Wrasslin'

You’re probably going to hate me for this, but I’m about to talk about professional wrestling. Bear with me, people.

I used to watch WWF/E programming starting in late 1999, when the so-called “Attitude Era” was at its height. Many consider that period of time as somewhat of a golden age in pro wrestling, and I have a difficult time disagreeing with that notion. Stars such as Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, The Undertaker, Triple H, and Mick Foley dominated the main event stage, while up-and-coming superstars of tomorrow were showing the world what potential their future would hold.

Fast-forward to 2011, when many of those old stars are on the rapid decline or already retired. The remnants of the Attitude Era have, for the most part, faded away, while many elements and figures of that time have chosen to linger.

As a stupid kid, it’s easy to fall into the storyline and become what they call a “mark,” believing that what you see is real and that the people that brutalize themselves before you are legitimately good or bad people based on their performances. Looking back on my viewpoint back then, it’s kind of disgusting that I jumped for joy when the “good guy” slammed the “bad guy” through the announcer’s table or pushed him off of a towering steel cage.

When the mid-to-late teens set in, so did the awareness that I was watching a planned performance and more of an appreciation for some of the moments these performers created. Regardless of who the character was that was being maimed, I marveled at what these athletes are capable of doing – and enduring. As my teenage years waned, so also did my interest in wrestling; the spectacle began to wear off.

The years have quickly come and gone since I gave up following professional wrestling, and recently I’ve started watching again. Having absorbed a college education and attained a little more sensitivity for my fellow man, I now watch some of these normally unthinkable stunts with a twinge of horror running down my spine. The amount of risk and pain associated with this business is about as close as one might possibly get to inhuman. I become aware that these are not simply “good guys,” “bad guys,” or stuntmen putting themselves through these brutal spots. These are human beings who regularly fall on their backs on the wrestling canvas or jump off the turnbuckle in the corner. Every single bump they take inflicts some toll on their body that will be amplified manifold some day.

So when I see someone like The Rock return to professional wrestling, I don’t get excited. Instead I feel regret that they’ll go right back to torturing themselves for a little bit of fame and a decent paycheck. I recently watched one of Mick Foley’s pay-per-view matches for the TNA promotion in which he was back to his old tricks, falling on barbed wire and falling through wooden tables. I couldn’t stand seeing Foley getting beat up in his prime, simply because I liked him so much as a wrestler; it’s even worse knowing that he’s had the ability to walk away from the sport on multiple occasions.

So when I found out on Monday that Canadian superstar Adam “Edge” Copeland was retiring, I felt that it was a moment that really did signal the end of an era. Edge was one of those young up-and-comers from the Attitude Era’s peak, and here he was now, standing in the ring and telling the world that his arms were numb and trembling uncontrollably. This man signified so much simply by standing there and pouring his heart out to his fans – an old era eclipsed by the new, the physical toll that professional wrestling can take on a human body, and how alarmingly backwards the business can be.

For those who don’t have much of an idea of what goes on during a wrestling match, I’d like to present to you one of Edge’s own classic matches. Note that only one of these crazy fuckers still wrestles for WWE.

(And no, this won’t suddenly become a wrestling blog. No worries there.)

Part 1/3

Part 2/3

Part 3/3

826LA Panel

On Sunday, Dad and I took a trip out to Hollywood to attend a writing panel organized by 826LA, a local nonprofit organization. The talk featured three prominent Hollywood writers: Jen Kirkman, who performs stand-up and formerly worked for Chelsea Lately; Brian Stack, who works for Conan O’ Brien, and Bob Odenkirk, who created the sketch show Mr. Show, worked for Saturday Night Live and is currently associated with AMC’s hit series Breaking Bad.

The panel was held at Nerdist Industries at Meltdown Comics in Hollywood. The venue was a relatively cramped facility, but there was enough room for everyone; there were several empty seats available when the show began, which was about a half hour later than advertised. Adorning the walls and rafters were many oddities and nerd-related paraphernalia. Right above my father and me stood a plastic rat covered in blood and a little painting on the wall of a “dust bunny” from one of my favorite movies, Miyazaki’s classic My Neighbor Totoro.

Seeing as it was about a 45-minute drive from our house to the venue, I needed to use the restroom before the event began. As soon as I entered the cramped little bathroom in the back, I was greeted by what I can only describe as the most beautiful depiction of Satan taking a shit I’ve ever seen. Every little detail about the painting was elegant, from the drops of sweat forming upon the Prince of Darkness’s forehead to the clear strain that inhabited every muscle on the devil’s body. The painting appeared to be oil on canvas and was featured in a plain but ornate frame. Truly a modern masterpiece.

The event itself was hilarious and informative. The panel members, led by comic book writer Adam Beechen, all shared their views and stories on the comedy industry, including Odenkirk’s grim tale of the comedy boom of the 1980s and its sudden, inevitable collapse. It was amazing to get an inside look at what life in the entertainment business is like; the prospect was intimidating and exciting at the same time. I tried to take notes throughout, but I was so engrossed in the discussion that all I could remember to take down were the names of performers who would soon be coming to town. They’ll be holding more events in the future, and Dad and I agreed we should attend another one.

Yoga

I’m going to try to avoid baseball discussion that excludes teams not named the Angels or the entire league. It alienates a lot of people, so I apologize for the previous post.

So with little to no baseball discussion today, I’m going to go ahead and get on with this stupid thing.

I tried yoga for the first time today, and it went about as hilariously as you might expect. I used a workout DVD my parents had purchased with the intent of relaxing. They decided to nix yoga as soon as they were told to sit on the heels of their feet. I can’t really blame them.

First of all, if you actually sat down and watched this DVD objectively without doing the exercises, you’d realize that this is probably intended either for people in their 40s who are simply too lazy to leave the house or perverted old men. The workout is led by a man in his late 30s who is accompanied by a fairly attractive young woman, to whom he refers as “the greatest yoga teacher I know.” Her credentials do check out; she performs the instructor’s exercises even better than he does. Nevertheless, the show consists of several shots going right down the young lady’s low-cut shirt, of which she is clearly aware – she gives the cameraman several dirty looks throughout.

The instructor himself puts you to mind of an unkempt hippie you might see wandering People’s Park up in Berkeley with the personality of a cult leader. His appearance is clearly relaxed, and that carries over into what I can only describe as a bizarre charisma. He has sort of a calming presence, reassuring the viewer that they should not feel guilty at all for taking it easy on a particular exercise, but I couldn’t help feeling that a command to engage in a mass suicide would catch me off-guard.

The last thing I’d call myself is active, even remotely so. I haven’t done anything that can even be described as remotely physically demanding since I played football with a couple of old college chums a few weeks ago. They’ve seen me in action, and it’s not pretty.

First of all, I didn’t have a yoga mat, which is imperative when you’re trying to work with a hardwood floor. I tried to fold up a comforter into a cushy little rectangle instead, which looked promising at first glance. As it turned out, it was more of a hindrance than a help. For many exercises, it worked wonderfully, but for a few that involved leaning forward or backward, I found myself sliding uncontrollably and came close to snapping in half here and there. After the frustration had reached its peak, I gave up on the endeavor and did some simple stretches, push-ups, and crunches. I had admitted defeat.

3-3 isn’t bad at all to start off, although Tampa Bay looks absolutely terrible. A scrappy Toronto Blue Jays team visits for the next few days. Crap, I reneged on my promise. Oh well. GO HALOS!

Observations

After four games of the 2011 MLB season, the LA Angels of Anaheim have proven that they are pretty much the same team they were last year, even losing an identical 3 straight games after winning their season opener. Last year's opening series may have been a little less distressing because the Twins had been a playoff-caliber team the year before and wound up repeating their regular-season success. However, this year's opening series embarrassment came at the hands of the lowly Kansas City Royals, whose last postseason was in 1985 when they were the best team in baseball.
Many will argue that it's too early in the season to make any real predictions about how 2011 will play out. I tend to agree, but it certainly is distressing that all three of the Halos' regular season losses so far have been walk-off victories for the host Royals. Couple that with the fact that the Angels bullpen has blown a lead in each of those three losing affairs. There is always the possibility that the bullpen will get better as the season progresses, but if they continue this abysmal play for the remainder of the season, quality starts courtesy Jered Weaver, Dan Haren, and Kelvim Escobar.
With all the darkness bubbling around the Big A to start the season, though, there are plenty of things to be excited about with regards to this team. First, Howie Kendrick has suddenly become the offensive juggernaut he was so heavily hyped to be when he first entered the majors a few years ago. Jered Weaver continues to be the hands-down ace of the squad, taking the momentum from his successful 2010 season (in which he led Major League Baseball in strikeouts) into a great performance on Opening Day of this year. Bobby Abreu, as oft-maligned as he is among Angels fans, had an amazing performance in the Angels' loss on Sunday, notching 5 hits in 5 plate appearances. Meanwhile, the speed and skill of Peter Bourjos both in offense and defense has left many an Angels fan in awe. Vernon Wells continues to be the Angels' biggest head-scratcher move from the offseason, performing poorly in left field and amassing little offseason production thus far.
The two main problems from last season pretty much remain - the Angels have little clutch hitting and an abysmal bullpen. Many Angels fans (myself included) find themselves wondering what General Manager Tony Reagins was thinking over the offseason, doing very little to address both issues. Perhaps he was simply outbid or out-GM'ed by other members of his baseball fraternity, but the fact of the matter remains that after 4 outings of baseball, the product that he has put on the field leaves much to be desired. 158 games remain for the 2011 Angels. There is plenty of time to right the ship, but the fact remains that meaningful baseball has already begun, and the Angels have quickly fallen behind the hated Texas Rangers in the race for the American League West division crown.

BASEBAWWWWW

NOTE: This was originally supposed to be posted yesterday, but for some reason Blogger was goofing up on me. Here it is:

After what seems like a long, torturous wait, Opening Day is finally here! It’s funny – when you get down to brass tacks, the wait is only four months. Compare that to a seven-month wait for the NFL to begin (in a normal year, anyway) and six months for the NBA to restart its season. The wait for Opening Day really is one of the shortest in sports, but for one reason or another, it always feels like an eternity. I think this year had a lot to do with the Angels getting bumped from the playoffs and Texas (the freaking RANGERS!) winning the AL Pennant. Watching a division rival go deep into the playoffs while your favorite team sits at home will make anybody twitch in their seat in anticipation of the next season.

The pundits, it seems, are pretty much set on the normal favorites winning it all. The Sox, the Yanks, and the Phils are all top picks this year, which is the status quo as of late. But as last year taught us, stat sheets and roster analytics can only take us so far in making postseason predictions so early. I’m hoping for another unlikely pairing in the Fall Classic this year if the Halos aren’t involved.

Here’s to a hell of a season.