Best: Now There’s A Champion I Could See M’Self Drinkin’ A Beer With
It’s such a small thing, but having the newly-minted face champions enter through the crowd is a perfect way to humanize and endear them to the audience. I guess the idea is to present these guys not as larger-than-life characters, but as legitimate, relocatable members of the audience they claim to represent. It’s sort of like the smark version of when rednecks used to talk about how great it was to finally have a President they could drink a beer with. Except not really, since in this case, two of the Presidents don’t drink, and the third President only drinks fermented rat piss mixed with scented dish soap.
Worst: Yes, Mr. Cole. EVERYTHING Stinks
I guess after tonight we can go ahead and add “wrestlers who grew up wanting to become wrestlers” and “wrestlers who actually interact with the people paying to watch them perform” as qualifiers for what makes somebody a goof. I want to strap Michael Cole to a metal table, clamp his eyes open and force him to watch old VHS recordings of mid-90′s Disney Afternoon until his nose starts bleeding and he dies of a brain aneurysm.
Though I’d be remiss if I didn’t point out how clever it was of him to refer to the team of Punk, Bryan and Ryder as “The Three Stooges.” You see, it’s an apt comparison on account of both groups are comprised of exactly three people and furthermore,
Best: Six Main-Eventers, Six Fresh Faces
I can’t tell you how relieving it was to be treated to a main-event consisting entirely of people new to the position. Especially when given free reign to work a solid ten-minute sprint. It was a showcase of a direction the company (should) be working toward, and providing Vince doesn’t either get cold feet due to a lack of instant gratification or decide to appoint a heroic dog as his new top star, there’s no reason they shouldn’t ultimately get there.