For Jason Jordan, apathy is beginning to verge on sympathy. The man is already petering out under the pall of a single-buttocked angle, but forcing him to dress like Marty Jannetty having only just recently dissolved a tag team seemed cruel. Jangle's singlet was a lovely shade of green, mind, something Scott Steiner would gladly have donned whilst grinding local talent into a fine paste. Life isn't so easy for the Olympian's sprog; to add to the dejection of defeat, Jordan was forced to bask in the complete indifference of the crowd in a post-match in-ring interview. It's an interesting new innovation, and a welcome change to the usually templated presentation - but perhaps they should pick their moments more wisely.
It seemed far too early in the night to be subjected to a Bray Wyatt match, and furthermore it's far too late in my life to be wasting time on such predictable dross. The good news was that Finn Bálor, now a man, was wearing incredibly beautiful new pants. The bad news was that that was the highlight of the match. Early on, an 'injury' to Ireland's finest promised to see the bout ended there and then, but you can't have everything in life. Midway down the ramp, Bálor heard the echo of Alex Ferguson ringing in his head: "Come on Finn: it's f*cking Tottenham Wyatt!" Even debilitating injury can't derail Bray's opponents, who all remember he's soft as a stale biscuit on PPV. Even famous footballer and viagra salesman Pelé, known for making predictions with less accuracy than an octopus, could have correctly guessed the eventual outcome of this one. The man from Bray decisively beat the man who is Bray, but not before Michael Cole could inexplicably describe Wyatt's bridge as 'the scariest thing in a WWE ring'. I'm lining up a compilation of Charlotte matches for Hallowe'en.