Post by OfLegend on Mar 5, 2007 11:14:21 GMT
You know you've had a good night when you wake up with a sickening headache and a strange desire to enzuigiri someone.
Tofer and I turned up at the arena around four o'clock hoping against hope that we'd be able to either acquire tickets legally or sneak in. Our plan originally was to steal a gym bag and blag our way in as Samoa Joe (Tofer) and Roderick Strong (myself), with plan B being to "do a McLane" with the ventilation shafts.
However, the Gods of technical wrestling were smiling down upon us, and we managed to purchase two tickets (for £15 each!) from a gangster type fellow with a scar across his eye. He even threw in a few scowls. What a nice man.
The belltime was 5pm, and we eagerly took our seats in the balcony with an eclectic group of insider fans and drunken scousers (I would alternate between the two demographics as the night went on). We spent an hour drinking, debating the plusses and negatives of spot wrestling and so on, and were breifly interrupted by a brawl between BJ Whitmer and Jimmy Jacobs.
The first real match, however, occurred at bang-on 6. "Big Daddy" Colt Cabana tested his mettle against Delirious in one of the funniest matches I honestly have ever seen. Decked out in a customary Shirley Crabtree-style hat, jacket and carrying a toy baby, Colt was immediately warmed to by the crowd, especially when he dressed Delirious in the gear. Several pre-match shenanigans got us all in a good mood, especially when Cabana accidentally killed "the baby." I myself yelled "it's not my fault," which prompted a small but audible "Snitsky" chant.
During the match, Colt would gain an illegal advantage by pulling on the mask of the delirious one, who retorted back in his gabbling English: "That's despicable!" Some "that's despicable" and "say your sorry" chants began, almost cracking the two men up with laughter.
Despite Colt's attempt at a, as he called it, Despicable Driver (a spinning fisherman's DDT from the middle rope), Delirious picked up the win with a roll-up.
Winner: Delirious
Spot-killer!: Colt's "Despicable Driver"
Best chant/shout: "That's despicable!"
The next match was a piss break Shimmer contest, so I took a piss break. When I came back, however, the action wasn't all that bad, and I managed to start a "what's your number?" chant. The Dangerous Angels, or something, picked up the win after a few botches, attempted MMA moves and what have you. Shockingly, the referee appeared to be Theo Walcott, and the poor American was much bewildered by the calls of "Theeeo, Theeeeo" that would follow him throughout the night.
Winner: Who cares.
Spot-killer!: A so-so triangle choke
Best chant/shout: When a travelling yank tried to get a "USA" chant going, only to be greeted by "sucks!" and "shut the fuck up" from the Scousers in my balcony.
I was fairly tipsy by now, but quickly sobered by the arrival of BJ Whitmer and Jimmy Jacobs continuing their brawl in the official Falls Count Anywhere match. Much to my delight, Whitmer, clearly the fan favourite, brought Jacobs to our balcony and laid him out on my table to give him a good twatting. After patting Whitmer on the pack, myself and Tofer followed the action around the upper regions of the Olympia until Jacobs hit a balcony dive right in front of me. After that, I needed a bit of a sit down, and watched Whitmer enter a very good performance from the bar area. It was around this point I realised that the last time we were in the Olympia, it was for a poetry reading.
Winner: BJ Whitmer
Spot-killer!: BJ's brainbuster on the stage.
Best chant/shout: "You've got AIDS" after Jacobs welcomed Whitmer's blood onto his own forehead.
Hometown hero (no, I can't type it with a straight face) Pac wrestled Matt Sydal next. Only problem is, half the crowd didn't know who the fuck Pac is. What followed was some typically spotty action with a few stiffers thrown in there for good measure.
Winner: Matt Sydal
Spot-killer!: When Pac attempted a hurricanrana and landed on his face. That was probably Jumbo sending him a message to wrestle properly.
Best chant/shout: "Are you X-Pac?"
Unless I'm mistaken, the following match was Jay Briscoe vs Mark Briscoe, the two having lost the tag titles the previous night to Naruki Doi and Shingo. What is it with the Briscoes losing titles on their first defences? To Japanese?
Anyway, this was the match of the fucking night and match of the year so far. What a showstealer. Stiff, bastarding action from bell to bell, with neither brother able to pin the other. Unfortunately, and after a fair few near-falls and the like, the finish was a bit of a jib: a double count out after what appeared to be a burning hammer of some variation.
Winner: Mrs Briscoe
Spot-killer!: The Jay-Driller.
Best chant/shout: Impossible to say, as we all went a little batshit for this one. Some of the best were "you shared the same womb" (mine), "you were always the jealous one weren't ya?", "let's go Briscoe", "PEDIGREE!" (during a Jay-Driller attempt) and "which one of you is Gerry?". My attempt to start a "Jack Brisco" chant met with little approval.
After that MoTYC, it was time for a little break, thank God. Tofer had a ciggy while I bought The Best of Bryan Danielson from the merch table (I've been to an ROH event now, I can call it "merch" like a proper smark). With chips in hand, we rushed back to our places for the Naruki Doi & Shingo tag title defence against Roderick Strong and Davey Richards. The crowd came to life especially for this one, with each strike or referee count involving Naruki being greeted with "Doi!" and every kick-out or killer spot being met with "Shingooooooo!" Needless to say, the two Dragon Gate fellas were really fucking over, and Davey Richards got plenty of abuse both from the foreigners and the crowd. After a running seated powerbomb from Doi, I managed to start a small "Jushin Liger" chant, which was sadly contained by our balcony area. Eventually, Shingo hit some quality move that I forget. The referee counted: Doi! Doi... Doi! and Ultimo's boys retained.
Winner: Naruki Doi & Shingo
Spot-killer!: Liger Bomb~!
Best chant/shout: "Throw salt in his eyes, Fuji!"
Next up was real crowd favourite (fuck Pac) Nigel McGuinness vs Jimmy Rave, and the "Fuck 'im up, Nigel, fuck 'im up!" chants duly began. The two put on a mightily entertaining match; I think Nigel must have left his bullshit indie spots back in the US. The stand-out factor in the match was the use of a metal rail, onto which Jimmy was repeatedly slammed. In fact, I'm fairly certain it half-killed him when Nigel hit an inside-to-the-outside Tower of London onto the steel, which was propped up by the apron and the barricade. Even the referee wasn't safe: he got elbowed in the face by McGuinness accidentally, and when he took his hands away from his mouth, he looked like a bloody Toshiaki Kawada. Poor bastard.
Winner: Nigel McGuinness
Spot-killer!: The aforementioned elevated cutter that spiked Rave right on his face.
Best chant/shout: Either "Twat 'im, Nige laaa!" or "Didn't you get fired, Test son?" Gotta love Liverpool.
Now, forgive me if I've missed a match somewhere down the line, as by this point I was proper hammered, but I believe next was Joe's eagerly anticipated swansong. Homicide with Julius Smokes entered first to a large ovation and plenty of "brrrrrrap! brrrrrap! AK!" calls, to be followed by the big man himself. Duh! Duhn duhn duhn duhn duhn... duhhh duhhh duuuhhhn... The champ is here! The champ is here! I admit it, I marked like a little child for the guy. And fittingly, it was a superb outing, with lashings of hot stiffness and Joe's quality indie-killer act. Instead of taking a top rope crossbody, Joe just moves out of the way. Instead of taking a plancha, he leaps over the barricade and orders a beer just below me. The "he's a legend!" chants were well-deserved.
Smokes was his usual entertaing self, too. After owning a loud-mouthed member of the crowd just behind me, he tried to interfere, only to be thrown into the barrier. I kicked off the "Ole! Ole Ole Ole Ole... Ole! Ole!" and Joe obliged, driving his boot into Julius' head. I could stand it no more, and Tofer and I ran down to ringside, timing it so the security guard had his back turned. Hence, I caught the finish from up close: a top-rope Muscle Busterrrrrrrrrrr!!! I have no idea what Pat does to celebrate a D-X entrance, but I imagine I must have been doing something similar at this point. Hugs were in large supply after the three count, because by this point several of us had quite forgotten that wrestling is in fact fake.
Joe had a hard time delivering his speech afterwards for all the adulation, but it was a good and heartfelt promo. During his lap around the ring, we managed to high five him, something we would celebrate in the old Cava later with a few Tequila slammers. We even got Joe to come with us, and he bought us a round of Fosters and told us stories of his old carefree days as a Samoan dancer.
Just kidding. Nevertheless, it was a night to remember. I have to say, I see it as Joe's retirement from having great matches for the next couple of years, so it was bittersweet to be there live, like being at a Harley Race loser-leaves-town match in the 70s or something.
Biggest ovation: Samoa Joe
Most amount of stick: Todd Sinclair, Davey Richards or "Theo"
Move of the night: SUPER MUSCLE BUSTER~!
Match of the night: Jay Briscoe vs Mark Briscoe
Chant of the night: "Please don't go!" sums it up, I think.
If you buy the DVD, I was the dick shouting "Lariat-OH!" at every opportunity, of which there were quite a few.
Tofer and I turned up at the arena around four o'clock hoping against hope that we'd be able to either acquire tickets legally or sneak in. Our plan originally was to steal a gym bag and blag our way in as Samoa Joe (Tofer) and Roderick Strong (myself), with plan B being to "do a McLane" with the ventilation shafts.
However, the Gods of technical wrestling were smiling down upon us, and we managed to purchase two tickets (for £15 each!) from a gangster type fellow with a scar across his eye. He even threw in a few scowls. What a nice man.
The belltime was 5pm, and we eagerly took our seats in the balcony with an eclectic group of insider fans and drunken scousers (I would alternate between the two demographics as the night went on). We spent an hour drinking, debating the plusses and negatives of spot wrestling and so on, and were breifly interrupted by a brawl between BJ Whitmer and Jimmy Jacobs.
The first real match, however, occurred at bang-on 6. "Big Daddy" Colt Cabana tested his mettle against Delirious in one of the funniest matches I honestly have ever seen. Decked out in a customary Shirley Crabtree-style hat, jacket and carrying a toy baby, Colt was immediately warmed to by the crowd, especially when he dressed Delirious in the gear. Several pre-match shenanigans got us all in a good mood, especially when Cabana accidentally killed "the baby." I myself yelled "it's not my fault," which prompted a small but audible "Snitsky" chant.
During the match, Colt would gain an illegal advantage by pulling on the mask of the delirious one, who retorted back in his gabbling English: "That's despicable!" Some "that's despicable" and "say your sorry" chants began, almost cracking the two men up with laughter.
Despite Colt's attempt at a, as he called it, Despicable Driver (a spinning fisherman's DDT from the middle rope), Delirious picked up the win with a roll-up.
Winner: Delirious
Spot-killer!: Colt's "Despicable Driver"
Best chant/shout: "That's despicable!"
The next match was a piss break Shimmer contest, so I took a piss break. When I came back, however, the action wasn't all that bad, and I managed to start a "what's your number?" chant. The Dangerous Angels, or something, picked up the win after a few botches, attempted MMA moves and what have you. Shockingly, the referee appeared to be Theo Walcott, and the poor American was much bewildered by the calls of "Theeeo, Theeeeo" that would follow him throughout the night.
Winner: Who cares.
Spot-killer!: A so-so triangle choke
Best chant/shout: When a travelling yank tried to get a "USA" chant going, only to be greeted by "sucks!" and "shut the fuck up" from the Scousers in my balcony.
I was fairly tipsy by now, but quickly sobered by the arrival of BJ Whitmer and Jimmy Jacobs continuing their brawl in the official Falls Count Anywhere match. Much to my delight, Whitmer, clearly the fan favourite, brought Jacobs to our balcony and laid him out on my table to give him a good twatting. After patting Whitmer on the pack, myself and Tofer followed the action around the upper regions of the Olympia until Jacobs hit a balcony dive right in front of me. After that, I needed a bit of a sit down, and watched Whitmer enter a very good performance from the bar area. It was around this point I realised that the last time we were in the Olympia, it was for a poetry reading.
Winner: BJ Whitmer
Spot-killer!: BJ's brainbuster on the stage.
Best chant/shout: "You've got AIDS" after Jacobs welcomed Whitmer's blood onto his own forehead.
Hometown hero (no, I can't type it with a straight face) Pac wrestled Matt Sydal next. Only problem is, half the crowd didn't know who the fuck Pac is. What followed was some typically spotty action with a few stiffers thrown in there for good measure.
Winner: Matt Sydal
Spot-killer!: When Pac attempted a hurricanrana and landed on his face. That was probably Jumbo sending him a message to wrestle properly.
Best chant/shout: "Are you X-Pac?"
Unless I'm mistaken, the following match was Jay Briscoe vs Mark Briscoe, the two having lost the tag titles the previous night to Naruki Doi and Shingo. What is it with the Briscoes losing titles on their first defences? To Japanese?
Anyway, this was the match of the fucking night and match of the year so far. What a showstealer. Stiff, bastarding action from bell to bell, with neither brother able to pin the other. Unfortunately, and after a fair few near-falls and the like, the finish was a bit of a jib: a double count out after what appeared to be a burning hammer of some variation.
Winner: Mrs Briscoe
Spot-killer!: The Jay-Driller.
Best chant/shout: Impossible to say, as we all went a little batshit for this one. Some of the best were "you shared the same womb" (mine), "you were always the jealous one weren't ya?", "let's go Briscoe", "PEDIGREE!" (during a Jay-Driller attempt) and "which one of you is Gerry?". My attempt to start a "Jack Brisco" chant met with little approval.
After that MoTYC, it was time for a little break, thank God. Tofer had a ciggy while I bought The Best of Bryan Danielson from the merch table (I've been to an ROH event now, I can call it "merch" like a proper smark). With chips in hand, we rushed back to our places for the Naruki Doi & Shingo tag title defence against Roderick Strong and Davey Richards. The crowd came to life especially for this one, with each strike or referee count involving Naruki being greeted with "Doi!" and every kick-out or killer spot being met with "Shingooooooo!" Needless to say, the two Dragon Gate fellas were really fucking over, and Davey Richards got plenty of abuse both from the foreigners and the crowd. After a running seated powerbomb from Doi, I managed to start a small "Jushin Liger" chant, which was sadly contained by our balcony area. Eventually, Shingo hit some quality move that I forget. The referee counted: Doi! Doi... Doi! and Ultimo's boys retained.
Winner: Naruki Doi & Shingo
Spot-killer!: Liger Bomb~!
Best chant/shout: "Throw salt in his eyes, Fuji!"
Next up was real crowd favourite (fuck Pac) Nigel McGuinness vs Jimmy Rave, and the "Fuck 'im up, Nigel, fuck 'im up!" chants duly began. The two put on a mightily entertaining match; I think Nigel must have left his bullshit indie spots back in the US. The stand-out factor in the match was the use of a metal rail, onto which Jimmy was repeatedly slammed. In fact, I'm fairly certain it half-killed him when Nigel hit an inside-to-the-outside Tower of London onto the steel, which was propped up by the apron and the barricade. Even the referee wasn't safe: he got elbowed in the face by McGuinness accidentally, and when he took his hands away from his mouth, he looked like a bloody Toshiaki Kawada. Poor bastard.
Winner: Nigel McGuinness
Spot-killer!: The aforementioned elevated cutter that spiked Rave right on his face.
Best chant/shout: Either "Twat 'im, Nige laaa!" or "Didn't you get fired, Test son?" Gotta love Liverpool.
Now, forgive me if I've missed a match somewhere down the line, as by this point I was proper hammered, but I believe next was Joe's eagerly anticipated swansong. Homicide with Julius Smokes entered first to a large ovation and plenty of "brrrrrrap! brrrrrap! AK!" calls, to be followed by the big man himself. Duh! Duhn duhn duhn duhn duhn... duhhh duhhh duuuhhhn... The champ is here! The champ is here! I admit it, I marked like a little child for the guy. And fittingly, it was a superb outing, with lashings of hot stiffness and Joe's quality indie-killer act. Instead of taking a top rope crossbody, Joe just moves out of the way. Instead of taking a plancha, he leaps over the barricade and orders a beer just below me. The "he's a legend!" chants were well-deserved.
Smokes was his usual entertaing self, too. After owning a loud-mouthed member of the crowd just behind me, he tried to interfere, only to be thrown into the barrier. I kicked off the "Ole! Ole Ole Ole Ole... Ole! Ole!" and Joe obliged, driving his boot into Julius' head. I could stand it no more, and Tofer and I ran down to ringside, timing it so the security guard had his back turned. Hence, I caught the finish from up close: a top-rope Muscle Busterrrrrrrrrrr!!! I have no idea what Pat does to celebrate a D-X entrance, but I imagine I must have been doing something similar at this point. Hugs were in large supply after the three count, because by this point several of us had quite forgotten that wrestling is in fact fake.
Joe had a hard time delivering his speech afterwards for all the adulation, but it was a good and heartfelt promo. During his lap around the ring, we managed to high five him, something we would celebrate in the old Cava later with a few Tequila slammers. We even got Joe to come with us, and he bought us a round of Fosters and told us stories of his old carefree days as a Samoan dancer.
Just kidding. Nevertheless, it was a night to remember. I have to say, I see it as Joe's retirement from having great matches for the next couple of years, so it was bittersweet to be there live, like being at a Harley Race loser-leaves-town match in the 70s or something.
Biggest ovation: Samoa Joe
Most amount of stick: Todd Sinclair, Davey Richards or "Theo"
Move of the night: SUPER MUSCLE BUSTER~!
Match of the night: Jay Briscoe vs Mark Briscoe
Chant of the night: "Please don't go!" sums it up, I think.
If you buy the DVD, I was the dick shouting "Lariat-OH!" at every opportunity, of which there were quite a few.
