Ever chant or write that “Roman Reigns “can’t wrestle”? Well, then you are an imbecile. I may have spent over 30 years hilariously ridiculing deserving bonebenders, but that doesn’t mean I won’t recognize the fact that nobody in a national-television promotion “can’t wrestle.”
Except for most of the broads, of course. But it’s adorable how they try to have matches just like the men, a few of them having worked their way all the way up to average!
Still, as long as they wear those butt-hugging bottoms made up of 14 square inches of fabric–”women’s revolution” wink-wink—and admit their inferiority to men, I say we let them roll around on the canvas and pretend they’re real wrestlers.
But only the hot ones, natch.
We certainly don’t need to watch the oaf Sasha Banks tripping over her feet every week. Or the Asslicker, Becky Lynch, Ireland’s most embarrassing export—which is REALLY saying something, considering the primary thing that putrid country is known for is rampant alcoholism.
It’s little wonder the English hate them. Not that they have room to talk.
For the unfamiliar, England is an international has-been country where they can’t sit still for five minutes without breaking into some sort of chant, a carryover from watching the terminally boring soccer games, wherein men is sissy shorts run around kicking each other in the shins for four hours until one klutz eventually scores a point.
(Except in the World Cup, a tournament in which an Englishman hasn’t seen a finals victory since their Queen Lizzy visited Paris to witness the grand opening of the Eiffel Tower.)
England is also where, due to a combination of disgraceful nationalism, snobbery and an inferiority complex, fans claim every single wrestler born there is fantastic—even the boy ballerina William The Osprey—while constantly bragging about their “wrestling boom.” Then you see photos of the events, and they are taking place in a joint that seat about 47, including the timekeeper, the ring announcer and the beer vendor’s tired wife.
Between the sheeplike chanting and the general ugliness of English males, it’s easy to understand why Brit broads are so eager to get some US beef in their diets. Known worldwide for centuries as pushovers, Anglo ladies are hardly the prettiest posies in the garden; but they tend to make up for it, if you know what I mean.
(And if you own an NWO T-shirt, you likely don’t.)
I nobly went on record admitting a decent percent of English babes possess the most important characteristic a dame can ever have—a fine bod. An admirable attribute considering, just like their mothers and grandmothers before them, these honeys will drop their knickers for an American before one of us can finish the first syllable of “hello.”
The classiest, most attractive English chickadees are called “chavs” by their countrymen. But visiting American wrestlers generally use my term for typical British women, “skanks for Yanks.”
You’ll have to take my word for it, seeing how you don’t actually know any grapplers. Hey, “huge wrestling fan,” how’s that List Of Lame Excuses For Not Getting Involved In The Sport coming along?
Tell you what. I’ll simplify it for you.
Just select from…
- As with everything else in life, I’m all talk.
- I am a cringing coward afraid of getting hurt.
- I don’t have an athletic bone in my whole body, but that doesn’t stop me from criticizing the athleticism of others.
- Mommy won’t let me.
Ha, just kidding. We all know the answer is E. All of the above.
ANYWAY…now that we’ve sorted the Manormaniacs from the mini-minds—the latter bunch having run off, sulking and not reading the following—let’s get back to Roman Reigns.
Specifically, the crybabies’ complaint about how the handsome Vincent K. McMahon has correctly decided Double-R should be the “face of the WWE.”
The most laughable part of this equation is the fact dimwits are using the expression with no idea what being “the face of the WWE” entails. If you think it’s all about holding the Universal championship and getting the most exposure on Raw and video game packaging, the Nuclear Regulatory Commission will soon be classifying your brain as a sub-atomic particle.
The Face is the one wrestler who represents the entire company when meeting potential sponsors and business and political VIPs, and appears at endless charity functions as well as on public service material and announcements. He must: be well-spoken but not brash; have the appearance of what non-fans perceive a wrestler to look like; and, possess remarkable composure.
Remember when John Cena learned Mandarin in order to address a roomful of suits in China? That’s what being The Face is all about.
Also, when an incumbent (in this case, Cena) is in the process of giving up the throne, the replacement should be of an age that ensures he is going to be active for many years to come.
When you armchair geniuses add up all the preferred traits, who on the WWE roster is better qualified than the just-turned-33 Roman Reigns?
Let’s go down the Fanboy Faves list.
*AJ Styles Besides the fact AJ has passed 40—but only in age, not IQ—we all suffered through what a complete disaster it was when the hopping hillbilly spent years attempting to complete a sentence, prior to getting scripted promos upon signing with the WWE. Now just imagine this nincompoop addressing a group of Oxford science majors, uttering “Ha, y’all. Ah believe the world is flat.”
This is a man who thinks taxidermy is the study of cabs, marijuana comes from potholes and a collage is a fancy university. The numskull who once brought a skateboard on a submarine ride and went up to a guide at Sea World and asked where they keep the tigers. Who doesn’t use All laundry detergent if he’s only washing some of his clothes. AJ Styles is the only person alive who owns a Samsung dumb phone.
*Braun Strowman A very viable candidate…as soon as someone finds a way to make it 1986 again.
Half-buffoon, half-cartoon, I’m surprised his tag partner at Wrestlemania wasn’t Wile E. Coyote.
And what the hell does “Get these hands” even mean? Is he auctioning them off on eBay?
[Strowman sidebar. Rarely ever loses; prominently featured on Raw’s biggest segments all year, frequently main-eventing the show; wins the Money In The Bank match—so, Reigns-bashers, doesn’t that mean “He’s being shoved down our throats?]
*Daniel Bryan With that unkempt hair and beard, and standing 5’4”, the scruffy squirt may pass as Charles Manson’s son; but nobody in the business world is going to take Cryin’ Bryan seriously or even believe he was ever world champ. The munchkin once got a black eye running into a fire hydrant, for Christ’s sake!
Besides, if the going gets rough, he’ll no doubt once again quit, just like he did in 2016 after a minor head injury, as outlined in this earlier Stately States https://bit.ly/1ScpS8H
*The Hardlys. And, yes, my pal Jerry Lawler borrowed that nickname from one of my columns.
#WOKEN and his brother #DRUNKEN are horrendous options to serve as The Face. Matt, pushing 50 years of age, took a quarter-century to come up with a memorable phrase—actually, one word—and needed his old lady and Germy Borash to assist with that. What a trainwreck it would be to have the senile senior repping the Connecticut corporation.
Granted, Jeff has a good look (when he’s not smearing paint on his mug), but even in his rare moments of sobriety, he’s not suited to mingle with anyone—at least not until the WWE starts conducting business on his home planet in Alpha Centauri.
Weird, the man’s weird, I tell ya. Did you know Jeff Hardy’s favorite pizza topping is eggshells? That he recently spray-painted all his cars pitch black—including the windows? He built a unicycle with a cactus in place of the seat?
*Other Shield members Cross Selfie Seth off the list pronto, Tonto. Had two or three passable matches in the Spring and consequently became the Fair-Weather Fan Favorite of the season. By Halloween, the “devoted” will have bailed on Rollins the same way they do any NXT call-up who loses two matches after debuting on the main roster. (Incidentally, how did ignoring my warnings and going berserk over Enzo & Big Cass work out for you guys?)
As for Dean Ambrose…you’re joking right? No way the impeccably groomed Mister McMahon would choose to be represented by a man who washes his hair every ten days—and only because The Lunatic Skunk occasionally gets caught in the rain.
And that nasal drone of a voice! If Ambrose ever gave a lengthy speech at any sort of conference, they’d have to call in the coroner to count how many audience members hanged themselves to escape the torture.
I’d rather hear a sedated Pee Wee Herman with a nasty head cold read the Lithuanian translation of the entire Lord Of The Rings trilogy than endure a half-hour of Dullard Dino.
Is Roman Reigns perfectly built to be The Face? No, and, unfortunately, the ideal man for the job is under contract elsewhere. So, until Grado becomes a free agent, Reigns is the best candidate for the position.