Tiresome clichémongers will tell you that even a stopped clock is right twice a day (unless it's digital, in which case its chronoscope chimes correct just once). Anyway, the point of this banality is that not everything that initially seems hopelessly wrong is, despite how it may seem.
That is, with the possible exception of Bray Wyatt.
Although the cultist seemed to be ticking towards assured superstardom shortly after his WWE debut, his clock soon stalled, and then had its face smashed in. More often not, that was literally the problem.
When Matt Hardy said ta-ra to the world of wrestling last summer, the broken Broken one's body painfully ossifying, time seemed to have ran out for Wyatt to become anything beyond a mediocre sideshow. Years of gibberish promos and inevitable failure had dyed the cast, and the outcast had thoroughly died. There was no comeback.
As it happened, his tag partner must have spent the summer in his brother's Lake of Reincarnation, returning in February looking somehow fitter than ever. The vanished Wyatt promised a similar rebirth; Lord knew he needed one. But history suggested there was little hope he'd been bathing in Hardy's spa.
It turns out he had. Bray Wyatt is the best thing in WWE today. And he's not the only one who has confoundingly turned the most rotten rags into riches this year.
Benjamin was born in 1987, and is still not dead. He variously enjoys classical music, old-school adventure games (they're not dead), and walks on the beach (albeit short - asthma, you know).
He's currently trying to compile a comprehensive history of video game music, yet denies accusations that he purposefully targets niche audiences. He's often wrong about these things.