I should add a disclaimer here, lest my rapidly fading brain spews out impulsive loathing in a cranky fit of total exhaustion: I had, in the main, a fun old time at WrestleMania.
Even the aspects of the card I didn't enjoy, I didn't enjoy actively. I shouted at Triple H for doing his bullsh*t again, against a guy who didn't have enough gas in the tank to get in the ring without botching, but it was cathartic, because I'm too much like George Costanza than is healthy. But I'm running on fumes here, and even the word fumes triggers an association of Triple H and his dumb motorcycles and his narcissistic 25 minute matches. I had fun! It was WrestleMania!
It looked preposterously expensive and epic, and the immense production cloaked even the weaker matches with a sense of gravitas. I watched the heat-obsessed WWE crown three organically popular babyfaces, that did not meet the usual specifications, as top-tier Champions. I watched one of the all-time great WWE matches - one so rich and emotive and well-worked that I'm prioritising it ahead of everything else for the re-watch when I get home.
I also watched Triple H spend 15 minutes of 24 lying around.
10. Kickoff - Coach = Good!
The Kickoff show, on TV, is a waste of bastard time.
Inane chatter that is only perversely entertaining when Jonathan Coachman appears (and even then it's infuriating); matches performed to silence; adverts for the thing to which we've already subscribed: absolutely f*ck the Kickoff show. But I had a fun old time at the Kickoff show. It was fun counting how many G1 Supercard matches Tony Nese and Buddy Murphy crammed in as research, it was fun seeing WWE do two nice things, in booking victories for hometown adjacent heroes Carmella and Curt Hawkins and Zack Ryder, and it was fun listening to the 12 inch remix of the Hardy Boyz entrance theme.
It was less fun watching Andrade eliminate himself, mind, because it painted him as a moron as well as an afterthought, but then I ate some microwave chicken and all was well. It was fun to anticipate the evening ahead, and it was fun to simply look around the modern opulence of the MetLife Stadium, all dressed up for the grand occasion. There's nothing like the spectacle of WrestleMania. There's nothing like finally making it past tens and tens of thousands of people to take your seat, to breathe in the promise of history, and to watch serial Curt Hawkins go over the Revival because they want to go to AEW.
'Mania is a celebration of WWE, the cruelty inherent to which counts, surely.