10 WWE Storylines We'd Like To See In 2019

WWE prides itself on its storytelling.

This is precisely what the company boasts about to differentiate itself from other, tinier, spottier wrasslin' companies. Stephanie McMahon, single-handedly proving that expensive private education is as cheap as the heat she generates, likes to compare WWE's creative output to the works of William Shakespeare, when in fact, it is the opposite. The works of Shakespeare are seminal, enduring classics, where much of RAW is disposable trash. The works of Shakespeare introduced lasting phrases, eternally perfect, into the English language. Vince McMahon removes words, like "fans", "belt" and, Christ almighty, "wrestling" because he is an apesh*t, apesh*t man.

WWE...isn't Shakespeare, unless Vince and Kevin Dunn occupy the roles of the titular Titus Andronicus, and Tamora, taking it in turns to brutally murder the performers of the main roster.

People enjoy fantasy booking because the reality is often far more grim than any of the mutilations found in said play. If you're not into this sort of thing, feel free to go full Gloucester in King Lear, and have your eyeballs ripped directly out of the socket.

Or just not read it. One of the two.

WWE, being WWE, booked Drew McIntyre's first singles loss the very same week we praised them for protecting him from both defeat and their overbearing selves.

He was protected in defeat, at least, and though this chapter was typically careless pre-PPV booking, the wider story of Drew McIntyre's main roster push was elegantly shown, and not explicitly told. Drew is a great worker, in that his sh*t looks very painful, but is executed with the pace and ferocity necessary to pop the modern fanbase. He also looks, very much, like an ass-kicker. Like Braun Strowman before him, Drew is the nexus point between promoter and public. We can finally buy something Vince McMahon is selling.

This investment should mature at the Royal Rumble. A Drew McIntyre victory in Phoenix would represent a mission statement badly needed in a WWE all too tentative to make a singular star out of any performer, and the storyline comes equipped with an organic heft. McIntyre is f*cking shredded. He never used to be; almost gangly as 'The Chosen One', McIntyre worked tirelessly to reinvent and prove himself worthy of his old nickname before WWE started spitefully signing anybody with name value.

Brock Lesnar should be Drew's nemesis: a lazy mercenary, McIntyre shouldn't even let Charly Caruso finish, when asked which title to target.

The video package shows us the full breadth of Drew's physical transformation while, in parallel, showing the simplification of Lesnar's act - in turn inviting fans to recognise their new Chosen One.