The Day WWE Monday Night Raw Died

It was happening on purpose.

It's a virtual requirement of the longstanding supporter of Vince McMahon's product to be an (at times, blind) optimist, and this is the fault of the organisation more than it is those unable to summon the positivity.

In being the fans, or the crowd, or the "Universe", it's often forgotten that we - you, me; it is us and them even if you can't bear to look at it that way - are paying punters. Through Network subscriptions, tickets, the odd t-shirt or even $6000 replica Fiend belts if you're that guy, we are the the lifeblood. Or we used to be when the company's output still had a beating heart.

It was in 2019 that WWE became a organisation that made less from fan-generated revenue than it did television rights fees and various other incomes. The first time in the history of this travelling circus that it could pitch the Big Top in any town and worry a little less about how many marks arrived at the door. The first time filling a WrestleMania or three sides of a Stomping Grounds could be categorically classified as a vanity project rather than a profit-making one.

This had to feel like a lifelong dream for McMahon. The mad old huckster had advanced beyond shaking us upside down for loose change to claiming a billion dollars from panicked executives for dog food matches. But that's a spoiler for the inevitable SmackDown companion piece to this. Point was, The Chairman had finally managed to kickstart the surgical removal of his biggest bugbear. Pleasing the proletariat was at long last second on the to-do list behind satisfying the stockholders and Fox bosses, just as he'd always wanted.

If only he could boot the disobedient vocal minority out of the buildings and hire his own audience too. Or, ahead of that fantasy becoming a reality in 2020, shift the bulk of them to a destination where they couldn't get in the way for the night. It worked a treat during Raw 25, after all.

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