No justice in this world

Misawa, the man who was the very essence of work rate, dies in the ring. Meanwhile, Tommy Dreamer not only continues to live but is now holding the 15th most important belt in the pro wrestling world. Someone stop the planet, I want off.

Review of PURO Match

Hey guys, I was at the DVDVR board the other day and went mad downloading some PURO matches. I found this little gem hidden deep in the cavities of the board and decided to share.

Shin Nihon Puro Resuinga~! Shinsuke Nakamura vs. Tamaoki Honma

Honma is a boy who became a man through pain and blood loss, with his blood and sweat leading him to where the big boys play; Shin Nihon Puroresu! Shinsuke Nakamura is the hot young star that New Japan has been looking for, praying for and hoping to find for years now. Unlike the greased and underwear clad Honma who hides nothing, including those intriguing scars, Nakamura is a bit more of a showman, wearing a red satin robe to the ring before stripping down to unveil his milky yellow body.

Homna, clearly the better oiled of the two plays the domme early on as he lays into Shinsuke with his leather, right into some breathplay as he uses his shiny leather boot on Nakamura's throat. Nakamura tries to fight back a bit, but Honma puts him in his place slamming him nice and hard a few times. Nakamura after a little bit more grinding decides that he can play rough too. He quickly has Honma down on all fours and begins to really give it to him before letting him up only to punish him with a few knees for his disobedience. It was all foreplay for him until he quickly mounted him from behind and wrapped his arm around Honma's throat, choking him until he was ready to explode like a twelve year old altar boy. Just as it was getting really rough Honma reached out and with an exasperated gasp grabbed out for the safety, unable to mutter the safeword.

Nakamura is displeased with his submissive's lack of dedication and relents, only to kick him a few times for the embarrassment he brought upon both of them. Honma is no longer willing to play nice as he begins to fight back, which is only whetting Nakamura's appetite more right now. Honma continues to throw Nakamura around a bit before placing his heaving chest on Nakamura's, pinning him down while the referee pounds out twice before Nakamura comes to his senses. After Honma attempts to punish him some more, Nakamura quickly gets him with a reach-around, Honma unsure of how to react finds himself face down on the mat again with Nakamura on top of him. Nakamura is sick of playing around with him, as he hoists him up onto his milky shoulders, Honma's oil dripping down his chest, and slamming him as hard as he can, before sitting on Honma's battered face and hoisting up his legs as the referee pounds Honma out.

After the encounter, there is a feigned handshake before a gang of men come out and begin to pound away on the defenseless Honma. One thing is for sure, his ass will be sore in the morning after the boys in the back are done with him!

6-3-94: What it Means to Me

If you don't know what the date 6/3/94 represents to wrestling fans, you should probably flee now.  This is the wrong blog for you.  You're better off thinking it is simply the day they debuted the bikini in Paris, or the day Kennedy met with Krushchev Khrushchev in Vienna. 

If the date is one that is special in your heart, if it leads you to host a gathering you call "King of Steaks VII" you are probably irredeemable.  This blog is for you. 6-3-94 is for you.  

6-3-94 is more than simply the greatest wrestling match of all time.  It symbolizes a way of thinking about wrestling.  This is no mere sports entertainment! These men are athletes!  Skilled performers!  Extraordinary story tellers!  And damn tough too!  It is the pinnacle of wrestling as an art form, unencumbered by the silly theatrics and horrible hillbillies that populated the pseudo sport in years past.

Not only did two men, Toshiaki Kawada and Mitsuharu Misawa, prove wrestling was legitimate art; they also paved the way for a new breed of pundit- the wrestling scholar. Professional wrestling was no longer the refuge of toothless rednecks, blacks, retards, and children.  It had to be analyzed and only the smartest of the smart could decipher the complex stories being told by the brain dead Terry Gordy and the drug addled Steve Williams.   And like that, the smark was born.  

Later, we would learn the human cost of these great achievements in theatre.  Chris Benoit would be tragically killed, perhaps at his own hand, perhaps by those jealous of his workrate?  The world would never be sure, but either way, the cost was too high.  The men who created the great match were themsleves victims of their own excess.  Misawa is concussed to the point his brain will not allow his face to make a single expression.  What was once thought off as an admirable stoicism is now recognized as brain damage.  His opponent, Toshiaki Kawada, is reduced to performing in the kind of circus he once loathed-sports entertainment.  Could there be a higher cost for a once proud man?

Worse, many of the hardcore fans have moved on to Mixed Martial Arts a brand of fighting that allows you to watch roided up numbskulls beat on each other harder than the pro wrestlers ever did.  Others have recognized wrestling's true genius is in the over the top theatrics of Ric Flair dropping an elbow on his own suit jacket or Scott Hall drunkenly slurring to the world "Hey Giant, that's your cue."  Only a select few continue to watch with a keen eye, doling out star ratings and insisting that they do it better in Japan, or Memphis, or in the pissed soaked streets of Tijuana.

This blog is for you.

This blog is about you.

Faggot.