How WWE Ruined The One Thing That Made It Great
He’s a tiny lil’ guy, but he’s got a big heart! is the premise of this storyline. It is also the premise of several sh*tty kid’s TV shows. This man is an Olympian athlete. His lack of height could be subtly sold in the context of commentary, to put over his sublime technical skill as all the more impressive. But no: Vince loves broad dumbass comedy, and you must like it too.
Daniel Bryan is our last hope, but what happened the last time he was a babyface? Hopes were high for Kevin Owens, and look what happened there. This company cannot book babyfaces.
Shorty ‘F*cking’ Gable, man. What next?
Fat Kev? Dork Rollins? It’s a wonder they didn’t call him Fúnn Bálor, because with that big beaming smile, he just loves to have fun out there!
Again, everything circles back to the same arguments because the company is in need of a complete systemic creative overhaul. WWE doesn’t book babyfaces. It writes for babyfaces. That is the problem.
WWE’s team of über-hack TV writers—if they were any good, they wouldn’t subject themselves to ungodly working hours and a 74 year-old lunatic blowing gaskets in their faces—attempt to apply inspirational TV narratives to the context of pro wrestling and it doesn’t work. At all. The plotting is all over the place and is scrawled everywhere except “the point”: Rollins is pathetic, not sympathetic. He’s lame; he isn’t cool. His eventual retribution always come off as petulant and detestable. He’s as much a dork as Michael Scott was, and he shares the same gift for ruining any currency he may have built by being a total d*ck.
WWE used to be good at this.
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