Sunrise

I watched the sun rise this morning. Not after a sleepless night either - the proper way. And as that reluctant giant ball of orange inched its way up the cold, hazy Noida skyline, two thoughts came to mind - one, there is absolutely nothing to compete with this feeling of solitude and two, it's a feeling that wouldn't go amiss if it occurred a little more frequently (as unlikely as that is) over the days and months to come.

The Best in the World

Plural, not singular.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Cj-RoQk4vPg

Could this really be happening? And dare I dream of a title unification at Wrestlemania?

Introducing the Hoigh King of Oirland

Anddd Sheamus wins the Royal Rumble 2012, probably the least-hyped, lowest-content, lowest-intensity Rumble in years.

Does he really have it to make it to the next level? He's been strapped, unstrapped, re-strapped, made King of the Ring, turned heel, turned face and yet, there seems to be something about him that's missing the mark. I fear for his legitimacy going forward and for a roster so thin on talent and a Creative so bereft of ideas that, really, the only ready reason I can offer for him winning the Rumble is that he had nothing else going on storyline-wise.

By God, John Cena v. The Rock better put bums in seats, otherwise this is going to be the worst Wrestlemania in a long, long time. 

Evolution

Much like any other "greatest of all time" debate, the question of the greatest wrestling stable of all time also attracts much disagreement. But, mostly - and I think the same applies to other such debates as well - it offers connoisseurs the opportunity to reminisce. 

I'm not old enough to have seen the original Four Horsemen, I always thought that, apart from its original run, the nWo was bloated and overemphasised, I cannot find myself in agreement with those who claim that DX were less shock-value and more substance and I strongly felt that the Hart Foundation were forced heels.

Talk of wrestling stables always leads me back to one name and one name alone.

Evolution.

Never before has a group been launched so simply yet so effectively with just one promo. Never before have four such distinct individuals come together with such synergy and success (six world titles, two world tag team titles, two intercontinental titles, one Rumble winner in exactly twenty months). Never before have stable members so furtively retained unmistakable individual identities (The Game, The Legend Killer, The Animal, The Nature Boy) and yet come together with such a vengeance. Never before has each member of an alliance retained something distinct from the entity and contributed something unique. 

Most of all, though, the very existence of the group made sure that the result was greater than the sum of its parts - Triple H finally ascended into the pantheon of all-time greats, Ric Flair finally played mentor in a way no one since Handsome Harley had, Batista finally got the push of a lifetime, all the way to a word title win at Wrestlemania 21 and Randy Orton finally got the chance to serve notice of the greatest God-given pro-wrestling talent perhaps since Curt Hennig and Bret Hart first broke through.

That all this happened without ever having to resort to a face turn, without clogging up the main event (Evolution members were involved in only eighteen out of thirty-seven pay-per-view main events during the existence of the group) and despite some potentially momentum-stopping injuries is simply extraordinary. It seems fitting, then, that Evolution dissolved bit by bit - the heel turn on Orton, Batista's "thumbs up, thumbs down" face turn and, eventually, Hunter's heel turn on Flair, all of which pushed to the limit the possibilities and psychology, inside the ring and out, of a wrestling stable.

However, what I've put down are just words, descriptions. They do not convey what it meant to follow Evolution for those twenty glorious months, what it meant to believe in the philosophy of the group, how much I looked forward to watching Raw every week to see what poor soul would get destroyed next. It all seemed so sure, so well-crafted, so perfect. And yet, their epochal theme song spoke of lines in the sand, of seeing your reflection change, of changes that no one sees, of finding out who you are. It's easy to see why that appealed to directly and passionately to the fifteen-year-old me, but it's equally easy to see why it, that, then and, most of all, they continue to embody words I live by.   

We all know what it means

Nothing's ever what it seems

Unforgiven, unforeseen.

(c) PWI, 2012.

Disgusted

That's right - keep selling our best players to bloody Norwich City.

I can't believe I was stupid enough to be optimistic about this season less than ten weeks ago. I was hoping that awful, awful night at Barnsley on New Year's Eve was an aberration but it is becoming increasingly impossible to believe that there is any direction, discipline and, most sickeningly, desire to turn this around. 

This latest departure means that just two of the fourteen players who featured in the Manchester United FA Cup game two years ago are still around and, quite honestly, Kisnorbo is not half the player he was two years ago and I'm willing to wager that someone will steal Snoddy in the summer, if not sooner.  

It may well be a passing thought but even as such it vividly captures what I'm going through right now - I don't think Leeds United will play Premier League football in my lifetime.