Who Matters?

This week I’m delving into who matters.  You know the guys I’m talking about: the ones who breathe life into asthmatic leagues; the ones who keep Daddy Warbucks fedheads and their dumbshit bookers in business.  These guys put asses in the seats.  These guys are the profit margin.

So who matters?

Sean Stevens matters.  Until ‘Triple X’ came along, that EPW World Title was being dropped like a FUCKIN’ HOT POTATO.  I swear, after Lindsay Troy’s thousand year reign ended, you’ve got Melton who drops it in his first defense to Stevens, then Stevens fucks up and drops to Rocko Daymon…Rocko goes batshit and vacates it, JA beats Stevens to claim it, then drops it to Stevens in his first defense to complete the cycle.  At this point, I’m lookin’ at the EPW crown like it’s Oscar The Grouch’s personally handcrafted condom wreathe.  So what does Stevens do?  He weathers the storm from The First in his inaugural title defense, and leaves with the belt.  Amazing!  Wait, it gets better.  At Wrestleverse III, the company’s biggest show, he squares off in a three way dance with JA and Rocko to determine the undisputed champion…and basically eats his breakfast cereal out of their fucking skulls.  Read my virtual lips: EPW’s got a real champ now.  So who’s next?  Westcott?  Does The First get a shot at redemption?  Hart, Anarky, Stalker, Winters?  Well, he did challenge Cameron Cruise to no avail, but more on that later.

JTP matters.  Joe The Plumber has yet to even taste defeat in that ring, and despite the trash Eddie Mayfield’s been talkin’ bout my man Joe, he absolutely, positively matters.  If Mayfield had the balls, he’d step into the ring and take that belt away from Joe the right way.  Except Mayfield doesn’t have any balls.  Somewhere in between selling his overpriced t-shirts that nobody but his staff buys, and salivating at his man-pet’s recreation of Michael Jackson, Old Property must have realized: he couldn’t lace JTP’s boots if he had four hands and brought the fuckin’ instruction manual.  Word of advice, Eddie: Old Property needs to kindly hand that title back to Joe, because shit can’t hide from a plumber for too long.

I’ll never understand this one, but somehow, someway, J1D matters.  That’s right, the man with the longest name in the history of the sport, “Just One Dude Looking For Adventure, Yet Totally Willing to Party Along the Way” has kept the LVW fanbase pumping their first for whatever it is they’re peddling in Vegas.  I tell ya, I’ve seen this stuff on late night TV when I’m in my hotel room at the Palms, and it’s wacky as shit.  They’ve got a few guys I like, and despite being everything I never thought I’d like in a champion, J1D’s been real good.  Can he beat Born Again?  Who fucking knows, and really, who cares?  I’m not gonna see it, because I don’t fly to Vegas that often.  But the next time I’m in town to piss my money away on cage fights, expensive liquor, blackjack, and the Moonlight Bunny Ranch, I hope J1D’s still rocking the platinum and red when I turn on public access to fall asleep to.

Who should matter, but doesn’t?  Cameron Cruise.  I know, I know, ragging on Cruise at this point is like ragging on Jean Rabesque five years ago, and is akin to kicking a one-legged man in his good ankle.  But Cammy’s got the world at his feet; why does he still not matter?  A1E Champion, EPW IC Champion, and he’s rocking it in WFW: NE.  I’m gonna tell you why Cammy STILL doesn’t matter: because he’s chicken shit.  Sean Stevens, a man who matters, offered him a shot at the EPW crown which he summarily rejected.  Why?  It’s simple: he’s scared of the big time.  It’s why he’s gonna lose that IC title the next chance he gets; it’s why Andrew Gilikson is going to rape him with sandpaper in A1E; it’s why 2009 will go down as the one and only year that the sun ever shined on Cammy Cruise’s ass.  Hope you remember what the champagne tastes like, Cammy boy.

Why does nobody matter in WFW: NE?  Fucking, I don’t know…maybe it’s because nobody has a DAMN CLUE what the FUCK is going on in WFW: NE?  Seriously, my grandma could book that league with more coherence, and she’s dead.  Methinks it has something to do with the league being neither WFW nor NE…but a mishmash of bullshit that never quite took hold.  If it’s not dead by next year, I’ll eat my words with a side of white gravy.

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