The so-called 'Biggest Party of the Summer' is upon us, and quite honestly, we're really not in the carousing mood.
It's not that we're insufferable killjoys, seeking any and all opportunity to pour the beer down the sink and demand the music be turned down to a reasonable volume ("off") lest we call the bobbies. Well, that's part of it, but it's not the main reason, at least.
It's much simpler: like a parent-sanctioned shindig with mum and dad sat downstairs, occasionally checking in with a plate of sausage rolls or non-alcoholic shandy, the prospect is just, well, a bit crap.
Perhaps it's the uninspiring range of matches. Maybe it's seeing Roman Reigns and Brock Lesnar go through the motions once more before a hushed library. Or it could be the past six months of WWE which has seen the company trade any and all principles, even vague pretensions of them, for several hefty sacks of cash from whichever corrupt autocracy's handing them out.
No matter how many Evolution PPVs WWE host, The Greatest Royal Rumble was the most public admission that they simply don't care about us. So why should we RSVP to their summer soiree? It's not for us, really; we're just there to make the thing look respectable.
These big parties always end the same: big expectations fizzling out with a taxi fare for one in the early hours. This'll be the same - minus the expectations.