any of the doctors I’ve spoken to. This shouldn’t be happening.” He repeated the statement, as if saying it were to make it true.
“What about the white light?” Orlando sighed, thinking back.
“I don’t know about that either.” Chris shook his head. “That wasn’t part of the test, there weren’t even any white lights in the chamber.”
“Well that’s just great.” Ryan stood up again.
“Ryan, I told you to sit down!” His father pointed back down at the chair he’d been sitting in.
“Y’know what, dad? No!” Ryan glared back at him. “No. I don’t see why I should have to listen to a damn thing you say. You’re not my boss.” He glared at Orlando.
“Hey, bro…” Orlando started.
“No, dude.” Ryan shook his head and stepped back. “No. Screw this. And screw you guys.” There was a blur and a loud bang. Every piece of paper in the room suddenly was caught by a strong gust of wind, and Governor Fyar’s cigar suddenly flamed. He dropped suddenly, and stamped on it as it caught a sheet of paper as it hit the floor.
“Damnit!” He cursed, gazing at the now open door of the room.
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To Be Continued...
I just watched the ad for the Self Destruction of Ultimate Warrior DVD, and I can't wait to pick this up.
Ever since I was a kid, I never liked the Warrior. A LOT of people liked him, but me and my brother never did. I especially didn't like him when he defeated Randy Savage in a "retirement" match. Hey, I was a kid, Savage was my favorite wrestler, and I thought wrestling was real. My brother is a big Hogan fan, and he still cringes when he sees clips of the Warrior beating Hogan for the title at WM 6. Anyway, he was just so damn goofy and weird.
So, I'm watching this clip and it starts off pretty normal, and then bam! Hogan, McMahon, Heenan, Okerlund, Helmsley, Bischoff, and JR are all there just letting the Warrior have it. Hogan called him a cartoon. Helmsley said the Warrior was the most unprofessional wrestler he ever worked with. Heenan said that no one wanted to be around him. And Vince McMahon said he couldn't wait to fire him. I know that WWE went ahead with a negative portrayal of the Warrior when Warrior didn't want to participate in the DVD, but even so, this type of DVD couldn't be more of a dream come true for people like myself and my brother.
A lot of people will probably be pissed (especially Warrior fans), but I for one can't wait to pick up a copy. If you haven't seen the clip yet, go to WWE.com, and the video is on the home page.
