Why WrestleMania 33 Fills Me With Dread

Undertaker Reigns

Ric Flair famously said on many occasions “To be The Man, you have to beat The Man.” He said it multiple times to multiple challengers and more often than not proved that they were not The Man. That Flair, instead, was still the measuring stick. On Sunday, WWE would like us to believe that Roman Reigns defeating The Undertaker will be the prophetic example of Flair’s words for Vince McMahon’s all-encompassing Sports Entertainment company WWE.

Bullshit.

While Flair’s time on top of his promotion when he uttered those words was roughly the same amount of time since Reigns has been a World Title contender, Flair is so much more than Reigns could hope to be at this point, and frankly, I don’t know who to blame for it. Despite Royal Rumble wins and World Title wins and going over virtually the entire roster clean, Reigns fails to inspire the love and adulation McMahon obviously expects his top faces to garner. Hell, he doesn’t even elicit the half and half reactions that John Cena would spawn when his music hit; drawing claims of “divided crowds” and “havin’ fun, Maggle” from the commentary staff.

Roman Reigns
Source: YouTube

Nor does Reigns have the in ring ability or full on heel heat that Flair had during his run as Big Dog, as Michael Cole is no doubt shouted at to repeat to us four or five times a minute every Reigns “match.” Indeed, Reigns does get some cheers, primarily from dyed-in-the-wool marks, the sizeable female mark contingent, and children (which is not mutually exclusive in the day and age of internet information). Reigns has so-so matches, which are hampered by the Hogan formula of comebacks predicated on just how tough Reigns is, followed by a jumping punch (which doesn’t make any goddamn sense, by the way) and a spear. A spear, which, let’s not forget, the current Universal Champion uses as a set-up move. Reigns gets just enough cheers from the audience that, should he be a heel in story, it might be worth exploring the option of turning him babyface. Not enough to require a turn, supposing that Vince even bases turns on crowd reactions anymore, but enough to explore the idea.

And now, Undertaker. The Undertaker. The one last guy remaining from many of our childhoods. The last remaining link in the ring to Red and Yellow Hogan (the first run, not the nostalgia one). The last of the Old Guard. The Undertaker will most likely take The Spear and look at the lights for the count of three while Michael Cole yells at us, desperate for us to finally accept Reigns as the Big Dog, that the WWE ring is His Yard.

Bullshit.

Ric Flair
Image Source:
WWE

Perhaps it is because I am a curmudgeon, an old fart whose time has passed him by, but this WrestleMania has so much less enthusiasm for me, and instead, is filled by a slow, oncoming sense of dread.

Every year, for Royal Rumble, WrestleMania and SummerSlam, myself and a group of friends come together at my house to watch the show. The group is mostly people roughly my age and roughly the same level of smarkyness. One of my absolute best friends in the world, Bryant, and I have been arguing about wrestling since we discovered the other was a nerd for it, about 4 years into our then casual friendship. Also at these parties are various fans from various demographics and a handful of indy wrestlers too. We all agreed, pretty much unanimously this year at The Royal Rumble, that the WWE was missing something. While NXT knocked it out of the park, again, the main show itself felt like a shell of its former self. We all wondered aloud, would WWE fix it before Mania?

Of course they would, we thought. It’s WrestleMania. The show sells itself, and by the time it comes we will all be sold on it. No worries, right?

Bullshit.

Roman Reigns and The Undertaker
Image Source:
PR Wrestling

As of today, less than two weeks away, I am so not enthused by the card this year that I seriously considered cancelling the party.

I won’t, mind you. Not yet. Not this year.

But this might be the penultimate straw on the camel’s back.

I hate when fans say they are “done with WWE” or are “swearing off RAW” or anything like that. It reeks of attention seeking crap. Often it’s by someone who wants desperately to be seen as unique and smart to the business and “better” than other fans.

And it’s almost always bullshit.

Yet, here we are, with me making a half-hearted, most likely spineless claim that sounds awfully similar. Have I turned into one of those self-righteous smarks with a strong urge to be seen as important and smart? I don’t know. I don’t think so. But, maybe.

I will most assuredly watch and enjoy NXT Takeover. I will most assuredly enjoy Monday Night RAW the night after Mania, should it hold up to its reputation at all. I will most assuredly drink heavily whenever I see Dana Brooke attempt to wrestle, as she so often does, and I so often feel as though the elixir of life itself were being drained from my soul through my eyes. Who knows? Maybe I will enjoy RAW again once the stink of pushing towards “The Greatest Thrillride” or whatever “clever” tie-in catchphrase they have been barking at me while I half pay attention to the television once a commercial break commences, is over.

Image Source:
WWE.com

I know that at WrestleMania, there will be an hours-long extravaganza, full of pomp, circumstance, fireworks, well made video promos and baseless accusations that The Big Dog has claimed his Yard. I know that I will watch, divided internally in an exquisite existential crisis that spans thirty plus years of my existence, and see if maybe some of that spark that lit in me when I was but a child and I fell in love with this most ridiculous pseudo-sport, something to keep me coming back to the WWE outside of repetition and hate-watching, has returned. Or excuses to drink while watching Dana Brooke will shield me from making any glamorous claims, and I will embarrass my wife by being loud and thinking my jokes are funnier when screamed in a slurred speech. Or, will I turn off the TV one Monday night in the middle of Raw, never to return to the Big Tent of pro wrestling, content to watch Network reminders of what used to be, NXT’s shows which essentially come out to be Indies Greatest Hits, and ROH (or God help me, maybe even Impact Wrestling)?

Or maybe, WrestleMania 33 will be the greatest show of all time and even Goldberg will have a match worthy of a couple of those elusive snowflakes Dave Meltzer bestows occasionally to Americans and often to anyone working in New Japan. Maybe WrestleMania will make me feel like an idiot for ever doubting the genius of Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr. and his traveling parade of half naked bodybuilders who fake fight. Maybe it will be so good I’ll fall instantly in love with Dana Brooke and begin to idolize Roman Reigns as the true measure of a man.

Bullshit.

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