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The Sixth Child presents…


A look at the world of wrestling through the eyes of a film buff.

V9(ahhhhh) – “Ali” (or “Khali”) starring The Great Khali.

The Great Khali – World Heavyweight Champion.

Just hearing that very sentence gives me the absolute irrits. By now I should know better than to rant about the decisions made by WWE creative, but dear God! The man has ONE THING going for him – he’s TALL! Is that really all it takes to become the next WWE champion?

VINCE: Looks like we’ll have to crown a new champion. See whatHouston wants for Yao Ming.

COACH: Uhhh, he’s a basketball player.

VINCE: He’ll play what I tell him to play… (sinisterly) for I AM THE CHAIRMAN OF WWE!

There have been some really bad wrestling champions in the past, but Khali is arguably the worst in history. Think about it. To put a belt on David Arquette is one thing (dumb), but to put it on someone who doesn’t even qualify as a generic freakin’ hoss is unforgivable. Khali can’t sell let alone wrestle, his believability is below zero, and he can’t even talk! I’ve heard of the “anti-hero” and just about any other post-modern bullshit term you can throw at me, but Khali has coined a new term – the “anti-champion”.

Take one of the greatest champions in history for example – Muhammad Ali. The man could beat you with his mind before he could beat you with his fists, and he truly had to fight in every sense of the word for everything he achieved. If you walked into a parallel universe and you found the Great Khali, it would be a midget version of Muhammad Ali. (Then again I shouldn’t give WWE creative any ideas – chances are their ears prick up as soon as they hear the word ‘midget’.)

Those of you who have seen Michael Mann’s 2001 film “Ali”  will understand what I’m talking about, so let’s take a step into that parallel universe and see the journey of one Dalip Singh, aka The Great Khali.

When Singh made his debut in the WWE, you would remember he was accompanied by Khosrow Daivari. Many don’t know that Daivari was actually a WWE public speaker for many years, where he would visit impoverished neighbourhoods around the world and speak to congregations about the teachings of the Honourable Elijah McMahon. Of course Daivari would mostly scream in Arabic, which the majority of his audiences didn’t understand. But it was that same factor that attracted a young fighter by the name of Dalip Singh – because no-one understood him either.


The two became inseparable, and Daivari assigned himself as Singh’s manager. Singh was now starting to attract a lot of attention because of his association with the Honourable Elijah McMahon through Daivari. This naturally led to a massively publicized bout between Singh and an equally mediocre opponent named Sonny “Tiny” Liston Jr.

At the weigh-in, Liston quietly waited for Singh to arrive. The doors suddenly fly open and in walks Singh and Daivari simultaneously letting fly with a barrage of Arabic and Indian.

After Singh and Liston are respectively weighed in, Liston gets up to leave.



LISTON: (frustrated) Yeah, keep talkin’! (to SINGH) I’ma fuck you up!

The crowd falls silent as Liston leaves the room.

DAIVARI: If Dalip Singh loses to you, he will crawl out of the ring and take the first jet airplane back to India!

REPORTER #1: Is that a promise?

DAIVARI: You’ll be the first one eating his words!

REPORTER #2: Mr Singh, are you scared of him?

DAIVARI: Dalip Singh will give Liston talking lessons, wrestling lessons and falling down lessons!

REPORTER #3: But Singh’s never done any of those things.

(long pause)

REPORTER #1: Daivari, Dalip Singh is Indian and you’re Arabic. These two cultures have completely different languages and customs. It doesn’t make any sense how you would be the best manager for…

DAIVARI: (nervously cuts him off) Uhhh, yes! Michael Cole! You have a question.

COLE: Daivari, can you tell us again what Dalip Singh’s stats are?

(The media congregation collectively moans)

DAIVARI: Certainly! Dalip Singh stands over seven feet tall and weighs in at 400 pounds!

COLE: Oh my!

DAIVARI: All tremble before him and his arsenal of four moves, including the dreaded CLAW!

COLE: OH MY! Now that he has added the claw to his moveset, who can stop him?

REPORTER #2: Uhhh, someone with five moves?

Unfortunately, Tiny Liston was not that man. Days later when the two met in the ring, audiences (aka, those who bothered to watch it) saw Singh defeat Liston in an encounter that was slower than a continental plate on heroin.

Nevertheless, the Honourable Elijah McMahon was pleased with Singh’s progress. Daivari on the other hand was more troubled. Having worked alongside McMahon for many years, Daivari had seen and heard many things behind the scenes which seriously bothered him. So late one night Daivari pays Singh a visit, where he had to get all his ill-feelings towards McMahon off his chest.

DAIVARI: Have you ever thought you’d lose it? Really lose it?

SINGH: (nods) Blarghumanifal.

DAIVARI: (pause) Right. Well, when I hear about WWE’s stupid plans – the wellness program, dress-code fines, Stephanie McMahon being appointed head writer – the prohibitions of the Honourable Elijah McMahon prevented me from speaking my thoughts and action. The anger I felt, I had to contain. I locked it up so tight my muscles seized. I lost control over the right side of my body. My leg gave out. Right arm gave out. ‘I’m having a stroke’ I thought. But I had to hold it in because all I wanted to do was find something and break it. Break a part, ANY part of this system because you were so provoked in your heart, in your spirit as a human being to speak out against Diva Searches, ECW revamps and illegitimate children angles. All I could do… nothing. Everyone knows I can’t do nothing anymore. So the honourable Elijah McMahon has suspended me as a spokesperson for WWE.

SINGH: (assuring) Kolomortundria. Svergimalnfundal aliopturn focordamniliad.

DAIVARI: (pause) I’m glad one of us understands.

But little did Daivari know that McMahon had already taken Singh under his wing. The fact is McMahon loves big wrestlers. Seriously, he can’t get enough of tall, lanky, partially immobile behemoths whose height seemed to make up for their lack of wrestling talent. So he offered Singh a massive paycheque, and an invitation to his palatial mansion in Connecticut to finalise their deal.

MCMAHON: Dalip, only after long service and high merit in the wrasslin’ business do I ever give a fine athlete such as yourself an original gimmick. But you are special. You’re world championship material. So there is a gift I wish to give you. From this day forward, you will be known as The Great Khali.

SINGH: (nodding and smiling) Gorfalimwalahad.

MCMAHON: Yeah, I thought you’d like that. Now where in India did you say you were from?

SINGH: Punjab.

MCMAHON: (laughs) Where? That’s the stupidest name I’ve ever heard. How about we say you currently reside in Intercourse, Pennsylvania?

SINGH: (shocked) Gralm…?

MCMAHON: Alright, fine. We’ll say you’re from India. But that’s it, no ridiculous city names. I mean who the hell thought a name like “New Delhi” would get over? Anyway, about your gimmick, I was thinking since you’re a tall, well-built Indian fighter, we make you… a tall, well-built Indian heel.

SINGH: (pause) Yalma…?

MCMAHON: Yalma nothing, that’s it. Unless you want to wear full-body spandex with an airbrushed anus?

SINGH: Malanfirtulamangrult, silmikroputiyilumnda.

MCMAHON: See, that’s just what I mean. Not a word of English. You’ll make a perfect heel. I mean, I’m surprised you’ve managed to make it through your life not speaking American. This is World Wrestling Entertainment, not the UN, am I right?

SINGH: (distastefully) Fuck you.

MCMAHON: That’s the spirit.

Now that McMahon had Khali under his thumb, he had to get rid of Daivari. I mean, he was good on a microphone and could deliver some impressive manoeuvres in the ring… but he was short. Y’know what I mean? As in ‘not tall’. And no-one who’s short can possibly command attention. I mean, just look at that Napoleon guy.

Anyway, as he stood before his congregation, Daivari was brutally shot and killed by McMahon’s henchmen. Honestly, what kind of person speaks out against stupid decisions?

With Daivari gone, The Great Khali emerged on RAW with McMahon’s blessing. There was no doubt Khali looked impressive. His massive frame towering over anyone who stood around him made him stand out a mile away. But because RAW was a live show and Khali had a hard time doing anything but grunt, he simply did not catch on with the fans.

Not that that was a problem for McMahon. What do the fans know? They just pay to watch this stuff. But it was when the heavily-mentioned-but-never-seen “board of directors” mounted severe pressure on him, the honourable Elijah McMahon had no choice but to demote Khali.

A snap WWE draft was called, where Khali was one of the poor suckers drafted to ECW.

COORDINATOR: “The Masterpiece” Chris Masters, Smackdown.

(MASTERS steps forward)

COORDINATOR: Torrie Wilson, RAW.

(WILSON steps forward)

COORDINATOR: The Great Khali, ECW.

(KHALI doesn’t move)

COORDINATOR:  Khali, I’m required to inform you that refusal to accept an induction into ECW constitutes a breach of your WWE contract, punishable by dismissal and us “coming to terms” with your dismissal via a generic message on our website. Do you understand?

(KHALI nods)

COORDINATOR: The Great Khali, ECW.

(KHALI doesn’t move)

COORDINATOR: (louder) The Great Khali, ECW.

While such an act of defiance would have seen anyone else fired, Khali was suspended instead. He was ordered to undergo further training and tutelage at OVW, but all the Al Snows and Jimmy Cornettes in the world couldn’t better Khali’s wrestling ability.

They needed something radical, something bigger than Khali himself to make him more appealing to fans, and therefore more worthy of one day capturing the WWE title. So after much deliberation, WWE’s writing team came up with a solution. He needed… a new valet?

Jesus Christ.

Anyway, Khali once had another valet named Ranjin Singh, but while he was a gifted speaker, he had abandoned Khali due to a serious alcohol and drug addiction. But after much encouragement from WWE executives, Ranjin turned up to one of Khali’s training sessions to talk to him.

RANJIN: (head bowed in shame) Take me back, boss. I’m clean, and this is a resurrection. This is God’s act. And the prophet is going home. Take me with you boss. I’ll do anything.

KHALI: (dramatic pause) Fictulimunget silmandaroop...

RANJIN: (raising his head) (rejuvenated) …sikwolothsonzald lokmurdiniap. (wiping tears from his eyes) Mumble, young man mumble.

Khali’s transition was complete – he went from being a lanky, uncoordinated hoss valeted by a short Arab wrestler to… a lanky, uncoordinated hoss valeted by a short Indian translator. From here he dominated ECW, headlining every week against such exciting personalities as Hardcore Holly, Shannon Moore and Elijah Burke. The time had finally come for Khali to take back his “rightful place” at the top of the championship table.

Khali was immediately transferred to SmackDown!, where General Manager Long King called a press conference to announce an exciting title bout.

LONG: The Mumble in the Jungle. That is the name I have given it. The Great Khali will compete in an old-fashioned battle royale, which is set to take place in Kinshasa, Zaire.

REPORTER #1: (chuffs) Zaire? Why not have it in Antarctica? I mean, what’s wrong with New York City?

LONG: Because you miss the significance. See, I dream of overcoming 400 years of racial depression to the dawn of a new day of liberation, financial or otherwise. It will raise up the spirits of our inner cities. It will rise up and fill with hope the souls, the unrequited needs of the black proletariat. That is the discouraged, the dispirited, denigrated denizens of the demimonde that is called the ghetto.

REPORTER #2: Uhhh, but the Great Khali isn’t from Zaire. Plus, this is the third battle royale SmackDown! has hosted in the past four months, and you mention black oppression when every African American on the SmackDown! roster has received a monster push.

LONG: (sigh) Fine, we’re going to Zaire because it’s the only place we haven’t hosted one of our cookie-cutter house shows. Happy?

REPORTER #3: Well, no. You’re putting your wrestlers’ lives at risk by taking them to a notoriously volatile country, and expecting its impoverished citizens to fork out money they don’t have to watch matches they’ve probably seen hundreds of times before.

LONG: I hear what ya sayin’ playa, so let me break it down for ya like this. Holla holla holla! Get ta steppin’ and show your love. THE UNDERTAKAAAAA! Believe dat!

(LONG runs away)

Days later, Khali and his entourage arrive in Zaire . As they stand in the corridor of the jet airliner waiting to be let out, they hear what sounds like a massive body of people calling for Khali. The door opens to reveal scores of African people on the tarmac, chanting as one.

CROWD: Khali! Bumaye! Khali! Bumaye! Khali! Bumaye!

RANJIN: What are they saying?

AFRICAN TRANSLATOR: “Khali. Bumaye.” It means “Khali. Kill him.”

RANJIN: Wow. So these people see Khali as some kind of national hero?

AFRICAN TRANSLATOR: No, they’re referring to Khali himself. They hate what he has done to wrestling and they have gathered to kill him.

The people of Zaire start rioting as Khali and his crew try to fight through the crowds.

Fight night finally comes, and due to the harsh reception at the airport, organisers make sure those who do not support Khali are not let in – along with those pesky fans who start TNA chants in the middle of their tapings.

Anyway, the battle royale finally comes and it’s an exciting encounter as wrestlers are hurled out of the ring in a random and completely unpredictable fashion… leaving three monsters – Kane, Batista and Khali – to finish the bout. For some reason, Batista and Kane try to eliminate each other rather than working together to get rid of the most threatening and least talented person in the ring. Khali waddles over to the two and manages to hurl them over the top rope, thus ending the match and becoming the new World Heavyweight champion.

As if on cue, the heavens open and rain starts to pour on the Zairian crowd. The Gods could not mock them and the wrestling world any more than they did this very moment. An awkward, long-limbed, inert, marble-mouthed Khali had captured the most prized possession in professional wrestling, therefore making this already painfully mediocre pastime all the more difficult to watch, defend and above all else… enjoy.

Mumble, young man, mumble.




The Sixth Child is a journalist based in Melbourne, Australia. When he’s not feeding his pet kangaroos Binky and Bunky, he watches, reviews and obsesses over films while casually fucking swearing. Last year he was heartbroken to discover the Alamo doesn’t have a basement for real. Bastards.

[All Photoshops created by Sean Carless.]

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November 2006


by Sean Carless

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.).