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| Cliché alert! Cliché alert! Photo Credit: WWE.com |
The thing about WWE having their deepest, most talented roster is that not everybody can be a Cena or Orton, or, for that matter, even a Kingston. In order for there to be a ceiling, there has to be a floor. Otherwise that's not a house you're in, it's a death trap. And on the final February Main Event, you got to see the floor. Maybe three times.
The floor is not a wholly degenerative term, it should be noted. And since every company needs some sort of metric of full ineptitude, one should be grateful that in this Networked Era, the floor's clean enough to eat off of. Those with longer memories can easily recoil and recall at a decade or so ago in the post-Invasion era what it looked like -- the floor was covered with broken glass and singing Creed off-key. Road Warrior Animal? Tatanka? The Gymini? This list goes on, but listening to My Own Prison twenty times in a row is preferable to dredging up that sludge again.
Nowadays, if you're Stamford, the floor is exhibited by Heath Slater: a king-sized bumper who the audience always wants to see get his face punched in. When he and the rest of 3MB teamed with AxelBack to take on the Rhodes Brothers (speaking of things falling towards the floor) and Los Matadores con El Torito in a 9-and-a-half man tag, we all knew how it was going to end. The dominoes started falling as Ryback dominated Cody Rhodes, then in short order cheap shotted his brother and his lucha partners; at this point they may need to be renamed Los Miércoleses
So when Cody pulled off the Disaster kick, that left him one tiny white ball of fire to reach out to, and Torito came in a-fussin' and a-snortin'. We learned that Torito contains Mysterioesque properties of being unpowerbombable, and that given the planche doble example set by the Santanists that the Rhodesia could also pull off apron cannonballs and double jump planchas of their own. We learned the crowd was highly amused in the pelvic wiggle v. air guitar unspoken debate between the closing men, and that Slater was unafraid to get his White Goodman on. Fat lot of good it did him, since he got basement rana drivered -- the second deadliest finisher in WWE besides John Cena being alive -- and pinned.
While Slater was pissed off Byron Saxton was asking him the obvious after the match, he didn't Cesaro him. Saying you're better than this is such a non sequitur as to be not worth saying: you're an adult and former tag team Champion who got pinned by a midget wearing a gentrified Shamwow. The question is, was this just an unnecessary sop for the ilk of us BCBers or was all that time away and now this leading towards something of a split in the air guitar band camp? When even your shuffle knows you're writing about 3MB and starts in with The Kids Don't Stand A Chance, something's gotta change, right?
Ehhhh...not so much. That's what Damien Sandow was hoping, getting to lock hor--getting to go against Sin Cara in the evening's finale. And he won the match on points. He was more aggressive than usual, and the MITB loss and subsequent losing streak didn't seem to be in the genius' head as he whaled on the luchador for about 300 seconds. He even got a chant from a slightly meta crowd. But despite his willingness to launder freely from the Copeland setlist (reverse mat slam, modified Sharpshooter) and drop some fisticuffs pre-Cubito, what he ended up was nearly Full Slatered, gamengiried and Falling Starred by the masked man who has never seen Camacho before in his life. If 3MB and specifically Heath Slater are the floor, it's possible the goateed mental giant is on his way to falling through it.
As for the divas, Eva Marie is to attractiveness what Lex Luger is to physique. This, of course, means watching her wrestle is the sort of thing one does under protest while cringing, but again, a floor must be established and there are always ways of making a hook shine like new. In this case, she teamed with NattieKat as Team Total Divas to battle Foxsana. She knew enough to avoid the kneedrop of doom, and Alicia Fox made her look like several hundred thousand dollars before uncorking a vicious tilt-a-whirl backbreaker and the BEST NORTHERN LIGHTS IN THE BUSINESS. (Mandatory whine about Alicia Fox not getting nearly enough shine but having to watch her sell Eva's Down On Day One arm wringers like they're busaiku knees so the smark card will renew itself, then moving on.)
And even this flooritude, this Sandowicity and Slaterness, played into the finish as Eva knew enough to cut Alicia off but ended up coming back to the apron at the moment Aksana was kicking Nattie off the Sharpshooter and inadvertently into her partner; a spinebuster later, the Lithuanian and the former Lisa Frank Memorial Belt holder were celebrating. Then again, it threw to a lengthy Total Divas promo for me, so who really won?
In a night defined by the losers, Darren Young narrowly avoided being casted down with the dregs, but it wasn't easy sledding against his former tag partner Titus O'Neil. Once this became a power game, it became Titus', and it was all Young could do to weather the storm of cheating, big boots, and throws into the second turnbuckle. Actually, he had to rely on his stealth, getting his win and some retribution from the PPV with a sunset flip rollup. Yet that spoke not only to his guile, but of TON's arrogance and power along the way. Young hopped up on the barrier, next to the same fans he'd double fist-bumped on the way in while the former Gator blew his stack in the ring.
You could almost see the thought in his mind based on the relief in his face: good thing I didn't go Full Slater.
The floor is not a wholly degenerative term, it should be noted. And since every company needs some sort of metric of full ineptitude, one should be grateful that in this Networked Era, the floor's clean enough to eat off of. Those with longer memories can easily recoil and recall at a decade or so ago in the post-Invasion era what it looked like -- the floor was covered with broken glass and singing Creed off-key. Road Warrior Animal? Tatanka? The Gymini? This list goes on, but listening to My Own Prison twenty times in a row is preferable to dredging up that sludge again.
Nowadays, if you're Stamford, the floor is exhibited by Heath Slater: a king-sized bumper who the audience always wants to see get his face punched in. When he and the rest of 3MB teamed with AxelBack to take on the Rhodes Brothers (speaking of things falling towards the floor) and Los Matadores con El Torito in a 9-and-a-half man tag, we all knew how it was going to end. The dominoes started falling as Ryback dominated Cody Rhodes, then in short order cheap shotted his brother and his lucha partners; at this point they may need to be renamed Los Miércoleses
So when Cody pulled off the Disaster kick, that left him one tiny white ball of fire to reach out to, and Torito came in a-fussin' and a-snortin'. We learned that Torito contains Mysterioesque properties of being unpowerbombable, and that given the planche doble example set by the Santanists that the Rhodesia could also pull off apron cannonballs and double jump planchas of their own. We learned the crowd was highly amused in the pelvic wiggle v. air guitar unspoken debate between the closing men, and that Slater was unafraid to get his White Goodman on. Fat lot of good it did him, since he got basement rana drivered -- the second deadliest finisher in WWE besides John Cena being alive -- and pinned.
While Slater was pissed off Byron Saxton was asking him the obvious after the match, he didn't Cesaro him. Saying you're better than this is such a non sequitur as to be not worth saying: you're an adult and former tag team Champion who got pinned by a midget wearing a gentrified Shamwow. The question is, was this just an unnecessary sop for the ilk of us BCBers or was all that time away and now this leading towards something of a split in the air guitar band camp? When even your shuffle knows you're writing about 3MB and starts in with The Kids Don't Stand A Chance, something's gotta change, right?
Ehhhh...not so much. That's what Damien Sandow was hoping, getting to lock hor--getting to go against Sin Cara in the evening's finale. And he won the match on points. He was more aggressive than usual, and the MITB loss and subsequent losing streak didn't seem to be in the genius' head as he whaled on the luchador for about 300 seconds. He even got a chant from a slightly meta crowd. But despite his willingness to launder freely from the Copeland setlist (reverse mat slam, modified Sharpshooter) and drop some fisticuffs pre-Cubito, what he ended up was nearly Full Slatered, gamengiried and Falling Starred by the masked man who has never seen Camacho before in his life. If 3MB and specifically Heath Slater are the floor, it's possible the goateed mental giant is on his way to falling through it.
As for the divas, Eva Marie is to attractiveness what Lex Luger is to physique. This, of course, means watching her wrestle is the sort of thing one does under protest while cringing, but again, a floor must be established and there are always ways of making a hook shine like new. In this case, she teamed with NattieKat as Team Total Divas to battle Foxsana. She knew enough to avoid the kneedrop of doom, and Alicia Fox made her look like several hundred thousand dollars before uncorking a vicious tilt-a-whirl backbreaker and the BEST NORTHERN LIGHTS IN THE BUSINESS. (Mandatory whine about Alicia Fox not getting nearly enough shine but having to watch her sell Eva's Down On Day One arm wringers like they're busaiku knees so the smark card will renew itself, then moving on.)
And even this flooritude, this Sandowicity and Slaterness, played into the finish as Eva knew enough to cut Alicia off but ended up coming back to the apron at the moment Aksana was kicking Nattie off the Sharpshooter and inadvertently into her partner; a spinebuster later, the Lithuanian and the former Lisa Frank Memorial Belt holder were celebrating. Then again, it threw to a lengthy Total Divas promo for me, so who really won?
In a night defined by the losers, Darren Young narrowly avoided being casted down with the dregs, but it wasn't easy sledding against his former tag partner Titus O'Neil. Once this became a power game, it became Titus', and it was all Young could do to weather the storm of cheating, big boots, and throws into the second turnbuckle. Actually, he had to rely on his stealth, getting his win and some retribution from the PPV with a sunset flip rollup. Yet that spoke not only to his guile, but of TON's arrogance and power along the way. Young hopped up on the barrier, next to the same fans he'd double fist-bumped on the way in while the former Gator blew his stack in the ring.
You could almost see the thought in his mind based on the relief in his face: good thing I didn't go Full Slater.
