As a critic with his emotional investment in the product long since eroded, it often feels from this distance like longstanding WWE fans are loyal to a set of initials and their own cherished, subjective memories, as if they can inform what happens next in an overarching narrative with no direction - that because for example they associate the Intercontinental Title with championing artistry, historically, that must mean a performer like Andrade might embark on a meaningful run with it at some point. Talent and symbolism doesn't make for meaningful product, but those initials get a pass because they once meant something.
The company isn't the same company as it was, all those years ago. The change from it is dramatic, and at odds with the perception that the company is inflexible to change. Perhaps improvement is the word.
Bobby Heenan's breathless motormouth wit has been replaced by the cruel, caustic Corey Graves. The bright, eye-catching colour palette has been stained in dull primary for years. The white hot crowds are now eerily quiet on arena shows. The heart-melting reconciliation of Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth has long since given way to Eva Marie smashing Zack Ryder in the balls and Lana putting Rusev's in her purse. This company was built on babyface triumph, and chugs along now on the fumes of heel heat, as the villains drone in promos with sickly, smug grins. Vince McMahon's poolside booking team once mapped intricate sagas spanning years, but now, with an overstuffed team of hacks drafted in from different disciplines incompatible with pro wrestling beneath him, the COO cannot stay loyal to an idea for long.
In the case of several key WrestleMania 36 matches even prior to the unfolding global event, he stayed loyal for a few weeks.
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