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Slip Me A Mickie James
I can’t knock Vince McMahon. The man knows how to hustle. I haven’t seen a second of any sort of wrestling since Wrestlemania I, or maybe II, or III. When Sgt. Slaughter started wrestling, I knew something was off. It was too fake, too over-the-top, too ridiculous, but this is coming from a man who religiously watches The Bad Girls Club. Insert Kanyeshrug right here at this point.
When I wasn’t rooting for Jimmy “Superfly” Snooka to go all Superfly on some poor mope, I was waiting for Randy “Macho Man” Savage to make an appearance. Macho Man wasn’t the biggest, strongest, or most athletic wrestler, but his game was made-for-TV. He was the consummate showman. And the icing on his primetime cake was Miss Elizabeth. Wrestlers of note who had managers had a rogue’s gallery to choose from as a manager. Captain Lou Albano. Mr. Wizard. Bobby The Brain Heenan. Sure they were fun and funny, but you never froze in your tracks when they came on the screen. Miss Elizabeth did. Can’t knock Vince McMahon. Pretty chicks in wrestling. Beats the hell out of watching The Fabulous Moolah.
A leaping elbow from the top turnbuckle later, the WWF is the WWE and women are woven into every fabric of the wresting. I’ve been missing out on Mickie James for Lord knows how long. I’m going to blame Vince McMahon. With all the plot twists and hijinks, as an outsider it’s virtually impossible to pick up on the Mickie James storyline. I don’t know if she’s a hero or a villain. I’m gonna root for her any ole way, because if you don’t root for the Mickie James of the wrestling world, you may get a lot more Andrea The Giants of the world.