WWE BAD BLOOD 2003
By Sean Carless
Welcome to Bad Blood, the first WWE event of the summer season, and the only PPV name that really hurts Magic Johnson's feelings. Go figure.
We are LIVE from Houston Texas~!... which means some sort of grave injustice will befall Booker T. Hey, don't look at me, I don't make the rules.
This is of course the first ever brand extension Pay-per-view for RAW, so get ready! Originally, they thought about just showing up to our houses, black-jacking us, then rifling through our wallets and cleaning us out, but ultimately, they settled on just adding more PPV's. Lucky us.
Onto the show~!
The Dudley Boyz vs. Rodney Mack & Christopher Nowinski w/ Teddy Long w/ head disproportionate to his body. Blee dat.
Hey, when your sole gimmick is that you hate white people and make it your mission to systematically destroy them, is pairing up with an affluent white Harvard graduate really the most likely pairing? Hey, just saying. Anyway, the story here is that D-Von is questioning his loyalty to his brother Bubba, after being approached earlier by Long who brought up that Bubba always tells him to fetch the tables instead of doing it himself. Wait. Bubba, racist? Bah. How can a dude who proudly wore a confederate flag for years in ECW possibly harbor any sort of racism towards African Americans? Oh.
Anyway, Dudleys control most of this match, but I'm more distracted by Nowinski's face mask that protects his broken nose. I then pontificate if this is really worn by him to block the stink of the recent booking of this company. I then look for a celebratory high five that never comes because I'm all alone. So very very alone.
Finish comes when D-Von looks to "Get the Tables" but is distracted by Long. Back in the ring, the whitest black man in the world without the last name Gumble, Rodney Mack, looks for the "Blackout" (Beige-out?) on Bubba, but he counters out, and this gives Nowinski the chance to take off his mask and clobber Bubba with it to pick up the win. Oh noes! (nose?).
Winners: Ebony & Ivory. Living together in harmony.
-Video package for the Redneck Triathlon, which sadly was left off the last Olympic games. Imagine that. Anyway, the Triathlon will of course feature Co-GMs Steve Austin & Eric Bischoff and consist of three games of redneck design. No question on whether dragging bound and gagged minorities from the back of your pickup truck made the cut. I guess we'll find out.
Redneck Triathlon: Burping Contest.
Ah, yes. Classic wrestling at its finest. This takes me back to the famed George Hackenschmidt vs. Frank Gotch burping Contests of the early twentieth century. The matches would consist of burping for upwards of six hours at a time until curfew expired. Time limits, and actual fucking matches were invented soon after. Anyway, my ridiculousness aside, Austin does some jumping jacks to prepare for this grueling contest of timing and athleticism. He ends up besting Bischoff who advises he go see a doctor, and stop beating his wife. OK, maybe just the first part.
Test vs. Scott Steiner: Winner gets Stacy Keibler.
Dear God, if I knew all you had to do to own Stacy Keibler was best one of these two clowns, I would have ran over these fucking guys with my car months ago. And if not for Stacy, then just for being so incredibly terrible.
The match starts off hilariously, as Test and Stacy argue on the floor, and Scott takes it upon himself to try and leap from the apron with an axehandle, but he practically face-plants. Haha. He should know by now that this is impossible. You see, the gravitational pull of suck that surrounds Big Poppa Pump makes it impossible for him to even remotely leave the ground. What can you do? You can't fight science.
Anyway, after an absolutely brutal match,Test hits the Aboot, but that only gets two. Test then wonders indeed what's that all Aboot and questions the official accordingly. This gives Steiner a chance to quickly finish Test with a flatliner (Workrate is the casualty) to pick up the win, and Stacy.
Winner: Scott Steiner. Stacy is ecstatic as she jumps into Scott's arms. And luckily for Steiner, Stacy already knows what shrunken testicles look like thanks to her previous beau here, so she won't be too shocked when the situation arises. Score one for Scotty!
After the match, Steiner insists on making Stacy bend over in the ropes several times showing off her award winning "buns". He then takes her backstage to presumably make a sandwich out of them...
-Backstage, Bischoff concedes defeat in the last event to Austin. They decide the next contest will be a "pie-eating contest". Bischoff then brings in four women. They then compromise that Austin will fuck them while Bischoff jerks off in the corner, but only if Steve gets to kick them really hard first. OK, none of that happened. Austin just said he'll be the one selecting Bischoff's "pie" here tonight. Oh dear lord, no. I think you know where this is going...
Booker T. vs. (C) Christian for Intercontinental Title.
Hey! New music for Xian here. Christian no longer has the opera song. Man, the fat lady really has sung. (Not Steph.). Booker T. of course comes out to a massive hometown pop, but unless your last name is Michaels, you don't get to win in your hometown, silly, so it's all for naught.
Anyway, not a bad match here, but nothing overly spectacular either. Crowd is rabidly behind Book though, and he dominates Christian, eventually hitting a modified scissors kick and a big missile dropkick, and looks to finish, but Christian grabs his belt and looks to take a walk and get purposely counted out. The referee then halts this by saying that if he doesn't return and fight, he'll not only lose the match but the title as well. Christian then just comes in clocks Booker T. with the belt drawing a... disqualification? Referee: "D'oh! I never thought about that one! You got me! You really got me! BURN!" Dear God. If logic was ever in a coma in this company, this match's booking would just fucking cowboy-kick the life support plug out of the wall.
Winner by way of disqualification: Booker T. Poor Booker. This year hasn't exactly been kind to the Book. Who knew when he says "Can you dig it, sucka", he really meant the hole they have him buried in.
-Jerry Lawler comes to the ring and says the Pie-eating contest will be in fact be in the ring. He then disappointedly sits down when finds out none of the women we saw backstage are under 18. OK, maybe not.
Redneck Triathlon: "Pie" eating contest.
Austin comes out and cuts a longwinded promo before introducing Mae Young as the "pie" in question. SURPRISE~! Bischoff is of course sickened by the flavor of pie Austin's chosen (cobweb?) and is about to forfeit when Austin convinces him to continue by calling him a "quitter". Yeah. That'd convince me to stay. When the alternative is fellating the elderly, I can think of a lot worse things to be called than a fucking quitter.
Anyway, this of course triggers Bischoff's manhood (no, not that manhood. Pervert.) and he KISSES Mae Young?! Man, you're quite the cunning linguist there, Eric. But hey, don't be too hard on the guy's ignorance. After all, his only experience with eating pussy is sitting back with a camcorder while a stripper goes down on his old lady. Austin of course is disgusted by this whole scene and knocks Bischoff into the corner, allowing Mae to disrobe and deliver a bronco buster (If it wasn't busted before, it sure as fuck is now). Austin then stuns Mae Young for no reason other than the fact that technically she is a woman. From there, Austin forfeits this round to Eric so he can continue on. Just because.
-Backstage, La Résistance are cutting a promo in FRENCH. Oh no! THEY'RE NOT SPEAKING OUR LANGUAGE. THEY'RE CLEARLY NOT LIKE US. MUST.BOO.THEM.
La Résistance vs. (C) "Roasted Potatoes" Rob Van Dam & Kane for World Tag Team Titles.
They're still teasing the slow heel turn of the unmotivated, depressed Kane. Bah. Depressed? So, you've been burned over 2/3rds of your body, couldn't speak until you were in your 30's, watched your high school sweetheart die at your hands, were blamed for her death and post-mortem rape, and had your biological father betray you in favor of your brother who murdered your parents and caused said burns? Man. What in the world would you have to be depressed about? Pussy.
Anyway, this wasn't a very good match, but the crowd was into it, cheering on RVD and Kane by chanting "USA" in their favor and in support of their All-American hometowns Battle Creek and umm, Parts Unknown, respectively. End comes when RVD accidentally sentons onto Kane when La Rez side-stepped, and the two finish Rob in the ring with a version of the High Times (SWEET IRONY!) to win the Titles.
Winners & new champions: La Résistance. After the match, Emo Kane looks on dejected, and heads back to figure out how he can cut his wrists because thanks to the fire, they've calcified over. Good luck, big man.
Chris Jericho w/ Walls of Jericho vs. Goldberg w/ Wailing Wall back in the Holy Land.
The build to this match had to be one of the more comical in recent memory. The story of course is Jericho "getting into Goldberg's head". (is there enough room in there for Y2J and that hamster on a wheel?). The way he did it? Pouring paint on his car (THE HUMANITY~!) and then convincing Lance Storm to try and mow Goldberg down with his car. Woah. A Bald-headed dude with a goatee being ran over by a secret assailant, and a cocky blond guy secretly being behind the whole thing? YOU CANNOT BUY ORIGINALITY LIKE THIS. Because if they could, damn it, they would have.
Anyway, surprisingly a good majority of the crowd is solidly behind Y2J here. The big spot came when Goldberg attempted to spear Jericho on the floor, but Y2J sidestepped and Whoopi broke through the barricade. Jericho then worked his shoulder, but Goldberg eventually came back, and after surviving the Walls and getting the ropes, he hits a Spear/Jackhammer combo for the win.
Winner: Goldberg. After this carry job, Y2J's probably thinking of changing his name to Y2Me?.
-After the match, Ol' Jewbacca chews out a Jericho fan on the floor. Silly Goldberg. Dude, you're the babyface, remember?
-We see a pig-pen set up at ringside. I think I just saw the corpse of Henry Godwinn in there.
Ric Flair vs. Shawn Michaels.
Ah, yes, finally, the battle between two men whose nicknames convey youth, despite the two men having a combined age of over 90 years. Anyway, HBK gets a MONSTER pop here, with bonus points for wearing his 1997 Texas tights. Everything is bigger in Texas! Which explains HBK's forehead these days. That's right.
Anyway, it's Ric Flair & Shawn Michaels, damn it, so of course it's awesome. After countering then applying a figure four to Flair, HBK hits a big superplex, then rolls out and gets a table and rolls Ric onto it, and SPLASHES him through it from the top rope!Fucking awesome shit. Back inside, Flair regains the advantage after mulekicking both HBK and referee Earl Hebner at the same time. Wait. Earl Hebner & Shawn Michaels destroyed simultaneously? Something makes me think Bret Hart has adopted voodoo as his personal religion. Just a hunch. With that said, Hebner is actually knocked out (~!) from this, but HBK recovers, nipping up, no selling the shot (I was not aware that Testicle strengthening exercise regimens existed...) and takes it to Ric, hitting his usual finishing sequence including the big elbow, and Sweet Chin Music. However, just then, third Evolution member, and in honor of Darwin and his trunks, I guess he's portraying "fully erect man", Randy Orton, comes in and nails Michaels with a chair, and drags Flair on top of him. Hebner then awakens from a ballshot so vile it forced his into a state of unconsciousness and makes the 3 count.
Winner: Ric Flair. My personal theory on Hebner being incapacitated by a low blow is that Flair's mule kick has such vicious force behind it, that Hebner's actual testicles dislodged and shot through his body and struck his brain like a pinball, concussing him and rendering him unconscious. I even created a series of complicated graphs and charts to explain this phenomenon, but I ran out of zigzags and had to use them to roll joints. Oh well.
Redneck Triathlon: Final Event:
It was supposed to be a "singing contest"...a definite redneck favorite (seriously, ask a good ole boy if he'd like to sing with you sometime and see what happens to you) but Bischoff gets busted lip synching, so Austin then spins the wheel for the 3rd deciding event and it lands on "Pig Pen"...NO WAY! What are the odds. Man, they're so lucky they actually spontaneously set up the pen about 20 minutes ago, or this whole thing would have been clearly awkward!
Anyway, Austin then beats the shit out of Bischoff, despite that decree that they weren't supposed to have any physical contact with one another, then tosses Bischoff into the muck to "win" the most grueling and mentally draining night of action in his illustrious career.
Winner: Stone Cold Steve Austin. Believe it or not, I'm just about the biggest Austin mark there is, but man was this a waste of Stone Cold. Anyway, hopefully, the next time they do this contest they get some more accurate redneck events on there. Of course, I don't know how fucking an immediate relative would actually be contested, so I guess these will have to do... for now.
Kevin Nash Vs. HHH: Heck in a Cell w/ Mick Foley as Referee: World Heavyweight Title.
They didn't quite achieve Hell, here, but it was a pretty good Cell match, and they didn't even leave the cage. Probably because they'd have to airlift Nash and his bird legs onto the top of the structure, but whatever. Foley of course was you referee here, after the storyline unfolded that NO ONE WANTED TO REFEREE a NASH vs. HHH match, which normally would make total sense if you think about it. But not tonight. Nash had his working boots on; and here I thought he threw them out for his uncoordinated, lazy, slow motion boots years ago. And yes they actually exist. I just bought them all, that's why you can't find them anywhere....
Anyway, the irony of this match was that poor Mick was the one who took the brunt of the offense, getting manhandled and bumped left and right. Both men ended up getting bloodied, and several objects like steel stairs, sledgy, and a 2x4 covered in barbed wire were used by each man on each other. Ending sequence comes after Mick's had all he can take of Triple H, and delivers a mandible claw with Mr. Socko. But before he can fade, HHH gives a what's for in Mick's Mr. Cocko. While all this is going down, Nash tries to use the stairs on HHH, but Mick accidentally ate them as well. Nash then launches Triple H through the 2x4 which was propped in the corner(!) and delivers a jack-knife, but there's no referee. Foley finally crawls over but HHH kicks out. With all three men hurting, Trips goes for sledgy, but Nash tries to stop him, but the Game still gets a shot off with it. HHH then hits the pedigree and unlike with Nash's jackknife earlier, gets the pin because the pedigree is made of pure PLUTONIUM and can destroy WORLDS~!
Winner and still champion: Triple H. Surprisingly good match. Looks like I'll be eating THIS for dinner tonight. And to think I thought the only way Nash could work a hardcore match would be if he had a pair of tights made entirely out of car airbags. Shows what I know....
-Orton & Flair come out and celebrate Triple H's win, as the cable company celebrates "winning" my full 35 dollars, regardless of the show ending at about 9:30. Assholes!
Final Thoughts: Well, the last two matches saved this show from being a complete fucking disaster. Up until then, I was convinced this show would be a great tool to use overseas during interrogations. A few Rodney Mack's and Scott Steiner's in, and they'd be spilling secrets not even invented yet. But hey, things have a funny way of working out sometimes. So, based on my self imposed two-match rule, I'll give this show a thumbs up.
THE TWF "MENTAL WELLNESS TEST!"
With Christmas just around the corner, what better way to spend your few remaining dollars (left over after the seemingly infinite line-up of fucking pay-per-views ) then on the following "quality WWE merchandise!" After all, if they don't move this stuff, and fast, stockholders just might get time to figure out what "plummeting domestic buyrates" means!... and well, I don't think they need to tell you what that means! (Seriously. They're not telling you. Everything is fine! Ahem.).