Raw is War

We weren't alive when man walked on the moon.

None of us saw Kennedy get shot.

But for us, we will never forget the moment when we first saw him.

His catchphrases sang to us. His exploits were legendary. He was a mythical figure in our minds, unsure if he was man or legend.

But the first time we laid our eyes on Dwayne Johnson (a.k.a. The Rock to drunken rednecks everywhere), we realized that no myth and no tale can do justice to the self-proclaimed "most electrifying performer in sports entertainment."

By the end of the World Wrestling Federation's Raw is War last Monday night in Greensboro, we smelled what The Rock was cooking. And the pungent odor was everything professional wrestling embodies nowadays-a tantalizing mix of swagger, braggadocio and a foamy keg of whup-ass.

The Rock is not your daddy's wrestling superstar.

He doesn't have a yellow shirt he tears up before every fight. He doesn't speak of Rock-a-mania. And he sure as hell doesn't enter the arena to the tune of "I am a real American."

You can say a lot about WWF's fans-vulgar, passionate, vocal, and oh yeah, reeking of red-neckedness. Last Monday night, the three of us went to the indoor carnival of pain. And we survived.... Sort of.

We realized that we were in over our heads when the three of us were the only people in the entire stadium without a clever cardboard sign. One guy created a replica street sign for the corner of Jabroni Dr. and Know Your Role Blvd (the site of the famed Smackdown Hotel). Unfortunately for this particular fan, he spelled role "roll." (It's possible that The Rock is also a baker.) Other jackasses held signs up that said inane things like "Fatboy 3:16," "Burlington can suck it!" "Eric is Queer," "Happy Birthday Toby!" and our personal favorite, "If you live in a trailer, give me a 'Hell Yeah!'" Enough signs to make a person puke, really.

After surveying the signage and cheesy used-car-salesman moustaches that surrounded us, we took notice of something shocking. Some people were drinking-beer. After getting over the shock that these fans could actually afford the whopping five bucks for a beer, we then realized that some of them were already, in the first 15 minutes of the event, more or less hammered off their asses. Drunkeness led to much humor as inebriated fans cheered for their favorite wrestlers and gave their enemies the finger. (We, of course, didn't drink because we take our jobs as professional journalists seriously. Either that or we were too broke to buy beer.)

But in our sobriety we noted that Title IX is not only sweeping across college athletics, but that it has also had a profound impact on professional wrestling. Instead of the token Miss Elizabeth of wrestling's yore, more women are making waves today. Most of the (primarily male) fans seem to like this new trend, as at least one raucous chanting of "Show your tits!" emerged during the course of the evening.

But it's kind of sad that the presence of women in the world of wrestling is primarily for the benefit of male fans. There was the very lovely Ms. Kitty, who as she climbed through the ropes and into the ring, knowingly revealed her panties to a stadium full of cheering males. There was also the very lovely announcer, Lilian Garcia, whose role was to look sexy, stand in the ring during commercials as fans gawk and whistle, and then say who's wrestling in the next match. She doesn't have a difficult job, but damn it, we loved her anyway.

But the highlight of the evening had to be what they called the evening gown match. This is just as ridiculous as it sounds-two women going at it in evening gowns. When we saw the first combatant (Ivory) come out, we were pretty excited (that's a pun). Then, to our horror, these two old women of at least 65 years of age came out to fight Ivory.

As the rumble ensued, we saw the back of the senior citizen's dress ripping and we knew we were in trouble. Soon enough she was in nothing but a bra and panties. The guy next to us said it reminded him of a horrible moment in his youth when he accidentally walked in on his grandparents having sex on his bunk-bed.

But then the fight got much better when Ivory flipped the naked grandma over the top rope and out of the ring. Real hilarity ensued when on her way down, grandma banged her hip against the side of the ring.

Just as we recovered from laughing at the surely broken hip, grandma's friend jumped into the ring and started beating on Ivory. As the two had it out, Ivory was stripped down to nothing but her erotic undergarments.

I think it was right then that we realized wrestling might just be the greatest sport ever. It has everything we, or just about any man, could ever want: violence, sex and beer.

Oh yeah, and The Rock.