Word: wwf
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Dates: during 2000-2009
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...raises the metal chair above his head. This can't be happening--Al Snow can't win. I look to my left for Christina, thinking she'll empathize with my distress. She isn't even standing. Her face is blank, passionless. This can't be; Mankind, the heart of WWF, is a motionless lump on the mat, and Christina doesn't even care! I can't believe it. SMACK! Oh no...it's over. But wait...the official declares Al Snow disqualified for using the chair. Mankind did win! Ha! He didn't disappoint me! I realize that his victory...
...sneaking suspicion that I would be the only girl in the Fleet Center who blow-dried her hair before she went to see steroid-filled men pretend to mortally wound one another wearing uni-suits at WWF's Smackdown!. I even contemplated leaving it wet, but my vanity, and the idea that one of these wrestlers might be cute, got the better of me. So I blow-dried my hair, put on the most non-descript outfit I could think of, and headed to the Fleet Center armed with my mace and two days of beginner Tae Bo videos...
...should preface this whole endeavor by stating that before Dec. 6, 1999, the only WWF in my vocabulary stood for the World Wild Life Fund. You know, that nice place that helps you save the unfortunate sooty terns and invertebrate spawning grounds in Tortuga and sends you posters of pandas? But since I have no idea where Tortoga is and had nothing else to do on a Tuesday night, I figured I'd go check out this other WWF...
...bored. The novelty of seeing live body-slams soon wore off, and somehow the headlocks just weren't as dramatic without WWF's in-your-face camera close-ups. Indoor fireworks always impress me, and the ones at Smackdown! were no exception; but this time only because I was wondering how on earth WWF regularly gets fire permits in such a large number of cities across the nation. Who with even a drop of sanity would trust someone named "Degeneration X" with large quantities of explosives...
...wearing a purple pleather jacket, black tights and stiletto heels, with rhinestone-studded hoop earrings and a can of what I'm sure was aerosol hairspray. It was becoming increasing clear that attire was key; a point I apparently needed some work on. Jeans were a must, but your WWF T-shirt declared true allegiance to the fraternity--to wear anything else was simply bad etiquette. The T-shirts diverged into two categories: the c.1986, neon-yellow version with the image of the Incredible Hulk airbrushed across the front, or the c.1999, brand-new, still-has-the-vendors-creases...