Zool

(First Appearance: Zool, 1992)
Mascots.
I recently indulged in a conversation with a friend about the lack of real integrated "mascots" for various consoles in recent years. Whilst characters like Sackboy occasionally rear their heads to no avail, it appears that we are long past the period of sticking a Poochie-esque sunglasses wearing anthro creature in every advert regarding a certain console or company.

And I for one, believe it's better that way.

During the Mario/Sonic wars of the early 90's, companies worked overtime to create these characters that would capture the hearts and wallets of the platform gaming public, hopefully selling a lot of the format or game in question and inspiring a host of terrible drunken tattoos. This brings us to Zool and the Commodore Amiga's attempt to capture some of the cutesy hero glory monopolised by the console giants. Zool, who is apparently "A ninja of the Nth dimension" journeys his way through a series of mysteriously familiar zones vanquishing evil, honing his ninja skills and trying desperately to sell us all a lot of these:



Because Lord knows that until you've rotted the youths teeth then you cannot truly achieve golden ninja warrior status. So the worlds most blatant and unashamed advertising crammed its way onto the screen, especially throughout the first level, the conveniently imagined "Sweet Zone"
Zool runs, jumps and spins his way through each level, pausing only to indulge in a series of mini-games and play a piano (No, really)

But let's call a spade a spade here, Zool was a thinly disguised Sonic clone for Amiga owners. This didn't stop reviewers creaming themselves over the game which, though it didn't nothing for yours truly, was pretty good all things considered. Zool unfortunately failed to become the iconic mascot for the Amiga, mainly because the game eventually ended up ported to almost every other format available, giving the tiny ninja no exclusivity whatsoever.

Our hero returned in Zool 2, where the makers decided he didn't have a family anymore (because having a family isn't "cool") and instead gave him a girlfriend, Zooz, who was pretty hot for a cartoon ant-like ninja. True story, I actually knew a girl who had to wear a Zooz costume and promote the sequel at trade shows. Despite hinting at evils return at the end of this adventure, Zool has yet to reappear on our screens, returning only for a long lost arcade that nobody played.

Zool was one of the few in a crowd of a thousand Sonic/Mario clones that actually stood out and found an audience for himself. In a world of wisecracking, rock n rolling, corporate hip paradigms, Zool was a character that actually sold games and is an endearing memory to many old-school Amiga owners. Zool's day is past and he would get annihilated in today's "super-hip hero" society, but we can sure that somewhere in the Nth dimension, there resides an aging ninja who can be proud of his exploits. I'm sure that comes as a saving grace to a man sitting on a million boxes of unsold Chupa-Chups.

Zak McKracken

(First Appearance: Zak McKracken And The Alien Mindbenders, 1988)
A regularly used theme in all forms of literature is the idea of an ordinary, down on his luck guy being catapulted into a mission of intrigue and danger, usually with far reaching consequences. This is a great concept as it often makes the protagonist instantly identifiable, as many of us all go about our daily business of work and play wishing that life would toss us an exciting curve ball now and again, usually with aliens and damsels thrown in (or maybe that's just me)

Francis Zachary McKracken, or "Zak" to his buddies is just such a hero. A young tabloid reporter, Zak is one of life's loveable losers whose existence contributes to nothing special until he happens upon a bizarre conspiracy whilst going about his two-bit investigative vocation. Zak believes that the Earth's population is being kept in a state of idiocy via mind-altering hypnotism from aliens, their indoctrination coming through the telephone system.
While many do not believe Zak's crazy claims, Zak finds friendship in Annie Larris, a young scientist and her student friends Melissa and Leslie. Together, this isolated collection of social misfits gather evidence that an alien race known as the Caponians are indeed reducing the general intellect of Earth's population. The team's research uncovers alien technology that will repel the Caponian attack, unfortunately, this device exists in many pieces scattered across the planet and in the far reaches of space.
So our young heroes venture to the corners of the globe in Lucasart's classic point and click style, with it's trademark blend of tricky puzzles and twisted humor.

Zak is a fine hero for all, he features all the qualities that many "Everyday guy" characters posses. Flawed and vulnerable, a loser in luck and love, but Zak is a well-meaning average Joe with his heart in the right place. Zak's adventure follows all the cliches of a regular nobody put in a position of saving the world, bringing with it the responsibility, integrity, danger and sex appeal his normal life lacks.

Zak reminds me of Ash, Bruce Campbell's hero from the Evil Dead movies, they are both young smart-ass kids whose very being contributes nothing to the world, but are forced to take on a responsibility on which hangs the fate of many lives. The idea of putting the hopes of mankind on an everyday loser is a tried and tested storyline, one which will be used again and again until the end of time itself.

Despite Zak's popularity among gamers, he is yet to appear in an official sequel. Dedicated followers have spent the last ten years putting out fan-made games to continue the adventures of Zak and his friends. I love the fact that characters like Zak have a committed fanbase. While it is highly unlikely, there is always that glimmer of hope that Zak may return, especially in this current climate of making episodic Sam and Max and Monkey Island games available for download.

I'm not going to speak for you, but I'm aware that I don't contribute that much to help the world and its problems. I'm just biding my time though, one day, I'll be the guy uncovering the conspiracy with the cute girls and when that happens, they'll make a point and click adventure about me.
Don't worry, it'll be DRM free. I'm all for the people, man.

Claire Redfield

(First Appearence: Resident Evil 2)
Sisters are doing it for themselves.
Hugely attractive, motorbike riding, gunslinging sisters that is. Not just any sister, but the sister of STARS member extraordinairre Chris Redfield.
As the Raccoon city incident unfolds, Claire Redfield rides into town looking for her brother who she has not heard from in quite sometime. Upon arriving, Claire enters a diner where she is attacked by infected citizens. Escaping through the back alley, Claire runs right into the gun barrel of pretty-boy cop Leon Kennedy, after a huge, out of control tanker puts paid to their escape plans. Claire and Leon are seperated and take refuge inside a seemingly abandoned Police station.

So begins Resident Evil 2, one of the finest games ever made and so begins Claire's story. Young Redfield quickly adapts to her situation and makes moves to keep not only herself out of danger but also provide maternal safety for Sherry Birkin, a young girl whose mother has become a gun waving psycho and whose father has a giant-ass eye sticking out his arm.
Upon escaping the station and huge underground complex within. Claire immediatly sets about finding her brother and uncovering Umbrella's scheme. Redfield travels to Umbrella's Paris laboratory where she is captured and imprisoned on Rockfort Island.

Fate intervenes again and a viral outbreak on the island allows our heorine to escape her cell and continue her search for Chris. Alongside Steve Burnside, the world's most singulary annoying videogame character of all time. Claire travels to Antartica where she finally catches up with her brother and they together they put an end to the current wave of Umbrella scheming and corruption.

Claire is a great heroine, she is vulnerable but brave. Claire begins her adventure fairly naive but by the timeline of Code: Veronica is already deeply involved in industrial espionage. Claire clearly has a deep bond with her brother and goes to very dangerous lengths in order to to find him.
Claire's girl next door good looks belie her iron will and mental toughness. Possibly the least glamourous of the Resi girls, Claire is potentially the most relatable and the easiest to connect with.

I don't know what the Redfield parents had in their genes, but they produced some damn cool offspring. Claire has not appeared in a fresh adventure in the main Resident Evil canon for some years, but I'm sure many would join my call that maybe it's time for the fairer Redfield to don her burgandy waistcoat once again.

-- Back Drop Driver -- Now 37% more bitter!

"This time, ALL the rules have changes"
See that quote? Yeah, it reads like a tagline from a street-dance movie, but it is pretty apt regarding the fate of Back Drop Driver leading into the new year.

When I wrote my list of 100 Games, I had very little else to do fo' sho' and it was a wonderful way of killing time, doing something creative AND shoving my ill-informed opinions in peoples faces.
Last year that changed very quickly and essentially boring "real-life" chores got in the way of my constant, never-fail, daily updates. This was depressing to me.
I found myself having to squeeze in entries whenever I could and was generally never happy with the results which thus lead to even more procrastination, all of which resulted in me barely updating the place at all.
In order to realistically set myself time and targets, it looks like I'm going to have to change the way I do things.

I hope my few loyal readers will continue to visit here, I may be just another online-opinionated-wannabe-journalist-guy, but where else can you go for my own exclusive brand of overwrought whining and bad grammar?

Nowhere motherfucker.

Welcome back to Back Drop Driver.

-Johnny Beatdown

"What's The Password?"

-"What's the password?...what's the password?...Alrighty"-
(Vince McMahon, WWE Raw, 2008)
Can you imagine being so rich that you could afford to give away huge amounts of cash? Can you imagine watching your favourite TV show and by the end of it being a quarter of a million dollars richer? Now, to me that sounds like pretty exciting stuff, talk about sweaty anticipation, right? Now, can you imagine said event being one of the most mind-numbingly slow and tedious experiences of your life?
If you said "Yes" then you have not managed to erase "McMahon's Million Dollar Mania" from your mind and I share your pain.

Post-Wrestlemania, the WWE goes into a ratings dip, the excitement of the previous years programming reaches its conclusion and many fans take a time-out from watching wrestling, or simply get turned off by the new direction WWE maybe be taking its stars in the aftermath of its superbowl equivalent. Despite this happening pretty much every year, WWE often panic and throw a whole load of panic ideas at the wall in an effort to keep the fans tuned in.
But non of these zany ideas were more surreal than "McMahon's Million Dollar Mania" which was simultaneously obnoxiously nauseating and car crash addictive. Vince McMahon made an announcement that every week on WWE RAW he would give away one million dollars "of his own money" to randomly selected viewers, provided they register on WWE.com and quoted a password should he call them live on the air during the following weeks episode of RAW. McMahon would then show off his dick size by awarding the caller a random amount of money.
Yes, you read correctly, Vince McMahon was paying the audience to watch RAW.

So, week one of Million Dollar Mania began and WWE fans sat on their edge of their seat with excitement (well, providing they lived in the USA and had bothered to register)
What basically followed was a series of long, awkward and drawn out segments where Vince stood on the arena ramp and failed to call contestants. McMahon would call number after number, sometimes the call wouldn't connect, wouldn't be answered, would get cut off etc, occasionally when the moon and stars aligned and McMahon got through to the lucky player there would be awkward pauses and bad sound. Despite the game only having one rule, Vince would often forget to ask for the password and would have to correct himself afterwards. The only truly glorious moment was when McMahon got Rick Roll'd by an answerphone, the confusion on his face was incredible.

Somewhere amongst this abortion, a selection of lucky viewers made sums of money around the 25,000-250,000 dollar mark, apart from one woman who only got two dollars because Vince was feeling like a prick. These segments went on and on and ate heavily into the shows running time which could have been dedicated to something really insane like some pro-wrestling matches.
The weirdest part of this whole debacle is that I personally think McMahon is generally awesome in his on-camera role, he has a distinctive voice and a very natural arrogance that fans love to hate, but here he just seemed bored and confused, pretty much the way I felt watching it at home.

McMahon's Million Dollar Mania ran for three decades, or it may have been three weeks, I'm not sure but they sure felt about the same length. At the end of the final giveaway, some wacky explosions happened and the RAW set "fell" on Vince McMahon, this stunt-fest lead to a storyline where, actually, come to think of it, it didn't lead to anything.
All that mattered was Vince didn't have to spend forever calling people on his show to give away his money, something that made both of us very happy indeed.

Here is a video that captures the banality of this competition in just five minutes. If you can't get through this clip without getting bored, remember that is the competition in its EDITED form:

"..What I Think Of The WWF Women's Championship Belt"

-"And that's what I think of the WWF women's championship belt."-
(Madusa, WCW Nitro, 1995)
Over the course of this project, many incidents will appear that are a part of a time period in Pro-wrestling that is today known as "The Monday Night Wars"
During the late 90's, WWF and rival promotion WCW would go head to head every Monday night with their flagship TV show, fighting to wrench the viewers from the other channel. It was an insanely aggressive battle as both companies reached deep into its bag of dirty tricks to undermine and mudsling the other.

Madusa Miceli had been on the wrestling circuit since the mid-80s and built a name for herself in Japan as a top female competitor. By the early 90s Madusa had reached an international platform in WCW in her role as a badass bitch. Madusa was popular with the fans and her charisma and natural ability convinced the WWF to come calling, persuading her to join the McMahon family in 1993. The WWF re-instated its retired Women's Championship belt and handed it to Madusa, who was also re-named "Alundra Blayze"
Despite some great matches with Japanese legend Bull Nakano, there was very little for Madusa to do in the WWF, whose womens division was lacking in competitors and prestige (Today, the division has competitors that can't wrestle and all the prestige of a two dollar hooker)

So, a mere two years later, the business was going through some changes, Eric Bischoff, president of WCW, made an all out, balls to the wall effort to take WCW to the top of the business. Deciding that one of the best tools at his disposal was shock and the element of surprise, Bischoff formulated a scheme to undermine the WWF as the "lesser company" that no-one wanted to work for, and Madusa would prove to be the first example of many Bischoff would go on to use to this end.

One night, on a airing of WCW Monday Nitro, the announce team were doing their horrible schtick when Madusa appeared on the set, grabbing a mic and telling the team to cram it. Madusa faced the camera, denounced she was ever anyone else but "Madusa" and threw the WWF's women's championship belt (which she still had in her possession) into a waste paper bin. This was a ridiculously shocking and cutting edge event at the time. Despite the belt's less than stellar reputation, the idea of a champion from one company turning up to the other with the championship and basically saying on live TV "This belt doesn't mean crap to me" is a heavy blow for the company on the receiving end and a huge coup for the company exploiting it. The audience was unaware that Madusa had any intention of leaving the WWF, but Bischoff had convinced her to jump ship and bring the belt with her, so he could stage the belt trashing event as a symbol that even the WWF's very own champions couldn't stand working for Vince McMahon.

Madusa would continue to wrestle for WCW until the company was bought out in 2001 and she retired soon after, claiming that she was unhappy with the direction of women's wrestling in the States. Rightly so, as despite some very talented exceptions, the WWE have ensured that women's wrestling has a reputation for uninterested, fat breasted twigs having horrible "matches" in front of uncaring audiences.
Madusa trashing the WWF Women's Championship on WCW was one of the first shots in a war of words and ratings that would last many years and would involve events that would go down in Pro-wrestling infamy.

"Just When They Think They Got The Answers.."

-"Just when they think they got the answers, I change the questions."-
("Rowdy" Roddy Piper, Piper's Pit, 1984)
"Rowdy" Roddy Piper is a legendary name in professional wrestling. The Canadian-born Roderick Toombs made a career for himself playing a wild-eyed Scotsman with loud, arrogant interviews and a string of feuds with some of pro-wrestling's finest heroes, such as Hulk Hogan and Bret "Hitman" Hart.

Piper's interview style and charismatic, fearless work on the microphone earned him his own pseudo "Talk show" segment on WWF television. Known as "Piper's Pit" Roddy would sit in a nasty, three-walled set and interview various "good guys" usually mocking their answers and goading them on with his trademark fast-paced, witty comeback style. More often than not, this segment would be used to further feuds between wrestlers or start a feud between Piper and the star "lucky" enough to be invited on the Pit as a guest/victim of Piper's insults and barbs.

Piper's Pit was the scene of many legendary moments, Piper's berating and assaulting of journeyman Frank Williams (Which ended with Piper spitting the above quote to camera) Andre the Giant turning on his long-time friend Hulk Hogan, A verbal argument between Piper and Mr T. and, most infamously, Piper's violent, coconut assisted attack on "Superfly" Jimmy Snuka, an event that has gone down in pro-wrestling history.

Piper was at his best as the antagonist, and Piper's Pit allowed him to turn his volume to eleven. A truly despicable bad guy, Piper was able to use the interview segment given to him to raise the profile of wrestling feuds and storylines, either his own or by playing ringmaster to others.
Maybe it's a coincidence, but Piper, throughout his career, appeared to do some of his most despicable mic work when his opponent was of any ethnicity other than white. There's a world of Piper fans out there and I'm not trying to encourage their wrath, but fact is, even when Piper later became a face (good guy) announcer, very rarely would wrestlers of Mexican, Italian or other background be allowed to get by without some racial epithet being snuck into the commentary. Piper was good at everything he did on the mic, but his particular expertise seemed to be the field of racism. Piper once had the most surreal feud with African-American Bad News Brown, but that's a story for another day...

After Piper's first retirement ("Retirement" means nothing in wrestling) Various attempts were made to replace Piper's Pit with different interview segments featuring other stars and their gimmicks, but none of them featured the same level of energy and chaos that Piper brought to each and every one of his appearances.
Piper's Pit has made sporadic returns over the last ten years, with the now (much more rotund) Piper hosting interviews with the stars of today. Lightning rarely strikes twice though and many of these modern instances of the famous segment don't cut it.

Roddy Piper was one of the very best bad-guys in the history of the business. Piper's microphone style was such that he could not only raise and lower the public perception of himself, but also of anyone else that took the seat in his flimsy cardboard studio.

"For Those I Deeply Offended.. I Apologise."

-"So I choose to respect your privacy and your religious beliefs, and for those I deeply offended.. I apologise"-
(Raven, ECW Arena, 1996)
Extreme Championship Wrestling (ECW) was a small promotion running out of Philidelphia. ECW has a long and storied history, far too involved to discuss here, but it was basically a small scale, low budget wrestling promotion that managed to make a huge name for itself and compete somewhat with multi-million dollar rivals WWF and WCW. It built this reputation with a combination of truly incredible wrestling matches, showcasing some of the best workers in the world, mixed with wild brawls featuring untold levels of violence.

Raven was one of ECW's most iconic wrestlers, essentially a moody loner doing a grunge style gimmick, Raven was a trashy guy with no morals and would cut dark, grim interviews with a style reminiscent of a cult leader. Once in the ring, Raven would attack his opponents with an ugly, vicious, fast-paced brawling style. While not the most technical wrestler around, Raven made a legacy for himself by always performing at his best for the fans and soon became the poster boy bad-guy for ECW. Raven embodied the spirit that ECW presented to its audience.

Another such worker was The Sandman. Simply put, Sandman was a legit drunk guy who could barely wrestle but won the crowd over with his insatiable appetite for carnage, extreme violence and drinking, often popping beers and cigarettes mid-match. The Sandman is HORRIBLE to watch in the ring, but his dirty zubaz trousers, iconic entrance routine and penchant for drunken mayhem made him a solid fan favourite.

In 1996 a feud began between The Sandman and Raven, Raven started "dating" Sandman's ex-wife Lori and along with Lori came Tyler, Sandman's son, who was about eight at the time. Raven encouraged the boy to hate on his father for being a drunken thug and used his "cult-esque" mind games to poison Sandman's family against him.
During a taping at the ECW arena in 1996, after Sandman had taken a beatdown in the ring, Raven and his cohorts "crucified" him by tying him to a badly made wooden cross and forcing a crown of barb-wire into his head. Sandman hung awkwardly propped to this crucifix in front of the ring, whilst his eight year old son looked on, performing Raven's trademark pose. The usually raucous and loud ECW fans went deathly silent, a sign that for them, things may have gone a little to far.

Not long after Sandman was carried to the back, Promoter Paul Heyman sent Raven out to the ring again. Dressed in his street clothes, Raven took the microphone and delivered what is referred to as the "Sincerely Insincere" apology. Raven told the fans that the crucifixion was all his idea, the promoters had no hand in it and that he was sorry for what he had done. The look in his eyes and tone in his voice completely belying his words.
Kurt Angle, who had recently won gold wrestling in the Olympics was in the arena that night, brought in by Paul Heyman to potentially work with company. Angle was furious at the crucifixion and went off on Heyman. The general belief is that the apology order and denial by Heyman was a result of wanting to keep Angle interested in working with the promotion.

WWF would do a similar angle with The Undertaker a few years later and receive a billion complaints about it. It's funny, wrestling fans will sit, cheer on the violence, scream obscenities, call for weapons, sing sexist chants and encourage the bad guys to win, but every now and then, they will then decide that they're oh so offended by something they see.
The problem with pro-wrestling content is it's all or nothing. In my opinion, you can either be offended by it all or offended by none. It smacks of hypocrisy of the highest order to say "I'll cheer this women getting put through a table but how dare you do that crucifixion scene"

The only thing that offends me about pro-wrestling is idiotic booking and a lack of respect for the audience by the promotion. I learnt to ignore the cheap shock tactics a long, long time ago.

"..Does 'Dis Fella Weigh?"

-"How much does 'dis fella weigh?"-
(Art Donovan, WWF King Of The Ring 1994)
One of the single most important jobs in pro-wrestling is commentary. As a commentator, it is your job to narrate the action, directing the viewers eyes toward certain events, reminding them of how the match came about and encouraging sympathy or anger from the viewer toward a particular wrestler and his attitude.
The announcer is the storyteller and the star-maker and it is essential that he uses his voice and vocabulary range to provoke the desired response from the home audience.

It is a truly lost art, many of today's commentators do not have what it takes, I recently watched the interminable team of Michael Cole, Jerry Lawler and Matt Striker stumble their way through Wrestlemania XXVI showing shallow bias, weak emotion and a complete misunderstanding of psychology. Seriously, they were awful. Current pro-wrestling commentary causes the late, great commentator Gordon Solie to turn in his grave. The only man to reach Solie's level, Jim Ross, has been MIA for a while now. It looks as if one of the single most important aspects of pro-wrestling storytelling is long gone, at least from the West.

Vince McMahon has, from time to time, put the headsets on special guests, bringing in celebrities and the like to sit alongside his team and provide insights on the action. It is understandable that to these guests the action playing out in front of them is baffling and difficult to follow, so mostly they stay fairly quiet and follow the lead of the in-house commentary team.

But not Art Donovan, Oh no. Art Donovan will be forever remembered as the number one reason why a celebrity should rarely, if ever, be placed at the all important ringside table.
WWF's King of The Ring 1994 Pay-per-view emanated out of Baltimore, so Vince roped in local football hero Art Donovan to give the commentary some "Home town" appeal. Donovan, however, had no knowledge or interest in pro-wrestling and had clearly not been briefed on anything prior to the show regarding workers, storylines or, God forbid, what "pro-wrestling" was.

So, the live show began and, beside the team of veteran announcer Gorilla Monsoon and veteran nutcase Randy Savage, Donovan proceeds to consistantly and thoroughly hit the airwaves with a vast line of constant questions and surreal observations to the faux-fights that were happening before his puzzled expression..
"How much does 'dis fella weigh?" "Who's 'dis guy?" "Did dat really hurt 'im?" "Who's dat guy over dere? "What's she screaming about?" "Can he really kick 'im wid his feet?" "How much does 'dis fella weigh?" "HOW MUCH DOES 'DIS FELLA WEIGH?" "Who's der fella in der white over dere?" "I fink dat guy's dead!!" "Who's dat guy again?" "Is he gonna wrestle wiv dat stuff on?"

Donovan continued this way for the entire three hours of the show. Asking the same questions over and over and not even learning from the answers, he would ask a wrestler's name after repeatedly hearing it mentioned, then would ask it again two minutes later.
It had the exact same effect as when your mum comes in halfway through a film you're watching and constantly asks you random questions about the plot, except she's being paid for it and is doing it in front of an international home audience live on TV.

Art Donovan's commentary is the stuff of legend and whilst it was rage-inducing at the time, today it is hilariously funny and a plus point on what is essentially a fairly dull show. Play-by-play in any sport is incredibly difficult and takes years of practice and on the job experience to raise to a level where your abilities can make superstars out of so-so performers.
In a perfect world, the headset should never be donned by anyone who isn't capable of perfectly capturing the action and story for those at home, but in the wacky world of pro-wrestling, having a moron on the mic can sometimes be just one more guilty pleasure to facepalm over.

"Time To Man-Up"

(Catchphrase, The Briscoe Brothers, Ring Of Honor)
Pro-wrestling has transformed dramatically in the last ten years or so. A new breed of young wrestlers on the independent circuit have developed a new style, mixing the brutality and high risk of the East with the character and theatre of the West. Ring Of Honor (ROH) is a promotion that has showcased this style to the masses. A borderline suicidal mix of hard strikes and overly choreographed, incredibly dangerous maneuvers that showcase the lengths these young men and women will go to prove the worth of their sport and the passion they are willing to live, breath and die for providing entertainment to the fans and displaying their love of their craft.

The Briscoes are perfect examples of this new wave of pro-wrestlers, Jay and Mark are two Delaware born brothers in their mid-twenties who wow the audience with complicated moves and fast paced, hard hitting action that defies both physics and death itself.
Wrestling since the start of the last decade, The Briscoes built a reputation for themselves in various independent promotions, but have made their biggest mark on the business mainly through Ring Of Honor, where they have developed a personal link with the fans that goes beyond any shallow hero worship and into deep respect.

The Briscoes wrestling style cannot be really described due to its complexity. Essentially, it combines vicious martial art strikes and kicks with perfectly timed two and three man combination holds that, should they be mis-communicated, would result in dangerous and possibly fatal injury. This style has garnered the brothers huge popularity throughout the world, including Japan where their intricate double-team moves wow the Eastern crowds.

I should make it clear that I don't care one bit for that style of wrestling, I think it is overly dangerous, unnecessarily violent and leads to the shortening of men's careers and lives. I grew up watching pro-wrestlers entertain crowds of thousands with simple moves combined with body language and emotional psychology. Hulk Hogan, for example, would bring an arena to its feet by cupping his hand to his ear and performing a basic legdrop as opposed to landing on his head repeatedly for the approval of a few hundred fans on the independent circuit.

I am not jaded enough however, to be unaware that that was thirty years ago and that the business has changed since then. Whilst the ROH style of wrestling isn't for me (and that's purely fearing for the lives and spines of the men performing it) I can't deny that, like any good stunts, it is impossible not to appreciate the athleticism, technical ability and trust that these wrestlers have and put on the line for their devoted and die-hard fanbase.

The Briscoes are poster boys for a style of wrestling that I honestly wish hadn't been invented, but they are masters of their craft and of both the old and new aspects of the pseudo-sport.
I do not deny the Briscoes their talent, heart, drive, passion and masterful skills.
I just hope they can still walk ten years from now.