From the “Well, I sure the heck didn’t see that coming” Department: Our most recent induction, the infamous Iron Circle Match, elicited perhaps the biggest email response of any write-up in recent memory. (And yes, you can email the author of any induction simply by clicking on the shiny yellow letters to the right of “Text by” – just another way we are here to serve you, fellow Crappers.)
Were hordes of Ken Shamrock supporters voicing their displeasure for ol’ RD mocking their hero? Did the Steve Blackman Lethal Weapon Brigade come swinging nunchucks at my head?
No…and…no.
Actually, what happened was perhaps something even more ridiculous, as I got email after email about this string of words:
“Regardless, the most important thing isn’t so much that Cena is alive and well, it’s rather that his scheduled encounter with JBL this Sunday at the Great American Bash is still on. And what an encounter that promises to be, as it’s not just any old match, oh no. It’s a New York City Parking Lot Brawl.
My question: what’s the statute of limitations for a WWE parking lot match?
My second question: if it really is 9 years, is there anyway we can make it longer than that? Like 99 years?”
Believe it or not (and I still have a hard time with this one), I got email after email explaining that I shouldn’t knock such a bout, as there was a really good one a few years back, also featuring Eddie Guerrero taking on John Cena, ironically enough. While I would soon become annoyed at the sheer volume of these emails, the tone of them greatly amused me, as they ranged from gentle reminders to profanity-laced tirades about what a ****ing son of a mother ******* ***** **** sucking ******* ****** I was.
I have no idea what the dude was even saying with all those asterisks, but I am guessing it was rather naughty.
Anyway, the point of all this is that you would think that after all these years of writing these silly things, I would learn that making blanket statemens is always a bad idea. One day I am sure I will learn that.
One day…but not today.
Because mud matches always suck.
ALWAYS, I SAYS!
First up, we have Major (Tylene Buck) Gunns. Hired under the “WWE Struck Gold with Trish Stratus, So We Need To Hire Every Fitness Model Under the Sun” protocol of the late 1990’s, Gunns was the very definition of a wrestling skank: bleach blonde and balloony boobed.
With her pitbull-esque face, she never did much for me. Still, I’d never dare say such a thing to her face, as she looked like she probably could legit kick somebody’s ass. In fact, I could just see her going all Beowulf on me and ripping my arm off and beat me with it just for comparing her to Matilda.
So Major Gunns, you are quite the beauty.
Now please leave my arms where they are.
Her opponent this evening was the much more svelte and way more attractive Miss Hancock, better known these days by her real name, Stacy Keibler.
You remember her, right? Big star in WWE, moved on to Dancing with the Stars where she became a bigger star and then, despite being still with WWE at the time, was promptly ignored?
Sometimes this company is just as dumb as WCW.
Stacy was never known for massive chesticles, but rather for her incredibly long legs. Both companies would trumpet her gams, and they were truly something to behold.
Anyone remember how long they were?
That’s right:
246 pixels, baby!
So the two got in the ring…uh…where’s the mud?
Must be another Vince Russo SWERVE!
Yes, in this mud match, we didn’t get mud – we got wrestling! And what an encounter we got, with the two trading holds as if it were a true blue Greco-Roman affair. Indeed, the announce crew began comparing it to five-star encounters from the past.
Wait…did Tony just say he saw Steamboat and Flair naked?
Disturbing.
Apparently the way to win this mud match (which, again, isn’t taking place in mud) is to strip your opponent of her camoflage. Not sure how you accomplish that by pinning her shoulders to the mat…
…or bouncing up and down on her chest, but I’ve never claimed to be the mat technician these two were.
Maybe Stacy thought constantly dropping her 105 pounds on Tylene’s implants to burst, and that the implants were filled not with saline, but acid, and thus the shirt would disintegrate.
I think I’ve put too much thought into this.
Whatever, it proves successful, as soon enough Stacy wins the match by ripping off Gunns’ shirt and shorts.
I’d point out that Gunns was wearing camo bra and camo panties, but that might make this match go even longer and I’m not prepared for that, as Tony might start talking about more guys he saw naked back in the day.
It’s going to be hard enough to get the thought of a Dragon-Naitch-Tony three-way out of my head.
Hey, waitaminute…THERE’S the mud! Didn’t Stacy already win?
Did I miss something?
Whatever, I guess this match is going to continue. So Stacy throws Gunns into the mud, then gets in herself. She starts dancing, only to stop abruptly, double over, and clutch her stomach.
My only guess as to what happened here is that someone let her in on the train pulling exploits of Messers Schiavone, Flair, and Steamboat.
(And please, don’t email me and explain that it was actually the start of Stacy’s pregnancy/miscarriage angle – I’ve not built up the tolerance to cover that whole fiasco yet.)
So Gunns wins this match by pinning the helpless Miss Hancock in the mud.
Yes, she won the match in which the stipulation was that you had to tear off their camoflage by pinning her opponent.
Stupid, but at least better than Sheik vs. Singh.
SPEAKING OF SHEIK VS. SINGH…
So, again, there has never – EVER – been a good pro wrestling mud match.
Period.
End of discussion.
And don’t email me about one you thought was good.
My SHIFT-8 finger is at the ready!
Mark Madden: “This reminds me of Thesz-O’ Connor. Except I really didn’t want to see them naked.”
Tony Schiavone: “Snap mare over, over the top.”
Madden: “Steamboat-Flair. But I didn’t really want to see them naked either.”
Tony: “But many of us did.”
Scott Hudson: “Good point.”