So the Alliance angle is over, Ric Flair is here and Vince needed to re-establish himself as a megalomaniacal super-heel. He decided to do this by making other men kiss his ass on national tv, and by spending several minutes galloping around the ring, slapping himself on the ass with JR's hat. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do, and it definitely put him back in his old Mr. McMahon light, so I guess, in the gayest way possible, it got him where he wanted to go.
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"LOOK UPON ME! I AM THE BEAST!"
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The one cool thing that came out of this is that Undertaker turned heel by admitting that he's been kissing Vince's ass for 11 years, then allying with the big V, the surest way to become a heel besides crushing a baby between a sledgehammer and a cinder block. It's one of the few times I've been impressed with the Undertaker since I started watching the modern WWF, which was unfortunately just as he debuted as a bandana wearing, Willie-Nelson hairdo sporting biker. The old Undertaker, the Undertaker we all knew and loved since we were little kids is long gone, and while he still gives the occasional cool promo, he's just not the same. I want to like him, I try to like him, but when he walks down the ramp I find myself saying things like "Oh god, don't put 'Taker in the ring! His bones are mostly dust!" I don't mean to say it, but I do, over and over, night after night. At this point Undertaker is older than God, and not half the wrestler.
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"Yeah, I'll have some pie.
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You got a problem with that?"
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It's too bad he didn't enjoy his Minion of Satan gimmick, because it sure beat the hell out of a tobacco chewing hillbilly. Back in the old days, he probably would have crushed a baby with a sledgehammer and eaten the delicious goo that remained. He doesn't do anything fun now. But this heel turn is a good thing, a nice change from him wandering around in a moonshine haze reminding everyone just how many years he's been in the ring, much like a retirement home inmate reminding people of how many chinamen he killed as a young man. But if it weren't for the heel turn, my friend Matt and I came up with the perfect program for the Undertaker. This is the storyline that would have had us tuning in week in and week out, glued to our seats, waiting to see what would happen next. It would all start with one of our favorite chapters in the DDP stalker angle, when Undertaker decided to borrow his father-in-law's saw. I can't remember what kind of saw, a buzzsaw, a hacksaw, a table saw. Whatever. The important thing is, Undertaker was in possession of another man's saw.
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Back in the day, Undertaker needed no saw.
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He had Satan.
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You may remember the scene: The "stalker-cam" was situated in Undertaker's garage, who at the time was not the Undertaker, but merely Mark Calloway, motorcycle driver, bandana wearer, family man, drunk. He instructed his wife Sara to go get her daddy's saw so they could return it. Then he thought better and said, "No, wait, I might be needin' it. Best just leave it." Or something like that. You know how hillbillies talk.
From there the saw was forgotten, but that was where UT's greatest moment could have been born. Every week, Sara could have asked 'Taker if he was finally done with the saw, and every week he could have patted his fat belly and said, "Nah, might need it! Best just leave it here. Do some sawing later." (Chew tobacco, spit into spittoon. Ding.)
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We all used to do this when UT rode down the ramp.
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It got funnier every time, I swear.
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This would go on and on until finally, while Undertaker was preening in the middle of the ring with the saw, looking it over and espousing a list of all the many things he could conceivably saw with it, a giant fat man would appear at the top of the ramp, carrying a pig under his arm. Raucous hillbilly jug music would start to play as the man, who is Undertaker's extremely pissed off father-in-law, hobbled to the ring while waving his finger in the air and mumbling through his gumless teeth, "Now Undertaker! You gimme back that saw, understand?"
Taker: "No! It's mine!"
Man: "Gol' durnit, sonny, you don't be giving me no lip! That's my saw!"
Taker: "No it's not! I own it!"
Then they could chase each other around the ring and eventually come up with such hilarious contests as hog wrestling, corn-shucking and anti-freeze drinking to determine actual ownership of the saw. Maybe they could even saw some things, but not until the very end. That'd be the grand finale. Like, Undertaker could saw off Sara's nose and then he and his father-in-law could do a little square dance. I would fucking love that. But in an ironic, mocking way. I ain't no goddamn hillbilly. All I'm asking is that he embrace his roots as a Child of the Soil. Or eat a baby's eyeballs. Either way.
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"Where are my fans..?
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I... can't see them..."
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Dec.12/01
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