Best: JTG’s Brooklyn Nets Trunks, And Nothing Else
Brodus Clay is just sticking around to be half of one of those “big guys square off in the Royal Rumble” spots they love so much, right? Clay squashing JTG is something we’ve seen like five times already, and it keeps getting less effective. Antonio Cesaro should’ve shown up and Neutralized them at the same time.
YOU ARE SHACKLING NAOMI (and Cameron, but mostly Naomi) TO YOUR DUMB IDENTITY, BRODUS, DO SOMETHING ELSE SO SHE CAN CONTRIBUTE.
Worst: I Can’t Keep Giving Worsts To The Same Thing, So Just “The Rest Of The Slammys” And “The Rest Of These 25 Second Matches”
I feel like these matches didn’t even happen. I don’t want to devote a Worst to every minute-ish match or asinine AND THE AWARD GOES TO BOOGERS segment they did, so I’m going to lump the remaining palaver into this one, sad Worst.
I liked the finish to this match enough, but has anybody figured out why Sin Cara still gets his mood-lighting when he’s wrestling singles, and why it goes away when he’s wrestling in a tag? Does Rey Mysterio have to give him a sedative or something before they wrestle to make the blue and orange go away? If the guy’s gotten a reputation for botching too much and he’s already wearing a mask with no proper eye holes, why do you make him do it in the almost-dark? Cut some holes in his mask (I don’t know, like this, maybe?), turn on the goddamn lights and let him do his loosey-goosey ranas without hurting himself.
Best: Sheamus, Babyface For Real, Or
Best: Big Show’s Chair Is Still Hilarious
But no, remember earlier in the report where I was talking about how the Ric Flair segment worked, because the good guys were acting like good guys, and the bad guys were the ones saying and doing things to make us boo? Apparently WWE’s worst line-crossing offender, Sheamus, was taking notes. I can’t believe I’m typing it, but I (for I think the first time ever) am giving f**king SHEAMUS a Best for ACTING LIKE A GOOD GUY FOR REAL.
Seriously, he came to the ring to congratulate Big Show on their match at TLC, offered to shake his hand, and actually shook it. He didn’t pull him in and hit him with White Noise like a sore loser or anything. He tried to peacefully leave the ring, and it was SHOW who tossed out a prejudiced insult to start the fighting. I LOVE YOU, WHOEVER IN WWE CREATIVE STARTED PAYING ATTENTION TO HOW THEIR CHARACTERS THINK AND ACT. It feels so weird giving Worsts to all the matches, and Bests to all the talky in-ring stuff.
Please continue being the guy you are off the show ON it, Sheamus. And disregard the TERRIBLE ASSHOLES in the crowd who chant “what” at you and Show, because they’re barely paying attention and remembered they hadn’t yelled WHAT in a while.
Worst: John Cena, Ruiner
If Sheamus hadn’t been the bigger man seconds earlier, I’d be giving this the most sorrowful Worst I could, but as it stands, it’s just another example of Cena being the company’s biggest butthole.
Did they give us a good reason why Cena is justified in running down and attacking Ziggler while he tries to cash in Money In The Bank? Why is it Cena’s problem? He ran into the locker room to attack Dolph Ziggler a few weeks ago, and Ziggler beat him up. So his response is to jump Ziggler from behind on Smackdown and choke him out. That gets him a TLC match for the Money In The Bank Briefcase. The one Ziggler earned fairly, not the one Cena won by accident and lost cashing in. Cena loses THAT because of AJ, not because of Ziggler. So what’s his response on Raw? To jump Ziggler from behind while he tries to win a match.
You are the worst, John. The worst.
Jack Swagger Of Mars
General Mason Ryan stood at the center of the bridge of his impossible warship, calmly applying baby oil as the million-ton behemoth cruised high above the pink sands of Mars. He made sure to get oil in under the medals he’d pinned to his pectoral, because “general.” “Finally,” he thought to himself. “I have a gimmick.”
“Yafoun a cwarnah f’juSWARE?” he asked.
“Uh, I’m sorry?” responded the ship’s navigator.
Mason Ryan’s eyes closed slightly as he stared down the much smaller man, who was, let’s say, Caylen Croft.
“Oh, uhhh…” The navigator stalled, taking a wild guess at what his hulking, Welsh commander had asked. “We’re … still looking for Jack Swagger. Nothing’s come in on the radar uh, quite yet.”
Mason nodded his head in acknowledgment, and the navigator let out a sigh of relief. Before he could relax, General Ryan snatched him by the back of the head, dragging him out of the navigation chair and into the center of the room. Ryan pulled the much smaller man’s head between his own thighs and used them to hold him there while the General taunted at the other people on the bridge. With a swift motion, General Ryan lifted the man up onto his shoulder for a punishing Argentine back breaker!
“BLEAHGH GHAH BLAHGHHH” the man screamed. After a few moments of carnage, Ryan dropped the man and held out his arms, inviting the opinions of his crew.
“HOWSAT FA FINISH!!!” he asked.
“It’s great, General Ryan, yes sir. Finishing move of the year, without a doubt!” they answered, in that way where you could tell they really meant “nothing you do ever works or impresses people.” Ryan, however, took the compliment and resumed his baby oiling. Compliments are few and far between when you are Mason Ryan, especially when you are on Mars.
A new man (who was, let’s say, Lucky Cannon) settled into the navigation chair. With General Ryan’s ruthless aggression temporarily quelled, he dared start a conversation with the ship’s pilot, who was, let’s say, Maxine.
“Is he always like this?”
“No, not always. This is the first time we’ve seen him in months. That was a pretty impressive display of power!”
“Uh, sure, I guess,” the new navigator asked. “It kinda looked like Caylen jumped for him.”
Maxine The pilot shot him a quick glance, as if to say STOP EXPOSING THE BUSINESS, or possibly just “shut up before the muscle man decides to kill us, too.”
“General Ryan is extremely powerful. You have no idea what he’s capable of.”
“I … I guess not,” the navigator muttered.
“Maybe you should just shut up and chart our course.”
“I’ve never done this before, but … here goes nothing!” The navigator began flipping buttons on the ship’s control console. Suddenly, lights began to flash and warning sirens began to wail. “Oh, oh no, what am I doing, what did I do wrong?”
“You botched it!” the pilot yelled. “That’s not the navigation panel, that’s radar, and our auxiliary power, I think … ugh, I don’t know, I don’t know what I’m doing. I was a candy girl before I took this job. I just hold the thing steady until we get where we’re going. When nobody’s paying attention, I’m probably going to eliminate myself and go do something else.”
“On Mars?” the navigator asked.
“Hey, it beats being on NXT. What’d YOU do before … you know, navigating. Or taking peoples’ spots.”
“I worked the cannon.”
A small, sharp beeping sound interrupted their conversation.
“No way,” the pilot said, leaning over to get a better look. “That’s …” she swooped up the ship’s microphone. “All hands on deck, or … whatever you say, WE HAVE LOCATED JACK SWAGGER, I REPEAT, JACK SWAGGER HAS BEEN LOCATED.”
General Ryan took several lumbering steps forward to survey the Martian wilderness through the windshield of his massive vessel and patted the navigator on his shoulder. “WELL DON!” he confirmed. The navigator smiled.
“Well aren’t you lucky,” the pilot noted.
The ship hurdled through the sky toward the lonely blip. If they kept up this pace, they could reach it by midnight.