Did you guys have
fun at Breaking Point? Enjoy the show? Have fun
watching John Mother Fucking Goddamn Cena win
another world title? Look on with despair when
precious D-Generation X lost their submission match?
Get hostile when The Undertaker was screwed over in
the main event? Hmm? Did you enjoy yourselves at the
kiddie-mark fun show? Were your three hours an
eventful time of screaming and cheering? Did you
enjoy your concessions and merchandise purchases?
In case you
couldn't tell (and since it's not in French or
frilly fucking Quebecois, maybe you can't), I'm
raining down a wave of condesendence upon you
assholes. Never before in my life have I seen such a
blatant disregard of moral fiber and integrity since
Domino's showed up at my house four minutes past the
thirty minute deadline and, instead of giving me my
fucking two extra-larges free, tried telling me that
they were backed up by a severe accident and they
tried maneuvering the side streets to get here for
my satisfaction. The fucking nerve!
But anywho, let me
spell out my rage for you right here. At Breaking
Point, I was treated to a few good things. CM Punk
still getting to be World Heavyweight Champion.
Christian's winning streak continuing. Chris Jericho
scoring a pinfall. My sister Morgan footing the bill
for the show. And these are all well and good, but
they paled against the sheath of shit that it stood
I'm talking about
Now, don't get me
wrong. I'm by no means a mark who buys into the
action, lets his adrenaline flow at scripted
performances, and expresses himself with distinct
loudness, but when Shawn Michaels submitted, I ran
around the room screaming, jumping up and down,
doing the Curly Shuffle, kicking over a folding
chair (with Morgan still in it, but fuck her),
throwing Fritos into the air, laughing loudly that
that motherfucking bitch ass hypocrital piece of
shit Jesus praising talent-down-holding asshole
submitted IN THE FUCKING RING LIKE THE ASS RAPING
DOG FUCKING CHILD MOLESTING CROCK OF WEASEL SHIT HE
IS! YOU LOST SHAWN! YOU'RE A FUCKING LOSER, SHAWN!
YOU GOT BEAT IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FUCKING RING!
*Ahem* my bad. Like
I said, I'm not a crazed mark. If you discount every
match that Benoit, Jericho, Flair, Bret, and
Danielson have ever won, then this is the first time
I've ever acted like this.
But that was the
yin of the situation. The yang occured in the
pre-match ritual when Michaels and Triple H did
their cutesy, inoffensive comedy schtick. At first,
you fans cheered the taint-sniffers like the
packaged babyfaces that they are, until a heroic
"YOU SCREWED BRET" chant broke out.
As happy as I was
to hear the truth continue to ring out in real time,
it gnawed at my soul that you seemed to all forget
at first. If there were 20,000 American soldiers in
the arena, and WWE's hottest new babyface tag team,
The Al Qaida Connection, came to the ring, would you
cheer them? At least until a vocal minority bellowed
"USA!" and "KILL BIN LADEN!" until everybody got the
point? It's the same thing here.
And late in the
match, just as Cody Rhodes and Ted Dibiase had Shawn
Michaels locked in the double submission, what did
you idiots do? You chanted "TRIPLE H!!" as if you
wanted him to make the save! The very man who helped
Michaels, Vince McMahon, and Gerald Brisco initiate
the screwjob that made Bret Hart look like a fool in
front of home countrymen.
A day that will
live in wrestling infamy forever, November 9, 1997.
I was sixteen years old, with twice the zits I have
now, but 1/5 of the beard needed to obscure them. I
was shocked, mouth agape as my then ten-year-old
sister Morgan and I watched the show. She didn't
care about Bret being screwed, she was just happy
that the show was fun. She didn't mind doing extra
chores to come up with the money to buy the show,
because I certainly wasn't going to pay for the show
when Taka Michinoku wasn't on it.
But back to the
point at hand. Bret Hart has never let go of this
fateful day, and for you, the fans of Montreal, to
forgive two of the men responsible when The Hitman
himself has not is sickening.
Bret Hart, for
those of you who are too dense to remember, is the
greatest wrestler of all time. He is a man of class
and integrity who always put family first. Except
when he was on the road and his wife wasn't around,
and he would put another woman first. Let's face it,
Bret needed to make SOMEONE happy, and even he
wasn't capable of making Julie have an orgasm
thousands of miles away. Bret also could carry
anyone to a great match. His formula of doing the
same five moves in sequence near the end of the
match and calling all of the spots himself makes him
a tremendous worker. And if a worker couldn't follow
the structured pattern that Bret set, then he was
clearly not worth his salt. Bret's clean living,
save for the random sex and occasional steroid and
drug use, is legendary. His loyalty to WWE is also
noteworthy, remaining loyal even when Vince McMahon
said he couldn't pay his exorbant salary in 1997,
leading Bret, already a millionaire, to threaten to
sue the man who gave him five World titles despite
wrestling the same match for the previous six years
and booking him strongly. But in spite of anything
here that may resemble a flaw, Bret Hart is perfect.
See? It's right here in text.
And if Bret Hart's
not too good to live his life in self-pity, writing
columns in his local newspaper about that date in
his life with unending obsession, telling anyone who
will listen that Vince McMahon, Shawn Michaels, and
Triple H are spawns of Satan will who latch onto you
like a succubus and bleed your spirit dry, then
we're not either. Who are we to question the man
that always gave it 110% in ring, except in WCW when
he resigned himself to misery? Toronto fans haven't
forgotten! They boo EVERYONE that McMahon tries
passing off as a babyface! They live in the same
self-deprecating, personal Hell that we American
smarks created for ourselves to placate Bret Hart's
wishes. WWBHD?, that's our initialed credo!
But to see what
Montreal has degenerated (literally) into is
astonishing. All of a sudden, you've all bought into
Vince McMahon's utopia of a sports-entertainment
laden landscape, filled with cartoon characters and
talentless big-boobed divas and happy storylines.
What happened to the blue collar appreciation you
guys would display for the likes of hard-nosed
wrestlers that would do dangerous suplexes and
throws, and bust each other open to enhance the
midcard? Look, I know Vince McMahon doesn't want us
to think about Chris Benoit anymore, but who are we
to do what he says? Do you really want to forget
about Benoit in favor of being happy? When did
French Canada just stop giving a shit?
Look, guys, we
can't be having this. The next time WWE rolls
through your province, you need to show your old
moxie. Boo DX. Boo Cena. Boo any of their smiling
midcard babyfaces that they design and package for
your approval. Boo the divas and chant "WE WANT
AKIRA HOKUTO!". Cheer Jericho. Throw your boxers and
panties at him. Cheer Punk. Chant "WE WANT BRET!"
Give the Hart Dynasty a standing ovation. Do
whatever it takes to show Vince McMahon that his
idea of an entertainment conglomerate is not
acceptable to your sensibilities. Make it known that
if he's to ever bring his show back to Molson
country, he'd better change everything. And he never
comes back, fuck em! You showed em!
In closing, I'll
forgive you guys over last night, but remember this:
you have an image to uphold. Never forget that.
Because that image will be forever shattered should
you ever give in and cheer John Cena.
And nobody wants