nWo 4-Life
Professional wrestling is as big in the United States as Scott Steiner's biceps. Of course, it's as fake too. But the fact remains that about 11.5 million Americans, and college students in particular, tune in to wrestling shows each and every Monday night. And they tune in because pro wrestling, as Scott Hall says, is just too sweet.
In fact, the World Wrestling Federation's "Raw is War" show consistently is the highest-rated program on cable television. This incredible resurgence in popularity has thrust pro wrestling back into mainstream Americana, a place where it has not been since Hulk Hogan urged his faithful Hulkamaniacs to say their prayers and eat their vitamins in the mid-1980s. The Hulkamaniacs of back then have grown up now, and many are University students, watching pro wrestling once again.
They don't watch it because they think it's real. They watch because it is oh, so entertaining and requires zero thought whatsoever, much like a page from Jeff Jones' playbook. While we are all in favor of creating a more intellectual academic village at the University, there always is a time and a place for raunchy language, steroids and a steel chair.
Pro wrestling is great because it's so simple--almost the antithesis of Qui-Gon Jinn and the Jedi warriors. Traditionally, two kinds of wrestlers exist--good guys and bad guys. The good guys, or faces, never cheat and almost always win. The bad guys, or heels, must cheat in order to win. They take shortcuts and, in the end, usually lose. Nowadays, many of the wrestlers, like real people in real life, are part good and part bad. They sometimes take shortcuts and circumvent the system, much like real people in real life. They cheat when nobody is looking and when it's beneficial. They act noble and upstanding when they can afford to and when everybody is watching.
In some ways, the University already is a lot like professional wrestling. But in many other ways, the University would be better off, and more amusing, if it was more like professional wrestling.
For example, the University Judiciary Committee has come under intense scrutiny this year in regards to the slow handling of the Kory v. Smith, Kintz and Tigrett assault case. Pro wrestlers, however, would never negotiate with administrators and Board of Visitors members to find a way to change the system. Instead, a winner-takes-all, falls-count-anywhere match would be utilized to decide who takes control of the UJC. Imagine then, if after the bell sounded, UJC Chairman Brian Hudak inexplicably turned on his own Committee, nailing a series of Tombstone Piledrivers on fellow executive committee members Corrie Hall, Dustin Burke and Caroline Fidyk. Instantly, Hudakmania is formed and the audience viewing the carnage on the Scott Stadium 'Hoo Vision is so stunned that they forget the giant TV cost $1.3 million, enough to buy 28,889 kegs of Budweiser.
Maybe this scenario is as unlikely as the Pav's Chic-Fil-A actually having the waffle fries prepared when a customer shows up at the counter, but one never knows. (And, while we're on the topic, why is the Pav the only place in all of Western civilization that doesn't allow free soda refills? Even the General Assembly isn't that cheap when it comes to students' needs.)
But back to pro wrestling. Wrestling has no bureaucracy. In the world of pro wrestling, you don't need to fill out a pink form, have it initialed in this building, then in that building across Grounds, then stapled to a yellow form, then signed by some obscure person who is always on vacation, to get anything accomplished. Instead, you simply call somebody out. WWF wrestler The Rock perhaps best exemplifies this. Every Monday night, he walks into the ring, grabs a microphone and challenges somebody from the locker room--with his own theme song playing in the background.
"The Rock," he says, (all cool people refer to themselves in the third person) "is going to kick [insert opponent's name here] roody-poo candy ass, check him into the Smackdown Hotel, and deliver the most electrifying move in sport's entertainment today--the People's Elbow."
The opponent, then, comes out of the back to the tune of a different, yet equally bad, heavy metal song and proceeds to smell what The Rock is cooking. There are no form letters to be initialed, no waiting to be done, no e-mails to be exchanged, and no phone calls to be returned.
Such a system would revolutionize the University.
So, the next time you become infuriated because your advisor, even after having introduced yourself on three different occasions, still doesn't know your name, do what Macho Man Randy Savage would do. Challenge him to a hardcore steel-cage match, with the belt on the line.
Just remember a few important things. One, nobody will take you seriously unless you refer to yourself in the third person. Two, and unfortunately, you must wear tights. And lastly, take your time. Besides, those Pav fries won't be ready for quite a while.
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