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The Best And Worst Of WWE Raw 8/22

By / 08.23.11

Best: Kevin Nash. Wait, What

So far I’ve been wrong, and I’m not afraid to admit it.

I’m enjoying Kevin Nash’s contributions to WWE programming, especially now that his hair dye is washing out and he’s got big skunk patches behind his ears and a white border around his hair-lip. Maybe he’s using “Touch Of Gray”. Nash is showing exactly the kind of vulnerability I requested from Triple H, and while I’m not wholly convinced he’s doing it on purpose he’s giving me a great reason to cheer for CM Punk to beat him to death without letting me forget that he’s 7-feet tall and enormous and could crush Punk like a bug, or less significantly, a Misfit In Action. I’m taking the January Jones defense on Nash: I think his stunted delivery and script-reading voice are on purpose, and I think when we’re done with this feeling out process and Nash gets revealed as the muscle behind somebody’s conspiratorial Corporation his “aw shucks, I wanted to fight!” and “here’s what they told me to say about you” acts will make sense. If he’s in on some grander scam, why would he let the Fat Chicks Need Love Too “Big Sexy” voice out? He’s pretending, playing a role, trying to get Punk to buy what he’s selling. Yes, I said Kevin Nash is doing a good job of selling.

Yes, there’s a very real chance that I’m full of sh*t here and that he’s just old and worse at his job than we remember, but Triple H’s selective chicken-sh*ttedness could really turn into something fantastic if played right. The ongoing suggestion that everyone in power is huddling up to pull some grand masterstroke (hopefully involving Teddy Long having another heart attack, preferably at another in-ring wedding) is interesting, because they’re saving dollars after a lifetime of spending it all in one place. It’s terrifying waiting for that other shoe to drop. You just KNOW they’re going to mess it up, right? And what happens if they don’t? I feel like Joan Osborne, asking you if you’d look at God’s face if it meant you had to believe in all the prophets.

Worst: “Triple H Your Wife Is A Hag” Can Only Go So Far

While I don’t want to come down on CM Punk for his always-exceptional work on the microphone, I do want to go ahead and say I’m laughing at Stephanie McMahon being called Triple H’s “bean-headed wife” right now, but eventually that’s going to turn into what happened when piss-poor babyface Chris Jericho called her a whore every week, and that’s not good. I think this is where what you can and can’t say to Triple H in the reality era starts to kick in. Punk hasn’t mentioned the racist trouncing of Booker T or the bisexual banana eating or the whole “f**king a corpse to make fun of a mental reprobate manslaughterer” stuff, he just keeps saying Triple H has a wife.

To those of us with wives (note: I do not have a wife), stuff like “holding a purse” isn’t a big deal. You love your partner, and you’re gonna stand there doing nothing while she tries on clothes anyway, who gives a sh*t if you’re holding a purse, you aren’t Don Draper and this is 2011. Asking your wife’s opinion about important social or financial matters doesn’t make you a “fag”, it makes you a normal person. It’s funny because we hate Triple H, but yeah, let’s let sleeping dogs with huge Connecticut asses lie. Move on to more biting material, or have Triple H reveal Tiffany as the anonymous Raw general manager and give her six months to convince Punk that drinking means you’re having fun with friends.

Best: It Was Vince, Wasn’t It

Yeah, so Punk said “I THINK IT WAS STEPHANIE WHAT HAD SENT THOSE TEXTS”, which (in the wrestling world) rules out any possibility of it being Stephanie. The obvious choices are John Laurinaitis, Triple H or some combination of the two, but Lord knows it’s not outside the realm of possibility that Triple H is innocent and Vince McMahon really is pulling an Arrested Development and making his surrogate do his power-walking dirty work. I think that’s something Vince would do. His early career was about subtle, behind-the-scenes promotion ideas, but at some point he became a growling, tonguing thing from Resident Evil who just wants everyone he employs to be miserable. Much like how the YOU DON’T WORK HEREs directed at Kevin Nash let you know that by next week he’ll be hired and shuffling out to an entrance theme, the “day-to-day operations” part of Vince’s firing let you know he’s still there, still doing things, and always one clandestine monk robe away from revealing himself as the reason for everything.

Best: The Raw GM’s Lectern

That is a lectern, right? I don’t know the difference between a lectern and a podium. Anyway, the Raw GM hasn’t been mentioned since Money in the Bank, but his whole set-up with the laptop and the microphones is still there every week to the immediate left of Cole. So what does that mean? If they were going to send him back to his home planet they would’ve just quietly removed it, but I think they’re keeping the airwaves quiet long enough for a really hot segment to get REALLY interrupted by that iPhone noise and piss people off SO HARD. It’s gonna be great, and Michael Cole’s “may I have your attention please” spiel will feel enraging and nostalgic at the same time.


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