Pure catharsis in the form of an unexpectedly incredible pro wrestling match, Pat Patterson himself would have marvelled at the layout. We waited 10 infuriating minutes, withheld expertly by Stephanie McMahon at her loathsome, evasive best, for Ronda Rousey to give her a nasty beating informed by legit combat athlete credentials.
But we hadn’t waited 10 minutes; we had waited years to see a proper, protracted sh*t-kicking aimed at a character who deserved it more than any other—both in her smug self, and because she domineered over absolute everybody for absolutely forever.
Smoke, mirrors, and a prodigious, incandescent debut—a literally jaw-dropping performance—this wild ride, tension and release perfected, reduced the New Orleans Superdome into a state of unadulterated apesh*t.
