Good evening one and all. Here to supply your recappy goodness for the evening
is me, Anvil. And why is that, I hear you ask. Well, the answer is very simple. Nobody else would touch The Great American
Bash with a ten foot bargepole. Fuck, if that ten foot bargepole had a fifteen foot bargepole superglued to the end, Sean
still wouldn’t give The Great American Bash a poke.
And so the board members sat in conference, and asked, ‘who
here in The Wrestling Fan can handle rubbish? Who on the staff THRIVES on crap? Who here could deliver something REALLY ANGRY
from what will probably be the worst PPV of the year? And of course, my name was dragged into the whole mess. Lucky me.
tonight, I will be reviewing The Lame American Bash for you, the ‘wrestling tradition’ that has been traditional
for, ooh, a good four years now. Not quite Christmas, is it?
Santa:- And what would you like this year?
wanna Tonka Truck. I wanna big wed Tonka truck.
Santa:- Weeeell, you are getting… The Great American Bash! TADAA!
A quick promo video plays for the two championship matches. Note that I said two there as opposed
to three. Just two. And then we are off to ringside. Your hosts for tonight are the usual bunch, as ECW has now officially
replaced the Spanish announce team. Tough shit for those Spaniards who now HAVE to listen to Michael Cole, eh? Meh, it makes
more sense for the ECW table to get bombed in every PPV anyway. It totally matches their TV ratings. BADUMCHA!
Matt Hardy vs. MVP.
Matt Hardy comes out first looking suave in a baggy black
shirt that he stole from a hobo on the way to the ring. Hey, it doesn’t matter, Charlie Haas isn’t on the card
tonight. And then it is time for the clock to start ticking and THE INFLATABLE BOUNCY CASTLE OF DOOM to appear, and out comes
MVP. And what the FUCK has he been smoking in that thing? I mean, the amount of smoke that comes out of that thing would have
Bob Marley saying, ‘damn, yo smoka da gangEEEEE’, or something less racially insensitive. Probably the least sensible
place to smoke, an inflatable bouncy castle, but hey, this is the same guy who is in the public eye as a role model for children
and has MALCOLM X tattood on his left titty. Twat.
So, the match is underway, and the two start strong and basic,
trading wristlocks, hammerlocks and the likes. MVP is thrown to the outside, and Matt does that basketball thing that MVP
does, the ‘swish’ or whatever it is. I dunno. If I was a little more black I’d be able to tell you. Matt
Hardy with a cross body to the outside, and then takes the action back to the ring. Loads more armlocky things and test-of-strengths.
Hogan might not have been in a WWE ring for a while, but he’s there in spirit tonight.
Hogan:- Workrate? Aint
that just another word for ‘fee’, brutha?
They both throw some head butts, and MVP actually loses! A BLACK MAN losing
a head butt competiton! Next you’ll be telling me that he doesn’t come from an island and that he wears shoes!
They trade more moves and blows and this all seems a little, I dunno, uncohesive. These two had a better match on Smackdown,
and goddamit, I paid for this! Well, actually, I didn’t because I live in the UK and I get it for free… what was
I saying? Oh yes. FUCK YOU AMERICA.
Nice little combo sees the Twist Of Fate reversed into the Playmaker reversed
AGAIN into a Side Effect. Unfortunately, silly Matt Hardy went for the cover. And EVERYBODY AND THEIR MOTHER knows that the
Side Effect never finishes a match, regardless of the fact that every time Matt hits it, Michael Cole shouts, ‘That
should do it!’. No it shouldn’t, you stupid rat-child. Go back to shutting up now.
Eventually, MVP hit’s
a HUGE running kick which knocks Matt for a loop, and he hits his head on the bottom rope as he goes down. He is so dazed
that he doesn’t even take the Platmaker crisply, but that is enough to finish this one.
let me explain my rating system, a little item called the Angrinometer. It is a tiny little fictional contraption that shows
JUST HOW MUCH wrestling pisses me off. If a match only annoys me slightly, it gets a one. If a match pisses me off to the
point in which I want to remove my soul and run over it with a lawnmower, it gets a FURIOUS FIVE. And that, my friends, is
obviously a bad thing. The lower the rating, the better the match. Simple enough, unless you live in a trailer with your mum,
dad, grammy and extended family, including Little Cousin Earl who watches you when you have your weekly wash-down with a bucket
and a sponge.
That match gets a THREE. The match from SD, the FREE match, was actually better. Which pisses me off.
GRISHAM in the back with Dusty Rhodes. Great, that’s what the Great American Bash needs. Khali in a main event and Todd
Grisham interviewing people. All it needs now is Funaki, a strand of E Coli and a phone call from the girl I fucked last week
starting, ’I have some bad news’, and we have my very worst nightmare.
Dusty Rhodes cuts a good promo
about Randy having no respect and how he is going to knock respect into him. And then he…. Erm…. Well, he MOOOOS
at the camera. I’m not kidding. He MOOOOOS. I’m calling it first! Dusty is going to start up his own stable called,
well, The Stable! It’ll include Dusty, Terry Funk, fucking Mantaur and Vickie Guerrero. Because every stable needs a