Without delving too far into the personal or, for that matter, self-indulgent, the post-exertional malaise (to give it its medical term) that arrives for many sufferers of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome - a set which includes your writer - is more commonly referred to as 'payback'. It's the kinetic debt we incur to live, at least for part of the week, something approximating a normal life.
So the inadvertent relevance of WWE branding the second of their dual-pay-per-view experiment with this moniker is not lost on me. After a bumper SummerSlam weekend - and with AEW's All Out on the horizon - did we really need a pointless show sandwiched between? Myalgic encephalomyelitis isn't exactly a prerequisite for burnout here: precisely who is purring in anticipation at the return of one of WWE's least relevant interstitial B-shows, a week after their last ThunderDome spectacular?
It is, in more relatable terms, the hangover which follows the Biggest Party of the Summer, an unpleasant drudge you just want to get over with. As if to hammer home this stomach churning metaphor, the show features Baron Corbin, Sheamus, and Randy Orton in prominent roles.
And ultimately, this babalas will likely end with Hair of Big Dog.