A.K.A. THE PLIGHT OF JEFF HARVEY.
YOUR ROYAL RUMBLE 2008 QUICK &
By Sean Carless.
[The Following was written whilst
under the influence. Only spelling and grammar have
been changed to protect the not-so-innocent.]
Hey there, Rasslin' Nuts and those
few enraged pay-per-view viewers still picking
shards of TV glass from your knuckles as I type
this, I am Sean Carless, and this is your Royal Rumble quick and
dirty. Now 100% quicker and dirtier. Or Neither.
Anyway, there will be a full
detailed Rant forthcoming by one Anvil's Swagbag, but
for now, I thought, since you all seem like gluttons
for punishment anyway, I would give you my two cents
on the Rumblus Y2KVIII. Only not literally. You see,
I can't spare them, because I rolled my last bit of
change earlier this evening in a fledgling attempt
to somehow purchase a dimebag with said currency.
And yes, I might be the only man alive on Earth
who's ever attempted to purchase marijuana with a
series of rolled pennies. Ain't I something. The
best part, though? If in fact I get busted, well, I
can just use them 1980's evil-heel-style and just
knock out the arresting officer. If it's good
enough to take the title from Nick Bockwinkel, by
gawd, it's good enough for John Law. That's what I
say. While in Jail.
as for the Rumble, it was a pretty good little card
over all, with one definite surprise. That being the
return of one John Cena. You read that right,
John Cena, whose actual surname must be
umm, Christ?, because I'll be damned if that wasn't
the fastest recovery from a muscle tear in history.
Who does he think he is? Vince McMahon? Hell, the
real Jesus would probably say "holy shit, this guy
was back from fucking grievous bodily injury fast!".
Only you know, minus the blasphemic swearing. All I
know is, Triple H could learn a serious lesson from
this guy as it pertains to recovery time.
Although, I heard the *real* reason Trips took
8 months to get back into the ring is because he
made a point to go around and stick post-it reminder
notes on all the people he had planned to pin upon
his return. And well, ya, that took 8 months. You
would too, if you had to track down everyone in the
entire industry. True story.
The Rumble began in glorious
HIGH DEFINITION. Things were crisper.
Things were clearer. For example, thanks to
HD, you could actually see Jeff Hardy's broken
spirit through his omnipresent day-glo
paint-covered wifebeater if you looked hard enough.
You just can't witness the true
anguish and pain of being deprived a deserved
opportunity in favor of a painful status-quo in
regular standard definition. I'm telling you.
We opened up with Ric Flair,
who tells us that he remembers the *very first time*
he was in this historic spot. It was the latter
1800's. He chopped Bill The Butcher in the chest and
started an unfortunate turf war. Some people thought
that a 60 year old man, back then, couldn't engage
and hold his own in gang-warfare all while leading a
ragtag group of disenfranchised Irishmen into
battle, but he proved them wrong. In fact, beneath
the historic Madison Square Garden, lays the bodies
of many of those who paid the price. Well, until
Vince dug them up, so he could have a place to bury
all records and proof that Chris Benoit and Randy
Savage ever existed. I'm just paraphrasing here.
MVP then interrupted Flair,
wearing a sweet one-piece orange unitard, that was
likely a throwback to the mandatory bathing suits
men were forced to wear when Flair first broke into
the business in the early 1920's. What a nice
tribute. The two did battle, but the U.S. Title was
not at stake. Because, as we've learned with the
Intercontinental Title in the last year, it's much
cooler and hipper to just wear it around like
a badass shiny belt buckle, and never defend it on
pay-per-view. I don't make the rules.
At one point MVP actually
pinned Flair, after a MAFIA kick, but Flair had his
foot on the ropes and the match was continued. I
love the Mafia kick. The other day, I went up to
some Wise Guys and called them out hoping they'd
unload some of their patented running kicks on me,
but instead, they just shot me, rolled me up in a
carpet, bound it with chains, and dumped me in the
Hudson river. Strange. "What kind of Mafia was
this?", I thought. "Where were their famous kicks?",
I asked. Wrestling would never lie.
Eventually, MVP tried for his
"Play of the day" finish, but Ric was all like "You
know, it's probably not the best idea in the world
for me to just keep my head lowered like this whilst
this guy awkwardly tries to balance on one leg while
wrapping his other precariously around my
head, before I ultimately roll with it and do all
the work". So he instead just put MVP in the Figure
Four and won the match. Good thinking. Beware Booker
T. , with this revelation, wrestlers may soon
figure out that staying bent over for 35 seconds
while you bounce into the ropes is also a bad idea.
You've been warned.
ya, Flair wins and carries on. Until Wrestlemania
anyway. And it's not a moment too soon. Flair is
really looking rough out there. He seems to
be physically disintegrating as week's pass. Kind of
like how Spock got all ravaged by radiation in that
Chamber in Wrath of Khan. Maybe Naitch suffered that
same fate? I can just picture him, in his last dying
gasp, pressing the Horsemen hand-sign against the
glass to a bewildered Arn Anderson. I'd mention the
mind meld and the transferring of his essence to HHH,
but Hunter kicked him off once it got to the part
where Flair put people over and created new stars.
McMahon gives his son,Hornswoggle, a pep-talk
backstage. Come on. Seriously. As if a
midget could ever win the
Rumble. A masked midget? Definitely. Booyaka.
JBL and Chris Jericho was
next. It ended in DQ. That's right, they both shared
a delicious glazed chocolate ice cream cone, and
wondered why they ever started fighting in the first
place. Or maybe it was a disqualification. I can't
remember. All I know is, it took Chris Jericho long
enough to remember that the guy tried to strangle
the life out of him and basically threatened his
children. But why, I don't know, kill a guy like
that, when you can just apply ARMBARS.
Yes. That's the equivalent of Charles Bronson
tracking down the guy that murdered his family in
Death Wish, and challenging him to a game of Paper,
Rock, Scissors. "PAPER COVERS YOUR ROCK! REVENGE IS
MINE! FEEL MY WRATH!".
The match though was decent for what it
was. Jericho got busted open. Possibly hard-way.
That's right, JBL's fist warned him they could have
done it the easy way, but his head just would
not listen to reason. Now look at him. That said, God bless High Def. Now, you can
conclusively prove to those annoying nay-saying
family members that the blood is indeed real. And
here they probably thought High Definition would
FINALLY expose the random dude secretly scurrying to
the ring and squishing a packet of ketchup on
Jericho's forehead. SCORE ONE FOR REALITY
IN WRESTLING! Well, until Khali wrestles later.
Maybe try telling them that the reason people are
*still* falling over despite his moves missing by a
foot, is because since he's so big and stuff, the
sheer velocity and trajectory behind the strikes
causes people to just blow over. 60% of the time, it
works all the time.
Anyway, Y2J gets disqualified
for using a chair on JBL, then strangling him with a
microphone cord, which the crowd popped for. Up
until then, they were actually siding with JBL.
Likely on the prospect that JBL pretends to be from
New York City.
"Come on, guys, what gives? I'm really from New
York! I was born in Manhasset, remember?!"
NYC Crowd: "I think we know what a
*real* New Yorker looks like, asshole! That cowboy
hat? Those longhorns on the limo? The cool folksy
sayings like "stacking people like they
was cord-wood!" It don't get much more authentic
than that! YEE-HAW!"
In the back, Ashley tries to
convince Maria to pose in Playboy. But Santino
refuses on her behalf. Come on, Maria. It's "every
little girls dream", if you believe the hyperbole.
They just leave out the part where you then spend
the next 3 years doing nothing but feverishly
avoiding guys like Verne "Mini Me" Troyer trying to
blow their load on your tits in the Grotto. Maybe
that's for the best.
Edge and Rey Mysterio met
next. Rey was wearing a little Centurion helmet.
Huh. Maybe that's why there's no more Centurions. I
mean, how hard would it be to vanquish any army of
tiny mask wearing children? Just saying.
Before the match, Teddy Long
wheels Vickie Guerrero to the ring. I could make a
joke that I'd rather they wheel her out on one of
those Hannibal Lecter platforms, complete with mask,
so we wouldn't have to see her face, but oh shit I
just did. I'm just kidding. Kind of. Ok, not really.
I hope Edge and Vickie never have any children,
because based on their respective teeth, that kid
would be able to fully protract his mandibles like
the creature in Alien.
WAIT, THERE'S A MATCH GOING ON
HERE. The Edgeheads get ejected from ringside. Wait.
What? Vickie is the G.M., couldn't she just overrule
the Referee? Man. This is as bad as Heel special
referees not just ringing the bell right away, and
insisting on counting full 3 counts, then getting
mad when the babyface kicks out.
In the end, Rey has Edge set
up for the 619, but Vickie sacrifices herself and
eats the move, and likely a few other things if her
shape is any evidence, and Edge eventually counters
a Rey springboard into the dreaded and feared, but
mostly by his family because it feels like dying,
VAUNTED FLYING HUG. Spooning has never
been more dangerous.
Edge wins. And Rey gets what he deserves.
I mean, doesn't he remember the solid
Vickie did him in 2005 where she held down Eddie so
Rey could scale a ladder and regain his
non-biological son that Eddie
ever-so-graciously provided the sperm for so Rey
Mysterio Jr., could have a Rey Mysterio Junior,
junior of his very own? You forgot about that,
didn't you? And here we thought a Leprechaun
paternity suit was fucking clown shoes.
Ric Flair is seen getting out
of the shower. You read that right. Thankfully,
unlike the Stewardesses aboard the Flight From Hell,
we didn't get an eyeful of the non-Charles Robinson
"Little Naitch". "What an amateur this guy is
when it comes to not accidentally exposing his
genitals on national TV!" said William Regal.
Maybe. I don't know. Truth is, there was a lot
of dudes randomly showing up, all hovering
around this semi-nude 60 year old. It was like the
opening scene to the most horrifying porn film ever.
comes out next for a Kiss Cam. Holy shit, a
*pay-per-view exclusive* Kiss Cam?!!!
Man, I bet all you fools who didn't order this are
kicking yourself now! These are PERKS only allotted
to those of us paying money to watch ugly strangers
make out. Ahem. Ashley then comes to the ring, to
surprising apathy. And she's from New York!
Although, 2/3rds of her reconstructed plastic body
were likely molded and created overseas, hence the
disdain. Or something. All I know is, Ashley does
not really translate well to High Definition. She
kind of looks like someone put a pair of those gummy
red candy lips on a mannequin. I find that hot. They
can't move or talk! My perfect woman. She once again
tries to convince Maria to pose in Playboy, stating
Hef gave her the call. Ya, that's what
happened. You see, Ashley holds so much
stroke (instead of just being hired so you can),
that when companies want new models to promote their
magazine, they call HER FIRST to see if it's okay.
"Hi, random plastic whore we were forced to shoot
nude by WWE last year, this is Playboy magazine
calling. We need more bare titties. Make it happen.
I'm Hef by the way. Bye."
That's exactly how it happened.
Santino however comes out and
saves the segment by being awesome. Then it gets
ruined again by Big Dick Johnson and Ashley fighting
over a Rubber Chicken. I think. Truth is, it's kind
of hazy for me. Probably because I beat my head
against my coffee table until I drew blood. HAHA, a
fat guy in a thong is dancing! And now that girl is
hitting him with a rubber chicken. That's so funny.
It's as if Sports and Entertainment are coming
together in perfect harmony to create something this
is like totally irreverent and hilarious and worth
money. Someone should have dropped shit on him too
or called him a fag. That's the only thing that
could have improved it. My sides would have
definitely split as in the famous example of things
being that funny, you see. I hate everybody.
Up next was Jeff Hardy vs.
Randy Orton. Excuse me, JEFF HARVEY,
as called by new announcer Mike Adamle of AMERICAN
GLADIATORS fame. (Good thing Bobby Lindsay and Bret
Clark aren't here to see this travesty!). Maybe if
Jeff had a really cool name like "FYRE", "ICE" or
"NITRO" Mike would have remembered it. Quick,
someone grab some fucking giant rubber Q-Tips and
start hitting each other. Let's shell-shock this
Anyway, the crowd seems to be
behind Jeff Harvey here in his attempt to take the
title. But alas, nothing. In a gamble between the
fuck up who fails drug tests and blows booking plans
and the other guy who FITS THE EXACT SAME
DESCRIPTION, they chose to stick with the devil they
know, Randy Orton. And yes, if Hell truly is
about punishment, the Devil would be Randy Orton.
Unending Chinlocks > burning sulphur and torture.
HELL IS REPETITION. And chinlocks.
Hardy looked to have things well in hand, but Randy
countered a Twist of Fate into a fantastic RKO and
got the clean pin. Poor Jeff Harvey. He can break
through tables but not glass ceilings. I can just
picture HHH looking down on him, spit-shining the
roof, and then blowing him a raspberry.
Just then, Joey Styles & Tazz
materialize at ringside and put the Rumble over.
Well, that was definitely worth the airfare it cost
Rumble package filled with
cool little Rumbley statistics airs.
1: the number HBK drew when he won the
Rumble in 1995. 3: the number of
Rumbles Steve Austin won. 2: The
number of black-eyes Steve dealt out in a
solitary evening to Debra. 0:
The amount of charisma Bobby Lashley has.
27: The luckiest Rumble number of them
all. Discounting all the dying, strokes and personal
tragedy. Some of these I may have made up. Maybe.
It's now time for the Royal
Rumble, and holy shit, here's Michael Buffer! WWE
really is turning into WCW, after all. This truly is
the greatest night in the history of our sport.
Until the next one.
Undertaker and HBK draw
number 1 and 2 respectively. That's awesome. We get
to start with the same great Tête-à-Huge
Receding-Tête that finished last year. And we're off
in the Forehead 500. If only we could add Sinister
Minister to this thing, we'd truly have a horse
race. I don't even know what I'm talking about
Anyway, I could go through
every single elimination, as I know you're just
dying to know how The Miz and Default Man CAWdy
Rhodes fared, but umm, too bad? That's right. If I
really wanted to write a recap, I'd... write a
recap? This was supposed to sound a hell of a
lot more poetic. Anyway, all you need to know is it
was a great Royal Rumble. Hell, they even carted out
and JIMMY SNUKA for this thing.
Although, if the stupid fucking lucha mask wasn't
covering his tear ducts, I'm pretty sure someone
like Charlie Haas would be crying at his misfortune
of being left off the card in honor of the corpse of
Jimmy Snuka and Rowdy Roddy Piper who's FUCKING
GIGANTIC NOW. Hey, I thought you were supposed to
get thinner when you get cancer? Just when you think
you have all the answers, Piper eats the questions.
And then washes it down with a bagpipe filled
entirely with heavy chicken gravy. He sucks it
through the pipe nozzle like a straw. But hey, I
still marked out. What can I say. Even though it
looked like your Fat Dad was tackling somebody's
ethnic grandmother in her bathing suit. CM Punk must
have noticed, too, because he was laughing his ass
off on the mat. Maybe he should get Roddy addicted
to that competition instead of whatever it is that's
made Roddy look like he stepped on a jelly fish
whilst simultaneously being stung by 10,000
bees. Dear god, Motherfucker's built now like
was this year's Iron Man. Seriously. Despite, you
know, him physically being the complete opposite of
that. (zinc man?) Hey, you get these labels when
you trip and tear all your muscles while jogging
(that's why he only walks now) through a pit of
danger. But it was impressive nonetheless. The only
thing that could have made his performance more
memorable is if a BASKETBALL drew number 30, then
ominously rolled down the Aisle. Big Dave would then
rub his eyes in disbelief, leap over the top rope,
and reevaluate his entire stance on whether sporting
goods are forgiving.
There was also a lot of people
who hung on for a long time. People like John
Morrison, who was out there for almost a half hour.
My theory is that he saw everyone moving in slow
motion bullet-time, and thus was able to easily
avoid their attacks. I'm sticking with that.
Also Hornswoggle hid under the
ring, but was eventually saved by Finlay when Mark
Henry and Big Daddy V looked to assault him. We then
learn that Finlay and Horny are thus DISQUALIFIED
from the Rumble. Who's booking this thing, Vince
Russo? Hey, let's make up some more rules in
mid-match. Let's stick a pole in this thing. Or
electrify the ropes. Or have everyone throw each
other from the floor over the top. Hell, maybe
Hunter should come in and just start fucking pinning
people out of nowhere. Actually, I'm going to shut
up now. I don't want to give them any ideas.
Speaking of the
aforementioned Big Daddy & Henry. They seem to be
working as a tandem here. Which surprises me. I
always assumed that since V looks like one big
half-digested milk dud, that Henry would forget he's
a human and try and consume him. Normally he'd cook
him first, but Henry ruined all the frying pans
backstage by bending them in half because, damn it,
that's what world's strongest people do! Need to
make a phone call? Fuck you. He tore the book in
half. How dare it be all dense and thick and not
ripped in half. Weaklings make phone-calls. It had
Hey, look, there's CHAVO
GUERRERO, the ECW World Champion entering the
Rumble~! Holy shit, I'd love it if he won this thing
then challenged for his own World Title. Imagine the
promo: "Chavo, we've got the belt. Well, we want it.
And we're coming for it at Wrestlemania. Tell me to
bring my A game, because we promise a show we won't
soon forget. At Wrestlemania, we promise us, this
will our last night as champion, and our first."
Makes total sense to me.
And the irony is, it's still a more credible title
program than Lashley vs. Vince last year.
But seriously, this should be
the death knell for ANY of the apologists out there
who desperately think that this company cares about
the ECW title. I'm sure right now, if he was
watching, Shane Douglas would be crying. You
know, if he wasn't already busy re-stacking
lawn-chairs at Target. "CUT THE FUCKING MUZAC. I've
got to do a price-check. Be right back. Kthanx."
Oh, and for the record, Punk
was eliminated by Chavo. So, CM Punxsutawney's
chance of finally ESCAPING the perpetual Groundhog
Day that is ECW has gone up in smoke. Marijuana
smoke. You know, because he's straight edge and
that'd be like annoying to him or something.
By the way, Mick Foley was
also in there, and came in to a HUGE pop but was
ultimately obliterated by Triple H. I however marked
out more for his sweet leopard print vest. It looked
like something a horny 45 year old woman who wears
way too much make-up would wear whilst prowling for
20 year old men at a club. It was awesome and
terrifying at the same time. Maybe next time I'm at
the bar, some cougar will choke me out with a sock
then ravage my unconscious body whilst I slumber,
just to create a karmic balance.
and HBK go out one after the other, soon after. HBK
super-kicked Undertaker out. Taker was then all like
"Good one, dude!" Then remembered who he was, and
then was like "Umm, I mean, REST IN PEACE or
something!". It happened exactly as I said, minus
the lies. Immediately after though, Mr.
Kennedy snuck up behind HBK and dumped him out. If
*I* was Shawn, I'd have just gone and amputated one
of my legs at the knee backstage, that way I'd have
had to win by proxy. I mean, why not? It's not like
the thing isn't going to probably fall off anyway.
Eventually, he'll be wearing knee braces so fucking
big it'll necessitate some
custom made HBK Hammer pants just hide them. The
bright side though, is that one day, when he's being
chased by bad-guys, the braces will suddenly fly off
and he'll be able to run incredibly fast. RUN, HBK!
HHH is in at number 29. I
think he should just piggy back Lemmy to the ring
whilst he sings his theme song. That's how fucking
cool this guy is. Once Triple H got to the ring,
he obliterated everything that stood in his path.
The first victim was CAWdy Rhodes. But not before
yelling out "You need to unlock a new move-set and
costume already! You can do so by purchasing
experience points in your custom locker room!". It
was hard to hear, sure, but my HDTV caught it.
Number 30 was of course the
returning John Cena. Turns out he wasn't injured,
but rather on a whim, he flew to the
original destination of his destroyed hometown of
Krypton Massachusetts to see if it was still there,
but alas nothing. He was then tentative about
returning at all after that, because he feared fan
backlash, but his nameless father, Mr. Cena
actually convinced him otherwise....
Mr. Cena: "They can be a great people,
if they wish to be. They only lack the light to
guide the way".
John Cena: "WORD."
That's how it went down. Trust
me. Anyway, Cena, The Mariniest Marine ever with
otherworldly powers, immediately tosses Carlito, who
once again doesn't somehow utilize his spongy hair
to catapult back into the ring and avoid
elimination. That fool. Chavo goes next. And right
now, there's probably somebody on a message-board I
won't mention that is saying "I hope Cena goes and
challenges Chavo for the ECW title!!!!!11 That
proves right there he can beat him!!!!". That person
then goes right back to being spoon-fed pureed
vegetables by a nurse for their own protection.
From there, to make it a
hat-trick, a hat likely turned on a jaunty angle so
to please the throngs of white kiddies who think
they are black, Cena tosses out the Silverback, Mark
Henry. GORILLA WARFARE~! I always promised I'd use
that line one day, and that day is today.
From there, Kennedy goes out,
and Batista and HHH dump out Umaga, and his
horrifyingly bright red tights. A pair for the
record that even had his name "Umaga" embroidered on
the ass. I guess, so he knows which pair in the back
are his. Which is hilarious. Isn't he a savage? Do
they even pack luggage? And how'd he even know what
it said? What's the point? I'd prefer if it was just
"Ah Blah Blah Fa Samoa!" written on there instead.
I've at least heard him say that...
HHH then tosses Batista out
after he tried a Batista bomb on Cena. So much for
the EVOLUTION reunion. HHH must have decided on
Intelligent-Design instead. I can't say I blame him.
Batista's living proof that Evolution is a
falsehood. He is after all still the same shitty
wrestler he was 5 years ago. Shouldn't he have
evolved by now? Natural selection should have upped
his move-set to at least 3 holds by now. Ah, I kid.
I just wanted to use an Evolution joke and the only
other one I had involved the coincidence of HHH
naming his bulldog Lucy. What do you want.
So, this just leaves Triple H
and John Cena. It's just like Warrior and Hogan in
1990, only involving people you hate and are not at
all interested in seeing clog up the main event
scene. Other than that? Identical. The two circle
each other, and HHH points up at the Wrestlemania
sign. Cena nods accordingly. Then HHH says, "Of
course, even if I
lose here, I'm still going to be in the main
event. Did you forget where I put my
dick?". John Cena's then all like "You
mean, Shawn Michaels? I saw him in the back". They
then laugh and laugh. I know this, you see, because
I'm a lip reader.
The two then put on a pretty
good little short counter-fest, but Cena ultimately
prevails, by flying quickly through MSG's roof, and
through Earth's atmosphere, just enough to soak in
the rich rays of the yellow sun of the earth, then
he quickly flies back, and throws Triple H out with
an FU. Truth, Justice, Hustle, Loyalty, Respect and
the All American Way, yo. And he did it all with a
broken freakin' pec.
FINAL THOUGHTS: Never eat a Meatball
sub after you've drank and smoked up for 3 hours
straight. Trust me.
Oh, and a GREAT Rumble. Some of the
booking was suspect, but I was entertained. At least
the guy who went over gets pushed because of
reaction, and not because his penis could give you
an eye-witness account of what Steph's vital
internal organs look like. So, I'm good. Normally, I'd further endorse it with a
hearty two thumbs up, but my extremities are too
numb and I've apparently lost most movement in my
body. Will you settle for some blinking and then me
falling asleep fully clothed where I sit? Good
And hopefully, Anvil writes a
Recap that doesn't leave you saying "What the fuck
just happened here?!". You know, like this one just
Send Feedback to Sean
Sean Carless is a man of many hats.
And he wears those hats to cover an ever-increasing
bald spot. Sean's various scribblings have been read
at Live Audio Wrestling, 411 Mania, Honky Tonk
Man.com, The Toronto Star.com, Wrestlecrap, and
Lethal Wrestling. He has also cured AIDS.