The following is a recap of a live event, to which I brought a camera that didn’t work and didn’t bring any form of pad or paper so I could frantically scribble out a rebeak. Not to get all up in yo’ grill at the start, but just don’t expect a fascinating move-by-move description of each match. Just the Dusty Rhodes/ Bob Orton match.

CAPTAIN’S BLOG, SUPPLEMENTAL: Umm, this week on various snippets of Star Trek I saw CNN SPACE CORRESPONDENT MILES O’BRIEN and his wife NOT GAIL KIM try to reconnect with their time-warped daughter GAU, a sex-change operation to create ERICA BISCHOFF so as to fool the maker of Sluggo Cola into thinking a female could manage RAW or something, and WHAT WAS THAT STARSHIP CAPTAIN’S NAME AGAIN? meeting up with his old flame VASH THE STAMPEDE, THE HUMANOID TYPHOON WHO UNINTENTIONALLY DESTROYS EPISODES SHE’S IN with HEEL tricks set up by Q … E-E-R HAW-HAW ensuing. That’s the one that featured THE DOCTOR OF WORFONOMICS as Little John. Little John’s Tire House and Rims. Bat’leths for eight nineny-niiiine!

Tired yet? There’s still another paragraph before THE G BROTHERS (NOT VS. SAILOR V) even leave for the card!

WARRIORS, COME OUT TO BUTTON-MASH: The game’s regular gameplay is really a lot of fun, but there are a lot of sequences once the movie plot portion of the game begins that deal with things other than fighting. So, they substitute synchronized button-pressing or button-smashing contests. For example, the stage in which you run from the Turnbull A.C.’s, who are in a bus and are apparently led by Shaniqua’s father. “COME ON! GET ‘EM COME ON! GET ‘EM!” Also noteworthy is that whenever I tried to run past a cop, they would grab me for a Batista spinebuster. It doesn’t seem quite right without car-stealing, though.

So Waynesboro was about ten minutes farther afield from here than I thought it would be, and we didn’t leave until after six anyway. So we were expecting to maybe get in to the superstar meet-n-greet in time enough to touch base with JG’S CLOSEST FRIEND EVER, Ivan Kolaff. If we’d gotten up early enough that Sunday and gone back, we could have heard his personal testimony! Another curse of my schedule, I guess. Anyway, we spent at least a half-hour in a line that spread across two sides of Waynesboro High School, the prestigious venue for the show. Considering how full it was when we got in and how many people were behind us, it seems like a lot of folks might have been turned away. They will never know the joy of seeing fired WWE guys. So yeah, we missed the fan-fest. I was really hoping to get a photo of Maven signed, “To my 40,001st- and- 40,002nd-closest friends.” Near the door we saw a Cadillac with the license plate “HEBNER.” Geez, that thing had to have cost at least 1,600 T-shirts. I’m not sure how many Masterlocks broken that is. BLOOP BLOOP BLOOP

Anyhow, I called earlier in the week and reserved two tickets, having spoken with MA-VIIIIN (WHAZAAAP?!) WARD himself. And having been blessed by him at least three times. So by the time we got around to the will call table and I asked for tickets reserved under the name “Super Asia,” err, my actual name, there was what? Tell ‘em, Petey’s jersey! NADA! We were given two of a group of will call tickets reserved for “Dr. Morris,” whoever that is. So when a psychotic orange cat in surgical scrubs tries to kill me, at least I’ll know why. On the way inside the gym we saw SOME WHITE DUDE IN A JAPANESE WRESTLING MASK who I really thought was some guy who was really into it but was, in retrospect, Ultra Dragon. More on him later. Actually, if I’d realized who he was I’d have taken a picture, since my camera was basically useless once they dimmed the lights a little inside the gym. The only good photo I got was of THE CLOWN WHO MAKES THE DARK SIDE FUNNY, who actually was just some clown wandering around the ring area acting like a jerk to fans. I seriously thought he was going to be involved in a match later on, since he wasn’t really being that pleasant to people and I figured they were going for either a HEEL Doink routine or that (and this was my pet theory that I tried to convince JG of, but nothin’ doin’) it was really I SAW WHAT YOU DID TO THAT FRENCHMAN MARCEL MARCEAU, y’know, Cowboy Bob. And nothing that cool happened, it was just a less-than-entertaining clown milling about. Nothing else … OR WAS THERE?! STAY TUNED!!

JG, upon seeing any fat guy whatsoever: Hey, it’s Dusty Rhodes!

To begin the event proper, out came ring announcer MUMBLES McMUTTERSON to tell us a little about the show tonight. Then we get the national anthem, as sung by a well-meaning but incapable PROMOTER’S NIECE. If you can imagine actually wishing for I PINED FOR YOU FOR A WHOLE TWO WEEKS, BIG VIS, you get the idea. Aww, she’s all dolled up for ring dance, it looks like. Actually, it’s nice to know she’s related to the promoter, as I was kinda creeped out when I saw this 14-year-old-lookin’ kid hanging out with a member of the Russian Army earlier.

PHIL BROWN vs. J-SYNN vs. JASON JAMES vs. PRESTON MICHAELS vs. CHRIS BENNETT

I’ll level with you, I’m not even sure there were five guys in this match. Two were pretty obviously heels, though, as one had a New York Yankees logo on his onesie and another had these sweet Crown-Royal style purple velvety pants complete with tasseled yellow rope belt. Anyhow, one of those guys got eliminated early (or was never there), leaving Brown, J-Synn, Yankeeman and Crown Royal. The heels managed to team up on J-Synn and get a three-count. Their unholy alliance sealed, they turned their wrath upon Phil “I’m not Monty” Brown. Brown manages THE ROLLUP THE ROLLUP on Crown Royal to even the score to 1-on-1 … OR IS IT? Yankeeman and Brown put on a pretty good match until a lil’ old-fashioned cheating by Crown Royal gives Yankeeman the victory. And they’ve got the stick! “We’re the Street Sweepers!” Ahh, a return to the olden days of WWF when every wrestler had a day, or in this cast, very late night job? “We’re from New York, New York!” For those in the audience, and hey, we’re in the mountains here, who can’t read Yankeeman’s onesie. “And we sweep together, every night!” Surely this somewhat forced turn of phrase won’t somehow backfire on them! And Crown Royal disrespectfully swings his tassels over the prone body of Phil Brown. You rock.

MEOWTH LET’S DANCE! vs. MIKE TYSON WOULD CALL ME “STONE TODD! STONE TODD!”

Also known as Short Sleeve Sampson vs. Todd Stone. I don’t know what exactly it says about the show overall, but this was one of the more entertaining matches of the night, even taken in terms of the wrestling as opposed to the hi-larious midget novelty. Sampson’s wearing his graffiti pants that enchant Michael Cole so. Sampson: “When I say Short Sleeve, you say Sampson! Short Sleeve!” *holds out mic* “Short Sleeve!” *holds out mic* Once he’s satisfied that the crowd remembers the name of *sucking in air* Sampson, he concludes with “It’s midget time.” He was by far the most coherent and audible person on the mic the whole night. Speaking of the “remember the name” shtick, this match almost immediately goes into a routine in which Todd Stone is trying to hit Short Sleeve Sampson with the shattered dreams. The ref keeps trying to push him away as Sampson maybe gets one foot free, but Stone wriggles around the ref (who got boos when he was introduced because he’s from North Carolina) and hooks Sampson back up. Eventually the big nut shot connects, right while the ref is looking. JG calls for the bell, and I don’t think to look for a fat guy to distract him from his rage.

These guys go to the outside and take it to the extreme. Well, we can only assume it was extreme until we get the DVD, since we weren’t in the front row and could therefore not see midgets on the outside. However, Sampson did do A FUCKING SUICIDE DIVE through the bottom and middle ropes out on Todd Stone. Though Stone would go on offense for a goodly portion of the match, high spots included poetry in motion off of the ref and a friggin’ electric chair drop, both by Sampson. He apparently has been studying Edge’s move set from the Smackdown Playstation games. Sampson gets the win, and afterwards there’s a handshake. INDY RESPECTO! And I was expecting the very, VERY short-arm clothesline from Todd Stone. HAW HAW THEY ARE NOT TALL

JOHN 3:16 SAYS I JUST COVERED YOUR ASS vs. THAT CHAIN THING LINK USES

Or, George South vs. the Grappler. George South has “John 3:16” written in very thin, hard-to-see red letters on his black panties, see. The Grappler is wearing a T-shirt that says “Beat me if you can” on the front. Sadly, it does not say “Survive if I let you” on the back. South gets a mic and says “Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa, there, Grappler! Everybody knows about that loaded boot you’ve got!” His boot could fire at any second. I guess that was to inform us that he has a loaded boot, though the ref either takes no notice or can’t find whatever weapon is supposed to be in the boot.

South dominates for the majority of the match, until finally the Grappler (who had been losing grapples, c’mooon, man!) starts … warming up the band for sweet chin music? Oh, he’s stomping his foot around to shift around whatever metal he’s got in his boot … probably. It must be, that or George South was just hit with an atomic bomb. The crowd boos mightily, and starts yelling to the ref. The Grappler attempts to shush them, for which JG marks out. A few more kicks allow the Grappler to get on offense for a minute or two until South makes the big comeback for the win. I thought I’d like this match more, considering it the Grappler’s mask was very Super-Assassins-esque.

WHY DIDN’T YOU PHOTOGRAPH ME? vs. THE FUTURE “THE FUTURE?” vs. MY PANTS HAVE THE TAJ MAHAL DOWN THIS LEG

That’s Ultra Dragon vs. new WWE development Velocibaby-to-be Mikey Batts vs. Sonjay Dutt. That’s right, bitches, we saw the sweet Taj Mahal pants HOURS before the rest of WV. But I must warn you: Something this past week happened to our dear Sonjay Dutt. Whenever they taped iMPACT!, he was everyone’s favorite happy-go-lucky sprinklin’ machine, laughing along with AJ as Styles told everyone of his gi-nourmous penis. But something changed.

It probably has something to do with him being a dirty furriner in the foothills of the Appalachias. But yeah, he was a heel for this match. He actually has a really sweet heel shtick. Unfortunately, it meant no sprinkler. We called for it, loud enough that someone several rows up eventually asked what the hell it was. It also meant no crazy snake-charmer music.

Now I say Dutt was trying to set up an unholy alliance with Ultra Dragon against Mikey Batts, but unfortunately Ultra Dragon doesn’t speak Hindi. Or maybe Dutt made the mistake of trying to talk to this typical ‘Mercain in Japanese. Silly Sonjay! Either way, JG didn’t see any evidence of that. Ultra Dragon looks cautious in the corner as Batts and Dutt start things off with a flippity-floppity whooptie-(DOOT-)doo session. Batts is sent into the corner, and Dragon comes in for a few shots. Eventually Batts is sent outside and Dragon fights Dutt. Dragon goes up top for a corkscrew 450, but Dutt slides out of the way and goes for a moonsault in the opposite corner that gets a lot more air. A three count and Dragon is eliminated. Dutt does a great “I am sexay” dance, which the fans boo. He pantomimes flinging sweat at them as punishment. Batts and Dutt have a great fight, the highlight of which is Dutt’s attempted “c’mon baby” pin, but Batts wins in the end. He argues with the ref that his tights were pulled. We’re with you, Sonjay.

THAT’S HIS ATLAS, TONY & REMEMBER WHEN I FEUDED WITH BRET HART (PLEASE) & RANGER RICK’S BRUTHA FROM ANOTHA MUTHA & I HAVE ALL THE STROH AROUND HERE, SLAPNUTS vs. STILL SCARY AT FRICKIN’ 70 OR SO & SOME GUYS WITH RED T-SHIRTS AND HAMMER & SICKLE MASKS & WHY IS SOMEONE WITH AN ISLANDER GIMMICK WITH THE SOVIET TEAM?

That’s Tony Atlas, the Patriot, Ranger Ross and the Stroh vs. Ivan Kolaff, the Russian Army and King Kaluah. Oo! Oo! Can I be King Bailey’s Irish Creme? Actually, King Kaluah’s ass is way too small and he’s way too pale, so this is another case of putting fake diversity into your card. It’s not necessary for your card to feature one Samoan in order to be valid! He probably doesn’t even know the “I’m playing telephone” pantomime.

OK, this was a big tag match while we were sitting at ground level with a great view of some seriously patriotic asses. Team America won, and at the end the Russian Army started pushing Ivan Kolaff around. Then, LA FEMME NIKITA invades! He chases off the treacherous Russian Army (treacherous to their no-longer-existent union) and, presumably, that random not-really-an-islander guy. Nikita chant. Fans are torn between cheering for an old wrestler they know and booing a commie pinko as the Kolaffs celebrate in the ring.

I DON’T REMEMBER ANY OF THE AUTOBOTS BEING BLACK WOMEN vs. EXPERIENCE-ING UNEMPLOYMENT OH HO HO

That’s Jazz vs. Ivory. Jazz is the heel because her pants say “bitch” on them, I guess. Also, because she loses the match and so far only one heel has won on this card. She does show us the guns after laying out Ivory a few times and does explain to us that that is, in fact, what she’s talking about. Jazz hits a hard slam and covers when SOME TUBBY PALE LADY IN ALL BLACK, uhh, comes to ringside too late and backs out of trying to break up the pin. Ivory kicks out, Jazz gets her in the same move and OMG the pale woman ATTAX! It's a no contest. Ivory and Jazz team up to fend off the wierd woman, and all is done. So, that could have stood a little setup and/or explanation. She looked a little like what would happen if Spellbinder (AKA Kulijah) had a sex change operation and let himself go a little.

EVERYBODY KNOWS ABOUT YOUR LOADED GUN PANTIES vs. WIN ONE FOR THE KIPPER

Rodney Mack and Billy Gunn. No gun panties, sorry; this is a school zone, after all. Billy Gunn gets the DX theme, for some reason. Mack nearly gets the pin while he’s got his feet on the middle rope, but he eventually eats a flameasser. I guess now that he’s in TNA he doesn’t use the Styles clash anymore.

For those desperate to read more about this match, well, I don’t remember anything else and it’s late/early. Boo hoo. However, Waynesboro’s daily newspaper is printed on our press, so I saw a copy of the sports section featuring the card. Nobody stuck around to get the results or write about the thing, but the one quotation they chose to pull out and put in display type was Rodney Mack saying “We always love to come out and help.” Y’know it’s the Mack militant, comin’ to feel the loooove. They also had a quote from Billy Gunn and two photos of Mack with Gunn in a headlock. So … we know for sure those two were at the event, at least, from reading the paper.

For those desperate to read even more about Rodney Mack and Billy Gunn: What’s wrong with you?

WHAT DO WE WANT? HEAD! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? HEAD! WAIT A MINUTE … vs. THIS VENUE IS SO SMALL IT COULDN’T SEAT ALL 75,000 OF MY CLOSEST FRIENDS

Al Snow and Maven. Marvin Ward shows up and tells us all that he knows this match will need a tough referee, and he knows of only one man “Tough Enough” for the job: THE SADLER BROTHER NOT IMPORTANT ENOUGH TO BE INTERVIEWED BY JEFF HAMMOND FOR THE SIX POINTS OF IMPACT. That’s Hermie Sadler, by the way. Hermie enjoys participating in wrestling events, but lives in fear of the Rock making fun of his name. Anyhow, Hermie’s not at Atlanta Motor Speedway this weekend because he drives as fast as he counts, ah-cha-cha. Seriously, though, Hermie left two seconds between each count. Snow has head with him. JG yells, “I wanna see a snowplow!” I counter with, “I wanna see an Arch Deluxe!” Nobody bothers to ask what that is. They’ve all read the WV glossary, obviously. Maven and Al Snow shake hands, but FRIENDS GOTTA HUG! Aww, it warms my heart cockles. They then take turns hugging Hermie, haha.

The match begins with an attempt at a test of strength, which Maven PSHAWs through slapsies. Another attempt goes into a lockup sequence ending with indy respecto. Another lockup, Snow gets walked into the corner, clean break from Maven? Yes. Our Augusta County boy is good people. A good match, really; it’s well-paced and there’s some nice psychology. This, of course, means that every headlock makes a few guys start to yell “BORING.” Eventually Al Snow loses it and goes into a stomping frenzy, to much booing. After a series of near-falls, Snow gets madder and madder about Hermie’s ridiculously slow counts. The two debate the point, until Maven goes for THE ROLLUP THE ROLLUP but still only gets two. This was another slow count, mind you, and now both Al and Maven are stunned at this Sadler’s incompetence. Al and Hermie get into a shoving match, which ends with Hermie pushing Snow into the ropes. Snow carries his momentum through, presumably to clothesline Hermie or something, but Sadler grabs him for a sloppy powerslam. A powerslop. When Snow gets up, Hermie has a strange combination of embarrassed and afraid on his face and Snow starts to really lose it. Maven sneaks up and this referee distraction finally does it. 1, 2, 3. Maven gets a big pop, as does Snow, who stays in the ring until after Maven leaves. A good match.

I’M STILL IN WWE AND SEAN O’HAIRE’S NOT?! and his interview show

Piper’s pit time. I asked JG what his over/under bet would be for intelligible words. I don’t think he gave me one, but I specifically remember him saying something about the hospital that the event was raising funds for. I could also gather that he told his one story about the coconut and one story about almost kicking Cindi Lauper.

So … he calls Phil Brown, the guy who jobber to the Street Sweepers, to the ring. Did the Hebners just hop in their sweet, sweet Caddy and ditch the show? Piper says something (I think) about helping out the young kids in the industry and Phil Brown actually says pretty intelligibly what an honor it is for him to be in the ring with Piper. BUTWAIT, they get STREET SWEEPER’D! Yankeeman and Crown Royal show up to make fun, as well as to remind the crowd they’re from New York City. They also remind us of how they sweep together every night. Piper OMG latches on to that line and probably made a homosexual joke about it! Brown asks Piper to team up with him for a tag match against the Street Sweepers, but instead … umm … HEY, IT’S SOME FAT GUY! shows up? Umm, OK. While he starts knocking out the sweepers with a punch apiece, I REALLY WAS THAT ASSHOLE CLOWN FROM THE BEGINNING, REALLY! comes out to Pearl Harbor him, and somewhere along the line the next match begins. This was a confused little segment.

THE PAY WINDA AROUND HERE ONLY GIVES OUT FOOD STAMPS vs. THE CONTEMPORARIES-OF-HIS KILLER, with special guest referee WOO! LIL’ NAITCH THE REFEREE! WAIT, THAT REALLY IS LIL’ NAITCH

Dusty Rhodes vs. “Cowboy” Bob Orton, with David Flair as ref. Piper sort of said “David Flair, everybody,” as he was leaving the ring, but Mumbles McMutterson didn’t get to come out to announce this one. David earns his pay by pulling the plaid mat out from underneath Rhodes and Orton as they’re circling each other so the match proper can begin.

OK, a promise is a promise, I’m gonna rebeak this match move for move. To start out, Orton put Dusty in an armbar. He held the armbar at least fifteen minutes. Then he held him in the armbar a little more. And the crowd was batshit insane over it. Maven and Snow never held any specific rest hold more than a minute or two and fans were yelling “BORING.” If you make it two old guys with reputations, it’s the greatest thing ever. Dusty eventually managed to reach over and hit Orton with his free hand (because he had a hand free THE WHOLE TIME) and fight out. Punches, punches, a little crotch-grabbing, and a punch. Then “Also Sprach Zarathustra” hits … HUH? BIG POPPA NAITCH does not appear, though, as this was all a Paul Heyman-esque brilliant tactic! DISTRACTION! This gives David Flair the opening he needs to give Rhodes an uppernutter. Boos-a-poppin’. Orton goes for a cover, but still only gets two. Chairman Ward comes to ringside to holler and fuss, and begins arguing with Orton. This buys Dusty enough time to recover, delivering a bionic elbow to Flair. He then covers flair, while IN MY FLY CADDY, I BE PIMPIN’ T-SHIRTS NATIONWIDE runs in to make the three-count. Umm … what? David Flair is THE NEW LOSER OF THIS MATCH.

KEEP YOUR EYES OFF THE PROMOTER’S NIECE, LAWLER vs. THE FATHER OF THE BEST HEEL EWR HAS with guest referee MUMMIES ALIVE!

That’s Lawler and “Superstar” Bill Dundee, with “Boogie-Woogie Man” Jimmy Valiant as guest referee. We’re supposed to like him, because he “now resides in Virginia.” I wonder if that means he’s really Canadian! Either way, he looks like the Cryptkeeper. Dundee dresses down the crowd, says Valiant is Lawler’s personal referee (like Buff Bagwell had, sweet!) and demands to make sure he calls the match down the middle, and makes fun of “Virginia State.” Lawler gets a mic and, for a refreshing change, is mostly understandable. Lawler tries to correct him by saying “it’s not Virginia State, it’s Virginia Tech? Am I right?” Haha, Lawler gets more boos by saying “Virginia Tech” in University of Virginia country than Dundee got for intentionally getting it wrong. He says he likes Dundee about as much as he does coach, and says something about Dundee’s rugby team having trouble with drug testing, I think. What?

This match consisted almost entirely of Dundee reaching in and out of his tights. Eww. He had a chain in there that he was using to punch and choke Lawler. He was actually pretty amusing about how he hid it. In his hand, behind the back, switching it from hand to hand as Valiant checked each palm, it was good fun. Eventually, Valiant couldn’t take the scent of Dundee’s Axe shower gel any more and had to reach down his tights. SEXY SEXY THANG. Imagine his surprise when he found a chain down there! Well, it was all downhill from there for Dundee, and Lawler wrapped it up with a piledriver.

Ward came out to thank us for our patronage (oh, no, really, Mr. Ward, it was a great show!) and to tell us about next spring’s show. To help him with the announcement, he’s got the Hebners, THE DFG IS THE NIGHTMARE YOU CAN’T WAKE UP FROM and his brother MASTER TEST ORDERED ME TO PARTICIPATE IN THIS SHOW, the Steiners. It’s called Hog Wild, or Hog-A-Mania according to the Web site, and will feature a match between the Steiners and the New Age Outlaws. Here’s a fun game for the whole WV crowd: Reach back into history and see how many tag champions you can find that I like less than any of these dudes. Ward says that the Steiners are the best tag team of all time, which means THOUGH THERE’S NO BREAKING GLASS, IT’S TIME FOR MR. ASS has to come out and rebut. Ho-ho-ho, he’s Mr. Ass and he has to rebut, get it? ZING! He says that he and the Road Dog were the best team of all time. A big slam on Bart Gunn, who is probably wrestling somebody who will undoubtedly kick the shit out of him at this very moment. Big Poppa Pump mentions something about a fag wedding. Yes, “fag wedding” was his turn of phrase, if I remember right.

To conclude, we were offered the chance to have our photos taken with the Stieners for twenty bucks. We somehow resisted.

FINAL THOUGHTS: COME ON! GET ‘EM!