Word: christinaity
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...Before Christina Rosenberger, my fellow WWF reporter, and I leave for the Fleet Center, my editor pulls me aside. "I swear she's gonna get jumped," he warns. Yeah--I think--she doesn't know what she's getting herself in to. Suddenly, I feel a little cockier about this venture. Satisfied with my newly appointed role as The Protector, I sense some of my Harvardfeebleness melting away. I'm ready for some SmackDown...
Tickets in hand, Christina and I battle through the hordes of WWF fans who are waiting in the lobby of the Fleet Center. I stop for a minute to examine my ticket. We're seated in the FIRST ROW?! Ring side seats! This is getting better every minute. My excitement's cut short by an impatient gray-haired woman in a WWFshirt, who tells me to get my ass moving. I obediently pick up the pace. _Ok, now I know Harvard's sissified me--some little old lady is pushing me around...
After navigating through a riotous crowd wearing an obscene amount of WWF paraphernalia, we enter the arena and take our seats. We are about five feet from the edge of the ring. I smile at Christina. She smiles back nervously. The lights go out. Let the ass-kickin' begin...
...five-minute-long rant pumps me up for his forthcoming match. His opponent is Chris Jericho, a leaner, and certainly less crude wrestler. I know the Dogg will win this one. He does. Not a spectacular fight, but you can't expect too much from the first match. Christina looks bored already...
...realization: I don't have to be politically correct--this is professional wrestling! It'sokay to be an asshole. No, it's expected to be an asshole! _Slaughter those disrespectful foreigners! Shame on them for being from Japan!_ Of course, I don't say any of this out loud; Christina looks appalled enough. I can tell she finds these fans quite uncouth...