The Best And Worst Of WWE Raw 11/5/12: This Is How We Watch Pre-Taped Shows

By: 11.06.12

Best: Wade Barrett, Superstar

Last night was a fantastic example of how cool WWE becomes when you let the wrestlers be accepted as Gods in their hometowns.

Wade Barrett was treated as a superstar for one of the first times ever last night. Even when he was being tossed under a production cart by John Cena and murdered with chairs he felt like an afterthought, the cowardly leader of a bunch of nobodies. Here, Paul Heyman was talking to him like he was the most important person in the world, and the crowd went BONKERS for everything he did. Wade’s the real deal. He’s a huge guy with an above average ability to pro wrestle, he’s handsome enough to be the “handsome” guy and tough enough to be tough. If you could just let him be as smart and interesting as he seems in real life AND give him a finish that looks like it could knock out a newborn kitten, you’d really be onto something.

But yeah, I’m back in the Barrett Barrage. He should use this as an example of how WWE crowds should treat and respect him whenever he’s anywhere other than England. Let England be his Chicago, and never make him call them You People.

Best: Thank God I Bought That WWE ’13 Fan Axxess Pack So I Can Change Brodus Clay To A 30 Overall

Whew, Brodus Clay.

I think it’s safe to say that Brodus’s star has fallen as low as it’s gonna fall with a WWE paycheck, and that if they’re ever gonna have him ditch the Funkadactyls, fire Cameron for being a weird drunken liar, shift Naomi into wrestling like they should’ve a year ago and convince audiences that Brodus HATES DANCING FOR THEIR ENJOYMENT and would rather YELL ABOUT PHILOSOPHY as the muscle/bodyguard for Rhodes Scholar or Alberto Del Rio or whoever, now’s the time. The guy is just the shits right now. His moveset is “hope they touch my head” and he loses in under five minutes to anybody better than JTG. PULL THE STRINGS, guys.

Best: Did WWE Finally Read The Internet And Discover How Much Everyone Hates The Overdrive?

I bailed on this show after hour 2 last night (that Davey Vega Create-A-Superstar isn’t going to make itself) and caught up with what happened this morning, and my favorite part of doing that is watching wrestling reporters try to identify which Uso Heath Slater wrestled. I think it was Bobby! BOBBY USO!

I love the 3MB gimmick but I already miss a lot of my favorite things about Heath Slater (the Johnny Cash tights, the ‘Flirtin’ With Disaster’ rip-off music … uh, Drew McIntyre), but the eyeliner somehow makes him even less likable, and as CAW as it is, the Impaler is a way better finish than the Overdrive. The Overdrive requires wacky balance and the belief that falling onto your back from a bent over position is deadly because you spin and is not the exact same motion you use to get into bed. Now they just need to stick with a finish and let him establish it, or give him 15 more and let him claim them all. I would support a wrestler who yelled about how EVERY MOVE IS MY SPECIAL MOVE!

Also, from now on and for no reason, the Usos are to be known on this website as Bobby and Rick.

Jack Swagger Of Mars

Jack Swagger Of Mars

Chapter 5

A tight close-up of a man tying his shoes. As we pulled back, living vicariously through the WWE Universe’s cameraman, we saw the hulking figure of WWE strong-ish-man Mason Ryan. Sat next to him was United States Champion Antonio Cesaro, smiling from ear to ear because he’d just used his incredible intelligence to teach a 30-year old Welsh guy how to tie his shoes. Suddenly, the head of WWE Creative burst into the room. His eyes darted around to the colorful, sleeveless jackets hanging around the room and finally focused on the taught, orange skin of Ryan.

“You! Mr. McMahon wants you! Ugh, I’ve been looking for you for like two months.”

“Congratulations, Mason,” said Cesaro, patting Ryan on the shoulder. “You’re finally back.”

“Well, not exactly.” WWE Creative had never been known for their assertiveness. “You aren’t returning to television, but we are giving you a gimmick change.”

Mason Ryan’s massive eyes rolled. He’d just heard about the character of Fandangoo and worried that he’d have to spend all weekend being fitted for shiny pants. I mean, he had plenty of shiny bicycle shorts, but none of them were long enough to be considered a “pant”.

“Fleahgflah,” he said.


“What he said was,” Cesaro offered, “What’s the gimmick? I know what he’s saying because I speak many languages, and Welsh is one of them.”

“Oh, that’s convenient,” said the writer. “How’d you learn Welsh?”

“I looked at a wall of consonants and just word jumbled them until they made sentences.” Cesaro looked especially proud. “By the way, while you’re here, I have a great idea to bring up my girlfriend, you see, she lives in my house and is the best female wrestler in the world, and she’s already supposed to be in developmental but so far she’s just stood in group shots, and I think she could-”

“Anyway,” the head of creative interrupted. “Mason, your new gimmick is a United States General.”

Mason’s eyebrows perked up, meaning they stayed exactly where they were.

“You’re a general, but like … a SPACE general. Which means you fly spaceships. Or, I guess you just ride in the spaceship, and other people drive it, because you’re in charge of them. That sound good?”

Mason nodded.

“Cool, we’re putting you in a program with Jack Swagger.”

“Jah SWAGGER??!” Mason Ryan erupted. He turned and flipped over a table, spilling several clipboards and partially signed WWE contracts.

“That’s pretty cold,” Cesaro added. “Kalt. Frío. Fred-”

“Jesus Christ. Cesaro, you’re wrestling R-Truth when we go to England.”

Cesaro did not say another word.

“Mason, you’re a space general now and your mission is to fly to Mars and retrieve Jack Swagger. That’s … where he is, I guess.”

Mason nodded again. He had never thought about Jack Swagger, so he might as well be on Mars.

“We don’t know what’s up there, so you’re gonna take a bunch of our staff and a bunch of troops, because we love the troops, and you’re going to … smoke him out. Burn Mars to the ground if you have to. Turn it into a pit of danger and walk around in it, whatever you want to do. Just get Jack Swagger back to Mr. McMahon so we can put him into meaningless undercard matches and not have to hire anybody else over 6-5 to do it. Got it?”

“YEAHRGHHH” Mason affirmed, standing and raising his arms above his head.

“And here,” the writer said, tossing Ryan a black tank top. “Put this on. We need you to stand around the ring tonight, Ryback’s gonna do a thing with Punk in a lumberjack match and we need lumberjacks. If you put on a shirt nobody will see your muscles, and shit, that’s the only way I can fathom somebody recognizing you.”

Ryan’s lips curled. His eyes tightened as he turned his attention to the writer. The writer, having never been physically confronted for something bad he said about a wrestler, was already emptying his bowels. Ryan snatched him by the throat, slamming him against the wall. If he’d been a stronger guy, he would’ve lifted the writer off the ground. In perfect English, he spoke.

“I will Jack Swagger. I will Mars!”

Okay, almost perfect English. Ryan stormed out of the room, leaving Antonio Cesaro to ponder five other ways to tell a man he pissed all over himself.


Jack Swagger of Earth sat patiently as the Descent Shaft transport began to slow. A series of LED lights illuminated the seating area, causing Kaa’orri to begin digging in her bag, looking for something. After a moment, she pressed down the bag in frustration and reached for her speeder helmet.

“Here, put this on.”

Jack took the helmet. “Whath THITH for?”

“The people of Hellas haven’t seen a human in … well, I don’t know how long. I don’t want them getting suspicious of you. I’m just going to make my delivery, keep you as dimly-lit as possible for as long as possible, then drag you back up this shaft. You’ll get yourself killed. Plus … no offense, but your hair is weird.”

“Thith from a lady WITHOUT hair,” Jack countered. Kaa’orri glared at him for several seconds.

“All right, offense. All of you looks weird. Is your hair even that color? And aren’t you people supposed to be able to grow facial hair?”

“Awright awright.” Jack Swagger placed the helmet over his weird, weird head.

“Be careful,” Kaa’orri added. “You aren’t going to believe what you’re about to see.”

The transport doors slowly opened, and a brilliant white light filled the cabin. They had arrived in the great Martian city of Hellas.

Around The Web