Do you know what's sobering, about the state of WWE?
Even when it is incredible - even when it is at its absolute best, as an emotional entertainment machine - the company shows resistance to it. Chris Jericho's Festival of Friendship isn't included here, because it happened, obviously. But it nearly was, because it nearly didn't: Jericho had to campaign to bring it to television under his undiluted vision.
It was a phenomenal bit of business: Jericho sold the crushing heartbreak of the finale by wearing a ridiculously big, beaming smile at the very beginning. He danced around, and elongated every word to wonderful effect, so giddy at the prospect of celebrating his friendship with Kevin Owens. The prop comedy was gold, the inclusion of Gillberg inspired, and he gently broke the fourth wall to put the absurd over as real with genuine pathos. And then Owens brutalised him. After all that, it was the ultimate, heinous heel move. As sports entertainment storytelling goes, this was *******.
That grand, "Why is my name on here?" finale - the real, heart-wrenching moment - almost didn't happen because Triple H wanted a by-the-numbers attack.
Sean Ross Sapp of Fightful reported earlier this year that WWE is resistant to listening to talent pitches because they "insinuate incompetence on behalf" of the writers.