Ok, time for the rarbear report! I liked the show, but not really for the matches, most of them sucked. But I liked it for the history snippets, since it filled in some gaps for me.  And the backstage party stuff was actually pretty funny.

But for the matches: First up, Batista v. Kane, yawnz. Ooo, shocking new move in Batista's arsenal: an ankle lock! I mean somebody stop me if I'm wrong, but isn't an ankle lock pretty elementary? Anyway, boring match.

First seg: Michael Cole made me cringe, Maria made me cringe more (is she supposed to be like fashion's worst nightmare or something?), Punk was awesome, Vickie made me cringe some more, Santino finally made me laugh. Good all in all though. I didn't mute it.

Second seg: Iron Sheik in the VIP lounge, nothing else needs to be said.

Eddie Guerrero spotlight: I loved it because I missed out on some good times with Eddie. Love or shameless promotion? I'm not sure, but it seems appropriate in a decade show.

Ok, I liked the tag match with Morrison/Kingston v. Ziggler/Miz, mainly because I like everyone involved, even Jack Swagger on the outside. It was the only useful cross promotional thing on there.  They even did a good job of playing with the Morrison/Miz history without screwing up the main foci feuds involved.

Third party seg: I actually injured myself making a mad grab for the remote to mute karaoke with Yoshi Tatsu, Kung Funaki and Jillian. But at least Michael Cole finally did something useful by ralfing on Jericho's shoes.

I haven't missed the Rock. He got the mute in pretty short order. But I did unmute long enough to catch him insulting Punk with all the aplomb of a third grader. And people wonder why I hate that stupid monkey.

Diva's Lumberjack match is a contradiction in terms.

Zombie TV: Always nice to hear from the Undertaker. While it's all stuff you've heard before, it is interesting to hear him imply that he will break Punk's Edge.

Party 4: Go Drew Go. At least R-Truth didn't sing and some stuff finally got busted up.

8 man tag: They introduced it as "the biggest 8 man tag in Smackdown history" like they really desperately wanted you to believe it.  I had zero interest in watching 75% of the participants in the match and was still miffed about the complete omission of Punk's volatile history with Legacy, so yeah, it was pretty much suckage on a stick. I was just waiting for Punk to get in and like... he didn't. Oh yeah, but they played up Undertaker and HBK's history. Handy. Whatever. So sorry Punk isn't old enough or face enough to be allowed the privilege of a past. But hey, as long as super Cena can pick up 2 guys instead of one it's still a great show right? Wrong! How about the SMACKDOWN World Champion on your SMACKDOWN 10 year celebration? You know, that guy standing in the corner being ignored? Some celebration, while you put over those moronic turds from RAW.

I'm really just livid that their idea of putting Punk over in this show was to have the Rock mention him and my idea would have been for him to take a firehouse to the celebration party over the alcohol, or walk out on the main event because of the history or something dramatic, memorable or important seeing as he's oh I dunno... IMPORTANT! Silly me.

I've been trying to write this blog for awhile now, to explain it in terms of a New Year's resolution, or to somehow simplify it and relate it to wrestling fandom and my own little sporting pursuits. But the fact is that it just won't stay in all those neat little boundaries, and maybe it shouldn't have to. Maybe that speaks more to my attitude and to that of my inspiration, CM Punk, than a "proper" little Hallmark moment piece of writing anyway.

Many would call Punk a great example for kids with his Straightedge lifestyle, but fewer think about his influence on those of us who are older and might need to be reminded that hard work has its rewards, that being different isn't the death sentence some would have us believe, and that refusing to give up does make a difference. While some of us have watched drugs or alcohol take an undue toll on the lives of those around us, we have held our ground and tried to have some discipline. I have never been Straightedge myself, but I have always been wary of the kind of destruction I have seen wrought in people's lives by careless substance abuse. I drink very moderately. Illegal drugs have no place at all in my life. But I'm light years from having the kind of discipline that Punk has. I guess that's why he gets to be the inspiration and I get to be the inspired.

"Inspired to what?" you may ask. The answer is as simple as "Racing," or as complicated as "Reclaiming a great deal of my life that has been lost along the way." Racing cars was the dream of my youth. I was raised in it really, with my play pen set up in my father's paddock space next to the tire stacks and tool boxes. My "aunts" and "uncles" were racing friends of my parents, who baby sat me while they kept their anniversary "date" with a candle light picnic on the tailgate of the tow vehicle. And as I grew up and found that I didn't fit in very well in the "real" world, there was always a place for me in the world of sports cars. Even when I was a troubled, sullen, leather and chains wearing, purple haired teen, I was still welcome there, even if I wasn't entirely understood.

I guess that's another point of fandom for me with Punk; I identify because I didn't fit in except within a certain small world of like-minded souls. Mine just happened to be sports car folks instead of Straightedge punks. I grew up in the suburbs of Baltimore and quite frankly no one was cool enough to be Straightedge there. I had very few friends and most are gone, the best of them was killed by a drunk driver, which pushed me quite over the edge. I was already at war with my parents and most everyone else, but what little solace I found was at the races because for that brief time at the track, I could be on the same side as my Dad and that made it easier to talk about things. It probably saved my life, looking back. Not from drugs or alcohol mind you, just from being so rebellious and depressed that I would have ended up on my own and too immature to handle it.

But at 17 I was finally deemed ready to drive a race car. Ok, not in a race, but I was allowed to autocross my dad's car. An autocross is an event held in a parking lot, in which a course is laid out in cones and cars are run through it one at a time. The fastest time wins. Speeds are relatively low and since cars aren't out there together, there's little danger of a wreck. A rev limiter was put in place to save the engine if I should be such a yutz as to jam the throttle wide open. I ran a couple of autocrosses and utterly embarrassed myself, knocking over cones, spinning out wildly, sliding, overshooting turns, you name it. But then I showed up at the first event of the next season and walked the course, studied the map, hopped in the car and made my first couple of runs which were pretty good, walked the course and studied it some more, and made the last run. After that I came back in to find the amusing sight of a row of old men who always show up with their lovely old British cars, in their little plaid caps, puffing their pipes, standing there with their analog stopwatches... all smiling, bemused, at the leather wearing, spiky multi-color haired girl. I had just won my first event. And that was the day that I learned a new dream. There was something I could do, and do well. I won the championship that year, and my father had promised to help me build a racecar of my own when I won an autocrossing championship, so off I went.

Much like Punk's first years in the independents, those first few years were rough. I raced on my father's hand-me-downs, and couldn't afford a tow vehicle, so my car had to be driven to the racetrack, demanding that it remain street legal. That made it hard to get the suspension geometry needed to make it really fast. And in our class that was deadly because the competition was fierce and numerous. The field was usually 40-50 cars strong, and at its worst dwindled to maybe 30. There was never a dull moment. But in those years I learned a lot, including how to get my ass kicked and figure out how the guy did it. I got better and better though and in the course of time I achieved a lot, just never quite what I wanted. But I lived on optimism and the support of the fans. Yes, fans, or really friends because we don't so much have spectators as other racers and workers and a very small bunch of fans, but they're very supportive and they do let you know that you've turned in a performance. Looking through my boxes of old trophies I find 2 third place championship medals. Unlike wrestling championships, racing championships are won over the course of a season, by accumulating points, so those represent a yearlong effort apiece with a lot of high place finishes. And that pretty much is the story of my 9 year career, a lot of high place finishes, just very few wins, and no actual championships. I threatened every champion in my class for nearly a decade; I just didn't actually beat them.

And this is where the question of luck comes in. Because so many have said, "Well, you just never had the luck," or "The stars never aligned." I didn't see it that way. Besides the fact that the expense had taken a toll on my finances and accidents had taken a toll on my health, I had not come close to what I hoped to accomplish. I left racing defeated, convinced that I just plain sucked. And no one could convince me otherwise for a very long time. But man did they try. Remember those fans I mentioned? Those friends? None of them would let me just forget that I had once been a racecar driver and in their eyes a darn good one. They recounted tales of my heroism regularly, often not noticing me trying to hide in a corner. But a funny thing happened during one such re-telling. The friend telling the story recalled me winning the race and when I assured him that I had not, that I had never won a race at Summit Point, my home track he said, "Huh... I could have sworn you won that one. Well... it was still brilliant! You guys were just great..." etc. etc. And it hit me; no one else is keeping track the way I am. It isn't about the record for them, it's about the moments. It's the same way we remember our favorite matches and highlights and promos. We don't remember exactly how many matches someone has won or lost, or even titles sometimes, it's the moments that made that person special that stand out. It's taken me a little while to come to grips with the fact that I might be seen this way myself, on a much smaller scale.

But in that time I've had even more to come to grips with. As I've said, I tried to forget that I was a racecar driver, to go have a normal life, to pursue a career, buy a house, have a relationship, get a couple of cats and plant a garden. During that time I packed on weight, developed migraines, and became more and more depressed, all the while failing at most of the things mentioned above. Ok, the cats and the house worked. Well, so did the career to an extent, because I can work like nobody's business. Just that I'm not a true career person. I don't kiss ass well enough for true advancement. And while I love to learn new things, if I could put "serial dropout with issues with authority" on my resume I would. Anyone see the makings of a "You might be a Punk fan if..." test here? But all the while I stayed in contact with the racing world, trying to keep a low profile and not be a driver anymore, just hang out with my friends. I did express some interest in trying it out again, especially when a new class started becoming popular, Spec Miata. It was fairly low cost, and Spec means everyone gets the same car, throws the same kit on it and goes racing. Total equality never quite happens, but things are still a far cry from the open ended development of my former class. Then the bombshell hit: my father went and bought one out of the blue... for us to share.

After the shock wore off, the old enthusiasm started to return, with just a hint of trepidation. I told myself this was just going to be for fun and I was going to take it easy and I wasn't going to let myself get so carried away with it this time. I kept holding back a little, as if really getting into it might be dangerous, as if I might just embarrass myself if I tried too hard. Now to fill in the blank a little, I had already started moving toward some positive things. I had left northern Virginia, which was killing me. And I had started down a slow road to finding a cure for the headaches that were plaguing me and was willing to go through however many doctors it took to find one that would actually work with me. Point being, that positive things were coming together, and long about that time, last spring, I started watching wrestling again. And there was CM Punk, to remind me why I should never have left in the first place.

Punk was a breath of fresh air to a returning fan, not being precisely like anything I remembered, but a lot like me in some ways and a lot like I wanted to be in others. That's what heroes are for I think, not so much to be idolized passively, as figures we have nothing in common with, but to be those we can catch a glimpse of ourselves in and see ourselves realized as better than we are. So while I was enjoying watching him cash Money in the Bank, I was also inching my way back into the racing scene. And through his victories and defeats I traversed my own ups and downs, getting faster, and then spinning off every turn at Nelson Ledges racecourse, and running into another car as it spun in front of me. All the while, I was slowly starting to remember how much I loved being there in the first place, even when things didn't go just the way I wanted. And at the last race of the season, things finally came together. After more quiet and diligent practice, the race day dawned and kept everyone guessing about whether or not it would rain. To me, it didn't matter since I only had one set of tires, but others danced around the question of which tires they would run all day and come race time, some chose well and others did not. I ended up with a real race on my hands, and stalked and fought and ended up turning in the kind of performance that everyone knew and loved me for, including me. I had just forgotten. But I turned in my fastest time to date and finished 12th out of 33, my highest up until then.

It was almost a shock though, feeling the old fire again quite that strongly. I still had it. Sure, there was room for improvement. Dad and I had both spent most of the year shaking off the rust and our tired old engine had not boosted our performance much. But the fire was there. This fire burns, always. Who'da thunk it? After that race I started seeing things differently, and more importantly I started to act differently. I started to act like someone with a purpose and a reason for being, someone who had a dream again. I wanted back into my old driving suit, which demanded I lose a good bit of weight. I finally found that doctor who helped me beat the migraines and that put me back in the gym. Admittedly, it was a struggle, but whenever I feel lazy about it, I remind myself that Punk's knees surely hurt worse or he's got to be more tired than me. So I keep going. At this writing, I'm back in that suit, a little snuggly, but in it. And recently, I attended an autograph signing with CM Punk. But unlike those who brought their favorite photo or tee shirt, I brought my helmet and asked that he sign it with "Luck is for Losers." This is, in part, an explanation of why.

Because this time, I'm not waiting for the stars to align. This time I'm not waiting for things to go my way. In sharing a car with my dad, I'm not even able to become champion just yet, so for now the only goal I can have is to perform well, and eventually win individual races. My goal for all of last year was to finish in the top ten. That is now my goal for the first race, April 18-19. After that, the ante will be upped to the top five. And that's pretty tough company. How tough that is will determine when I can realistically set the goal of winning a race. My overarching goal is simple: Make them fear me. It's what I'm good at and have plenty of experience at, after all. But just as important as the goal is simply being there, doing what it is that I do. I spent ten years trying to pretend I gave a damn about my flower beds, but I just didn't. But I drive racecars in my dreams at night. And it's worth it to keep pursuing your dream no matter what; even if someone kicks you in the head before you have a chance to defend your world championship, even if someone flips a car over four times with you in it and smashes your neck and shoulder. It's worth it to never stop and to let all those folks in the stands believe, because they'll keep on believing even when you forget how, because they'll keep your moments for you and remind you what matters when you forget. In my case, they remembered who I was for me. And so rarbear must race again, to keep an unspoken promise to myself and to all those who supported me not to give in and be defeated. And it's good to have Punk around to remind me how.

Woot! Ok, so I went to the house show in Richmond, VA on Monday night and I have to say first and foremost, it totally renewed my love of this wild and crazy sport (I don't care what you call it).  It also affirmed my love of house shows as opposed to TV tapings.  When they don't have to mug for the cameras and time things to such a perfect extent, they spend a bit more time slapping hands, looking you in the eye and oh yeah... WRESTLING. Word to the wise, attend a house show near you. First major observation: floor seats are worth the money. You get eyeball to eyeball with your faves, they nearly land in your lap, and yes, you too can be hair gelled by THE Brian Kendrick. And they can hear you. It's pretty neat if you actually have something to say or some love to shout out. Of course Edge might tear up your sign or insult you, but hey, that's the fun of it!

Random observation: Damn, the Richmond Coliseum needs a new sound system. No, it really sucks bad. The Undertaker's entrance was all distorted, among others. The acoustics are terrible. I think it's because it's primarily a sports arena instead of a showplace. But still, they should be able to do better than that.

So on to the show. Well, first I was late. Hey, I have a job to hold down and I work until 6. The show started at 7 and I had to hoof it back downtown, feed the cats, change into something more formidable, suck down a smoothie and some granola and roll down to a little public parking lot a few blocks away from the arena. I have learned this lesson, friends: stay away from the parking decks close in to whatever show you're going to, wrestling or otherwise. They will be jam packed and you will spend an hour getting out of there when everyone else comes charging out at the same time. Walk your lazy butt a few blocks away to a lot and you'll roll out much faster. For me, this is essential if it's a work night.

So anyway, I walked in late and it was in the middle of R-Truth vs. Shelton Benjamin vs. Hurricane Helms. I assume that it was for the title since there were a couple of exchanges with Helms making belt motions at his waist and going, "I'm just sayin'." R-Truth did the same thing after rolling up Helms a couple times with a few surprise maneuvers. Gee, Hurricane, you think he might want it too? Nonetheless, it was great to see Hurricane back in action and it was a fabulous, fast paced match. All three guys really looked their best and I was immediately impressed that this was not going to be a half assed show because of the lack of TV cameras, which was my initial thought. This, as you can imagine, did not end well:

But the match ended with Shelton retaining and a nice round of cheers for the guys. After that I got to crawl over a bunch of folks to my seat which turned out to be basically one chair off the very corner of the entrance. Not too shabby. So when the next match started, Natalya and Michelle McCool vs. the Bella twins, I was well placed give Natalya a nice loud rarbear roar in welcome! And I did and she looked at me and smiled. Go ahead and boo, you sheep, I love me some Nattie. And I believe she spotted me shooting and gave me a little extra time to get this nice pic of her lovely self.

Unfortunately, my camera is teh suck. I have already resolved to spend the money for floor seats again and seeing my pics, I have now resolved to either buy a better camera, or try out one of my dad's cast offs. He's a fairly gifted amateur of some 50 years whose cast offs are professional grade. Of course the thing weighs as much as my head, but it's free, so I figure I'll muddle through and if the results are good, well I'll just have to manage. Anyway, the match was pretty good, and while Natalya carried it, I was more favorably impressed with the other divas than I have been previously. But while I usually hesitate to remark on a diva's appearance (not being in possession of a pair of testicles I don't feel qualified to judge), I must say that Michelle McCool is much more terrifyingly thin in person than I had ever guessed from TV. I had to restrain the urge to go buy her a cheese steak. They say the camera adds 10 pounds and I would say she needs it. Frightening. But all through the match she was being mightily booed, especially by the 4 little girls directly behind me, who were clearly behind their pink princess twins. They also managed to induce a migraine I had to fight down all evening. Ah, the little darlings. *rarbear restrains the urge to eat someone else's young*

But McCool won the match with a sort of upside down full frontal body slam (don't ask me the formal name, that's what it looked like). Afterwards Maria ran out and tried to get a piece of McCool but was rewarded with the same move and some medical attention. It was a little embarrassing because besides being an apparently lame move in that it was ineffective, it was also totally unconvincing and the polite golf clap kind of summed it up. I don't like to hate, but as a wrestler, Maria's very pretty. Oh the little girls got a visit from McCool after the match so she could tell them she "didn't need them anyway." Expertly played. But I'm just annoyed that Natalya appears to be her new badass fashion accessory when it should be the other way around.

Moving on to another enjoyable, but bittersweet match, MVP took on the new freak of the week, Kizarney. He's not bad, but certainly not on par with MVP, whom I really like, despite being a heel and despite the losing streak. I'm a fan of skills, not gimmicks. I regret very much that I didn't have time to make my sign idea ,"I believe in MVP." It would have been so wildly contrarian that it would have thrown a bunch of folks off. Anyway, they did have a good match, well paced with some nice back and forth. Kizarney's not in as good a shape as I'd like to see from someone looking to make a big splash in the WWE though. It was a match that, like most lately, MVP should have won, but didn't. So he sat in the ring and pouted a little while. But then, he got on the mic and said, "I can't do this anymore. I quit." There were thunderous cheers, but I swear a little part of me died inside. Not only did he do it well, but you never can tell if something's a work, especially at a house show! I mean, why say it if there are no cameras? It was an awkward moment and a sad rarbear for a few minutes there.

Next up was debatably the match of the night, a street fight between HHH and Vladimir Kozlov. I got very few pictures of it because I was too busy gawking. I have been known to whine about the predictability of HHH winning and the lack of charisma of Kozlov, but live and in person, these two can put on an amazing match. When they STFU and fight, you get served. And how. So it was street fight, and while they did handle some hardware, most notably a trash can, chair, extension cord, and HHH's trademark sledgehammer, it was mostly a stunning wrestling match. Like I said, I couldn't look away long enough to lift the camera.  The exception was when Kozlov was choking HHH out with the cord.

I'm also more impressed with Kozlov in person because he does emanate a nice scary aura in person. It doesn't radiate well over the camera and into my living room. Or maybe it's less effective because everyone else is trying to do the same thing. But in person, it works mighty well. Eep! Second major observation: I'm beginning to feel that my TV viewing habits (watching with one eye, while on the computer, cats running around, maybe on the phone) may have more to do with the perceived quality of what I see that what's broadcast. But the match ended with a Pedigree after a few well placed Sledge shots and some wearing down. Lots of cheering, and lots of time spent slapping hands and greeting fans, including yours truly, by the Game. :) So, my respect for the man is a renewed. He's working hard for that high perch in the company and that's fine by me.

Following that was a tag team bout with Primo and Carlito vs. THE Brian Kendrick and Big Zeke Jackson. I wanted to boo Kendrick and Zeke, but that man is just really really huge and apparently my survival instincts kicked in and my voice failed. Not so for the guys in front of me. But for their trouble they got a full on hair toss from Kendrick... meaning that they were awash in hair gel afterwards. It was hilarious.

Primo and Carlito appeared to have some disagreement about who would start the match and in the time it took to discuss it, Kendrick tagged out to Zeke behind Carlito's back. This was not to his liking and he then tried to tag in Primo again, but Primo stepped off to chat with a fan. So the clown princes got things off to a good start, with Zeke showing off his strength in a most cringe worthy way. Kendrick got in and pulled off some great maneuvers himself. My only problem with his current gimmick is that when he's being weasely he's not being awesome, which he is more than capable of being. But it was a fabulous match, eventually won by Primo pulling a fast counter on Kendrick. Poor thing looked like he'd cry. God he's good. And, the little fruity dance is somehow less annoying in person. I'm not sure why, but it's just more funny in the flesh.

Next up was the other contender for match of the night, and certainly most popworthy, Edge vs. Jeff Hardy. The poor girls behind me nearly needed medical attention for the hysterics that Jeff Hardy's appearance induced. But hey, I like him and was glad to see him as well. He too took the time to slap lots of hands and pose and do what you're supposed to do when you're a popular champ.

Edge basked in the boos, ripped up someone's sign, and argued with a couple of kids. I kept waiting for him to cut to the chase and just stick his tongue out at one of the little tykes. He also got on the mic and accused us of being a little one horse town that would cry bitter tears once he had taken Jeff Hardy's title.  Man, don't I wish. That would be some serious blog material. They started off kind of slow, but I think that was largely due to the chants and trying to work the crowd up.  We had a nice rhythm between "You suck" and "HAR-DY" going at one point. Edge was his usual weasely self and slid out a few times. I got this pic, which I like very much because it sort of sums up his current state of mind I think.

But he did make a comeback and throw Jeff around a good bit, as is necessary so the girls can all scream and everyone can get a rest and Edge can ham it up in his wild eyed way. He imitated Jeff's entrance dance while slapping his butt. Everyone booed. I LOLed. They spun up the action slowly and did a fantastic job of hitting all the high points and keeping us on the edge of our seats and creating that sense of peril.

But Edge missed a spear and shortly thereafter found himself the victim of a Twist of Fate and a Swanton Bomb. So Jeff won to an earsplitting pop and spent a nice long time visiting and hugging and actually ran around up into some of the stands. So that was really nice and the girls behind me got hugs which I know will be the highlight of their year. I got hellos too, which makes me a happy rarbear. I got love for screwups, being a bit of one myself. Of course I got love for Edge too and gave him a cheer as he slinked out as well.

Main event for the evening was a cage match with the Undertaker and Big Show. For all of you wondering where he's been, the Undertaker is just fine. He's just doing house shows and hasn't missed a beat, thank you very much. Third major observation: Charles Robinson must be the hardest working man on Smackdown. He reffed most of the night and when they started rolling out the cage, he broke out a set of tools and started putting it together. Who knew?

Anyway, I love the Undertaker, but I've never seen him in person, so this was a real treat, even without the big production entrance. And I know a lot of folks say he's getting up there and slowing down a bit, but man can he still put on a great show.  And presence? You know he's coming about two minutes before he gets there. And I don't mean because of the music. As another observation the Big Show is way beyond big. He's like huge. Words don't quite cover comparative largeness from my little 5'6"-ness. Again, the joy of close up seating cannot be overstated. Ok, it's kind of gross when they're hocking up spit, but you get over it.

So they get in the cage, and yes, the pace of this match is slower, but no less brutal. All night I was impressed with just how loud it really was when bodies hit the mat and this, of course, was as loud as it got. Thunder needs to work on itself after this. And when Taker suplexed Big Show? (Yes, you read that right.) "Holy ****!" just begins to cover it. Sadly the pics really sucked because of the cage and my relative camera quality. But again, I don't have many because of the high gawk factor. I was busy watching! Eventually Undertaker slapped a Hell's Gate on the Big Show and got him to tap, which was good because I could not see either of these guys getting out of the cage. Much love and props to both.

So in conclusion, it was awesome and I am sooooooo doing this again as soon as I possibly can. I had a great time and the folks I sat with were fun and friendly as evidenced by the pic they took of your author before we all got hustled out by the poor guys who had to pack all this up and run off to New Jersey for the next night's taping.

Next time I'm bringing a better camera, buying tickets even faster, and I'm making my darn signs! Better yet, I may make just one that contains the sum total of all I want to say to all my favorite superstars, a big pink sign that reads *rarbearsnuggles*.

More pics will be posted in my gallery shortly. I just wanted to put a few in the blog, but I'll put all the ones that are halfway decent in there for your perusal. Enjoy! And see a house show near you! SRSLY!

So as odd as it may seem to have each of the two tag team champions in the tournament to face the IC champion, it's a sign of good things to come and has all of us CM Punk fans salivating. After he was deflected from the World Heavyweight Championship, and then from a possibly brilliant feud with Randy Orton, he finally got a hint of retribution in the form of taking the tag titles away from Priceless.  But the tag champs haven't done much since winning them, not together at least. Both need some momentum, and tag titles don't get that for you in the WWE. And it seems they know it.

So of course it was a given that Punk  would beat Snitsky. But what's most interesting is that William Regal had so many good things to say about him from the commentator's seat. However backhanded the compliments may have been, they were nonetheless compliments. Regal said that he believed he and Punk would have a feud for the ages, and I can only hope those words are prophetic, because such a feud would be epic. So let's take a look at the tourney brackets as they stand after RAW and the possible implications to our heroes, the tag team champs.

Kofi Kingston def. Kane - In a weird disqualification (and inexplicable award of a match with Cena for Kane), Kofi defeated the Big Red Machine after a nicely fast paced match that one had a sense he could have won anyway. Although bending his back around the ring post was a bit much. Kofi advances and gets closer to facing... his own partner.

CM Punk def. Snitsky - Obvious, predictable, but a good match nonetheless. Punk showed off once again how strong he really is, lifting Snitsky, and surviving a couple of brutal bearhugs. (rarbear claims no kinship with any bearhug of Snitsky's; rarbears are clean)

And what does the future hold? Here are a few thoughts and fearless predictions.

Rey Mysterio v. The Miz - While I think the Miz will give Rey a run for his money, I don't believe he will be able to overcome the master of the 619 this time around. And I don't think he'll be able to count on help from John Morrison considering that Morrison is in this hunt too.

Finlay v. John Morrison - Morrison has much to gain and nothing to lose in this match. And by now he's got to be hungry for an opportunity. Would he throw over his tag team pursuits for the IC championship? You betcha. And while Finlay may love to fight, it's been awhile since that love translated into a big win.

So the shape of things to come is this: Kofi Kingston v. Rey Mysterio and John Morrison v. CM Punk. And not only are we looking at a couple of stellar matches here, but the history, the potential, the contortions of titles and loyalties lead to some very interesting scenarios. At this point we can begin to wonder if the tag titles will prevent Punk or Kingston from advancing. Or will there be a precipitous loss before we get there? Or will the team fall apart of its own accord? Any two of these four would make for a fabulous final and a worthy challenge to Regal's crown. But my hope is that tag titles will fall by the wayside and Punk will finally have a rivalry that he can make as electric as his matches. However it ends, it's going to be a hell of a ride.

With an election upcoming and accusations of voter registration fraud and various kinds of rigging already flying, it's interesting to watch a voting scandal of the WWE's own making unfold. Or rather, it would be if indeed anyone were taking notice.  There is a misprint, or I assume it is a misprint, most likely in the match write up for the choice of tag team match at Cyber Sunday.

On the main voting page, the first choice, text 1 is Mickie James & Jamie Noble vs. Layla & William Regal and the third, text 3 is CM Punk & Kofi Kingston vs. Priceless. That's here: http://www.wwe.com/shows/cybersunday/8257390/

However, in the write up for that match, the choices are reversed, 1 being Punk & Kofi vs. Priceless and 3 being Mickie & Noble vs. Layla & Regal. That would be here: http://www.wwe.com/shows/cybersunday/matches/8343404/preview/

This discrepancy was not discovered by me, but by a much sharper WWE Universe fan; Regalrocks, http://fans.wwe.com/regalrocks

Now while Regalrocks and I may not agree on who we'd like to see win the vote, we both agree that the discrepancy deserves the WWE's attention and correction. But her post and blog on the subject have been hanging out since the 16^th with no answer, and no correction. I threw my voice in in hopes of getting it fixed, but that hasn't helped. I've sent a few tech support requests hoping that putting it in the hands of actual problem solvers instead of inattentive board mods, might help. And I urged a few friends to do the same, hoping someone would get a response.  Nothing. By now the voting is hopelessly screwed up. That is, if indeed, the votes matter.

It behooves an entertainer to be convincing.  A company that chooses to sell a product that we know is scripted can at least take the time and make the effort to make us forget that fact as we watch. Indeed I would think it's the WWE's hope that we do forget and get wrapped up in the action we see, the storylines that play out, and in this case, the voting for our favorites. But botching this particular move risks exposing the inherent fraud in the system. Ignoring this discrepancy reveals that the votes mean nothing. If they did, they would have to fix it.

There are two possibilities as I see it and one is the classic, "Never attribute to malfeasance that which can be explained by incompetence." In other words, a simple mistake has occurred by way of a misprint and the WWE's web staff are so lazy, incompetent, unconcerned, or inattentive that they really have no clue. And after all as long as you're paying $.99 a vote, who really cares if your vote is counted correctly? They're still getting paid.

The other is the more malicious possibility that indeed the matches, refs, and stipulations that you think you're voting for have long since been planned out and what you vote for is of no consequence. I say malicious because isn't it bordering on truly fraudulent to charge people for a vote they don't actually get? Knowingly? If it was free, I would shrug it off as one more instance of a scripted outcome. We're used to that. But as it is, H.L Mencken's adage about an election being an advance auction of stolen goods may be more appropriate now than in November.