Who do we have to thank for the current climate of Rap Rock trash, wrestling home videos, and baggy black jeans on the great unwashed teens of America? Good Morning, Vince McMahon…
Vince McMahon’s burlesque football wet dream is mercifully over.
The XFL officially disbanded yesterday, with its backers NBC and McMahon’s WWF both admitting over $30 million in after-tax losses. That’s a lot of loot to buy a few dates with some washed-out strippers (X-strippers?). But that’s always what the XFL seemed like, even in its youth (4 months ago). It seemed like the league’s only purpose was to procure more face time (and more action) for its blustering, precocious demagogue. If McMahon wasn’t the face of absurdity already, showing up on a WWF program greased up like King Vaseline and barking insults at his audience, his appearance on Bob Costas’ “On The Record” was the end of the line. The comically inflated McMahon sat on the edge of his chair, jabbing his finger and spouting bizarre rhetoric at the diminutive, cool-as-a-cucumber Costas like Colonel Arthur “Bull” Simons on steroids and horse pills.
Now that his attempt to make up for getting cut from the Frosh football squad is over, I assume McMahon will return to what he does best: dumbing down America in new and ever-exciting ways. And with a little help from his friend Ozzy, things’ll go smashingly, mate.
Vince McMahon revolutionized the wrestling industry by infusing his WWF with heaping helpings of violence, titillation, and the live-action equivalent to Mick Mars’ talk box screed intro to the Crue’s “Dr Feelgood.” It was like watching a live feed into the mind of Josh, your 14-year-old neighbor. Josh may like boobs and power chords (not to mention Samsonite chairs across the neck), but he doesn’t know a thing Real Rock. And as the WWF picked up steam, its popularity fueled the like-minded antics of Rap-Rock and the OzzFest Nation. Like Monsters of Rock before it, OzzFest by the late nineties had become the standard bearer for limp-haired quartets with names like Saliva, Fist In Face and SupraNought. The shit-core plied by these groups was really not that different from the WWF’s turnbuckle pulpit ranting and flash pot bombast. Rap Rock had its Ozzy, and wrestling had its McMahon. Two guys who made a career of out shocking people just enough, and letting the rumors take hold like a cheetah taking down a gazelle.
But McMahon lost his shirt on this XFL jazz. After all, $30 mil buys a lot of Stacker-2. And Ozzy? Well, his fest is rolling through a town near you this Summer, with its usual array of sweating, angry men in black, red, and tattoos. And that’s just the audience. On stage, you’ll see the musical stylings of MuDvAyNe, Zakk Wylde’s Black Label Society, and the too appropriately named Pure Rubbish. Even ol’ Marilyn Manson is getting out the vinyl jodhpurs and evil white makeup for a very special, even evil-er appearance. Ooh, scary. So OzzFest 2001 fighting the good fight while the WWF tries to recover from its fearless leader’s excess. It may not go away anytime soon, but even these genres’ biggest supporters have to sense the inevitable. Whether it’s He Hate Me or Hatebreed, the tide has to eventually turn away from the extreme in sports and music. The gazillion-dollar failure of McMahon’s XFL goes a long way toward proving this. And if this Summer’s OzzFest ticket sales aren’t as lively as they could be, there’s a good chance Mr Record Label Man’ll start thinking about putting his money elsewhere. Besides, the Rap-Rockers are running out of evil-sounding names. And Krokus: The Sequel doesn’t really have staying power, you know?
The cyclical nature of pop music is a proven fact. And keep in mind that the current, blowhard version of the WWF is the league’s second incarnation (note to Hacksaw Jim Dugan: you were my favorite). So let’s hope that The Man is as sick of Vince McMahon as I am, and stops giving him airtime/seed money/support.
Same goes for you, Ozzy. There’s a hole in the sky.