As I’ve noted before, I am not a fan of analyzing ratings. They often bring about panic in times when panic isn’t warranted. That being said, the ratings right now are the lowest they’ve been since 1997, so that’s something to be concerned about, right? It’s widely reported that Vince McMahon overreacts to ratings, so it could spell trouble for CM Punk and Daniel Bryan as top guys. Our favorite wrestlers will be cast to the wayside for the status quo. Woe is us, right?

Well, while I can’t predict what WWE will do, while I can’t give any solace to people who desperately want to see Punk or Bryan or Zack Ryder or any other favorites keep their roles, I can say that the ratings shouldn’t matter for two reasons. The first reason is that the new coterie of main event wrestlers have just started to settle in. They need time to settle their roots and build a bigger audience than they already have. These wrestlers are already selling a lot of merchandise and getting crowds to react to them.

The other reason could be that ratings will never recover, that the next boom period isn’t reliant on getting high television numbers like they had in 1998. The first boom in the mid-’80s was predicated on pay-per-view, house shows and touring business. Yes, those vestiges still remained, even until today. But when the second boom came around, it had to come from somewhere different. That “somewhere” was from cable television.

After Raw and Nitro debuted, it took awhile for them to get their footing, but when the shows took off, they really took off. A lot of shows follow that kind of model, or something similar. Either they start off with high ratings, or they start off small but grow into their high audience numbers before invariably tailing off. However, the similarity is that the numbers tail off, they don’t stay high forever. All television shows have a shelf life, and even the most successful ones often don’t have the same audiences in their death throes, even planned death throes, as they do in the golden ages, obviously with some exceptions.

So, maybe wrestling is like most other TV shows. The talking point that WWE trumpets three or four times on every RAW telecast of it being the longest running show on cable television could be something that could work against it, assuming we compare it to actual TV shows. Of course, televised sport has stayed popular over time, but those sports keep reinventing themselves with new casts, new teams in power. In a way, wrestling could be construed as a sport-like telecast with the turnover in roster and the raw aspect of competition. Which brings us back to the original point, that this new team, this new cast needs time to find footing.

If the other option is true, if cable-televised wrestling is nearing its end and Raw has reached its baseline or its bottom-out point, then the ratings wouldn’t seem much to matter anymore, would they? I’m not that intelligent in the ways of what would work in business, so I’m not going to pretend to be an expert on where wrestling would need to go if the cable well is truly dried up.

That being said, their current stars are obviously popular, and the ones who hold the titles and who are being groomed to at least share the stage with the Cenas and Ortons of the world are getting great reactions in front of the test audiences they attract in each city. Ratings, as always, don’t tell the whole story, and a guy like Vince McMahon, a guy who used to have the most business savvy of any promoter in professional wrestling, would be wise to see things that way.

TH writes The Wrestling Blog and broadcasts The Wrestling Podcast. You can find him on Twitter, or at various other spots around the Internet. He also loves Chikara, and quite frankly, thinks you should too.

Edited by Jason Mann.

WWE Monday Night Raw is unequivocally a horrible two hours of television. Read that sentence. I said “is,” not “was.” I said “horrible,” not “getting worse.” Raw has always been bad. It has always been offensive, derogatory, degrading, backwards, conservative, and lazy, and that’s because it’s a wrestling show. Professional wrestling is a dirty, disgusting mess of an artform. It is too structured, but too chaotic. It is thirty years behind the times, yet often too extreme. It is nothing like the good old days, except somehow less violent and petulant toward political correctness.

The line often quoted in these situations, from Vince McMahon: “To those who believe in the beauty of professional wrestling, nothing needs to be said. For those who don’t appreciate wrestling, nothing could be said to change their minds.”

Let’s dig at that statement, because there are two severe problems built into that phrase. The first should be obvious: detractors of wrestling have nothing to hook them, because these people have looked across the rail and witnessed only a stain on popular culture. Professional wrestling has done a disparaging job of making it seem attractive or even tolerable to non-fans. They have very little to offer to anyone who snubs their noses at it. Much like how in that phrase, McMahon has accepted that nothing can be done, wrestling itself does very little to improve itself.

The other problem lies in the first sentence. Some things do need to be said about the beauty of professional wrestling. The beauty exists, that we’re sure of: too many intelligent people enjoy wrestling for it to only be a bullshit fake sport. But to say that wrestling is beautiful isn’t good enough, because it doesn’t answer a single criticism from the other side. In fact, it only exacerbates and frustrates the critic. It only flies in the face of real and important issues plaguing the art.

The October 10 episode of Monday Night Raw was considered offensive, self-serving, and, perhaps the worst criticism of an aggressive art: boring. Between HHH’s burial of 9/10ths of the roster, CM Punk’s apparent character suicide, John Laurinaitis’ rise, and Vince McMahon’s ability to demote people who demoted him, there wasn’t much to enjoy. It was the ultimate proof to those who feel WWE has absolutely dropped the ball since Money in the Bank, making that event seem like more a fluke than a highlight.

These kinds of things can anger the consistent fan, but it’s somewhat important to point out that plot and character issues are symptomatic of a much larger issue: wrestling is happy to be a poor product because the majority of people on the planet consider it to be a poor product all the time.

To nonfans, it’s not at all a surprise to hear that WWE would screw something up like Punk’s motivation, HHH’s powerplay, and John Cena’s integrity. Of course they would again arbitrarily rob us of Jim Ross’ voice. To nonfans, these are the sort of things that are happening in wrestling constantly. This is what wrestling is to most people: a never-ending cycle of idiots and juveniles running circus tricks.

Wrestlers have always had awful character motivation, abysmal consistency, and even worse ethics. Every single one of them has held our hope in their hands and crushed it beneath their avarice. Wrestlers are bad people, even the best of them routinely hand out uncivilized advice to the kids: violence doesn’t solve anything, but never stop trying that option.

Wrestling can be a never-ending soap opera about bad people doing bad things, and can act as a cautionary allegory about morality, choices, and character. Wrestling can be a stage where good fights evil, and good wins. Wrestling can be a place where ideals clash, where the zeitgeist can be turned on its head, revealing the narcicissm of obsessing over minor differences. Wrestling can be a hot mess of insanity. It absolutely can accomplish these things, and a ton more. It can be the beauty that Vince McMahon sees, and that we see, from time to time. But we’re nowhere near it right now. I don’t know that we’ve ever been near it for more than a few fleeting moments.

K Sawyer Paul is an author and publisher living in Toronto. He tweets and tumbls. In the wrestling world he is known for International Object.

Edited by Jason Mann.

Jason Mann and Don Owens of Future Endeavors discuss WWE Money in the Bank 2011, whether it really is the greatest pay-per-view of all-time, the classic CM Punk v. John Cena match, Punk’s groundbreaking story, Triple H as the new boss, Vince McMahon in tears, how to end the Christian v. Randy Orton feud, the two Money in the Bank matches, and much more.

Download this episode of Wrestlespective Radio (right click and save as).

Money in the Bank had a lot of really poignant moments. A lot of them came between the frame of time between when Vince McMahon and John Laurinaitis entered the main arena and when the pay-per-view went off the air. Many people are looking at the end of the event are seeing this as a beginning of a new era in WWE. Those people have merit in their arguments, especially in light of the events that are unfolding between our eyes₁.

However, there’s another way to look at the events, and that is as a resolution. I know, I just got done telling you that this was among the first salvos in a new direction for WWE and for the Punk character himself. The thing is that a good story, or at least a good long-term story (think about WWE as you’d think about, say, Lord of the Rings for the sake of this argument), has several arcs that go to completion within the greater flow of the major story. Looking at it from that perspective, Punk’s ending at Money in the Bank was the perfect ending to the first part of his WWE career, like his Fellowship.

Punk started out on the ECW brand and did everything he needed to do there. He won Money in the Bank twice and the World Heavyweight Championship three times. He became a big star despite maybe not getting optimal faith from the front office in his mind. Instead of getting shots at titles or getting a run at Cena on something more than a throwaway match here or there, he was offered up as Big Show’s plaything or a baby-sitter for the husband of a pop star. He wanted to prove himself, and the climax to that was his first ground-breaking promo on Raw on June 27. It was the pot boiling over, the moment when the hero realized he needed to take drastic action.

And as the falling action played out, we all wondered whether his plan would work. Traditionally, a man like he would be the villain, but to deem him as such would be to discount his message. Like Robin Hood, he was using nefarious means to bring happiness to the masses. He was a voice to the voiceless, and for that, we wanted to see him strip the WWE of one of its two richest prizes. To that end, we were rewarded richly with a satisfying conclusion.

Much in the same way that a movie in a series needs to have its own defined arc within the greater structure of the entire scope, wrestling events need to have catharsis, resolution, something to send the crowd home happy. When wrestling is good, it can provide both storyline advancement as well as a temporary resolution. Admittedly, it can be very hard for a wrestling company to do that when it has to provide 65 or so different instances of first-run programming a year, but when this is done well, they do need to be commended, just as some among us, myself included sometimes, are quick to jump on them for botching it.

That’s one of the reasons why Money in the Bank was such a great event. Not only did we see something budding and unfolding before our very eyes, but we also saw CM Punk get his rightful reward, his resolution, his happy ending so to speak. As the sequels come out in the future, we’ll get our fix of him, but for now, if we never watched another moment of wrestling again, we can be satisfied with the end of the movie, with CM Punk, the voice for the voiceless, sitting on his couch, defending his championship against Piston Honda and enjoying the spoils of a campaign well-executed.

1 - Refer to this video for the latest

TH writes The Wrestling Blog and broadcasts The Wrestling Podcast. You can find him on Twitter, or at various other spots around the Internet. He also loves Chikara, and quite frankly, thinks you should too.

Edited by Jason Mann

I’ve been kicked off my own show too many times to count.

It seems like it’s a yearly occurrence that some force seals me away. Austin won a match to keep me off TV. My daughter took over my company. Donald Trump tried to buy Raw. Goldberg blew up my limo. The Nexus put me in a coma. HHH has now thrice exiled me. It reminds me of that line in the third Pirates movie: “Four of you have tried to kill me in the past. One of you succeeded.”

I’ve been through a lot, okay.

Every time I’ve been shown the door, it’s been through an act of ruthless aggression. It’s the kind of thing I’ve fostered in my employees over the years. Fight over the stapler. Kick a guy to beat him to the copy machine. Put your secretary through the board room table if she tries to take a day off. It’s worked well for us.

But last night, when my son-in-law finally debuted as his proper, real self, he stripped me of my CEO and Chairman duties without so much a kick to the solar plexus.

My long stare was foreshadowing, it seems. Nobody else knew it, but I felt it. The end. There it was. No explosion. No rising phoenix taking me down. No convoluted explanation. No higher power. Just my son-in-law, taking the place of my son, with the help of my daughter. My wife nowhere in sight.

I heard the crowd. The “Na na na na, hey hey, goodbye,” chant that started up. It quieted way faster than usual. In its place, something I’ve never heard before.

Thank you, Vince.

What?

Thank you, Vince.

No.

Thank you, Vince.

After I composed myself in the back, I listened to the tape. I asked Patterson if he piped those in. He insisted it was real. I thought, why? Even if I was leaving in real life, even if it was all true, why would the audience ever chant anything appreciative at me? I’m the devil. I’m the guy who ruined wrestling, replaced it with sports entertainment. I’m the guy who took Bret Hart’s blood and built an empire. I’m the guy who told guys to bulk up and then fired them for taking steroids. I’m the guy who hired great wrestling artists and made them wear silly outfits and dance for my amusement.

Perhaps it’s just habit. So many people have left in the last two years, the audience just reflexed. Muscle memory. So much wrestling is habitual. Maybe they’ve just gotten used to saying goodbye. Maybe they think the right thing to do is, when a guy leaves, good or bad, you say thank you. Even if he’s the devil. Even if he’s me.

But perhaps it’s trust. God knows we’ve been building that up lately. We teased Punk leaving with the WWE Championship, and by God we let it happen. The most historic title in our entire company was sitting in Punk’s fridge yesterday. We went through with it. That bought us an untold amount of trust. If we let that happen, anything can happen.

Those are three words you haven’t heard from us in a long time. Anything. Can. Happen. Welcome back.

So maybe if Punk can leave with the WWE Championship, maybe Vince can walk away. Maybe Hunter really is in charge. Maybe Bridey will be World Heavyweight Champion this year. Maybe Alberto Del Rio will get that chest cut looked at. Maybe Jennifer in make-up will marry Goeff in accounting. They would make a great couple.

Of course, the million dollar question about my firing: was it real?

Weren’t you all asking that a month ago, when Punk screamed into the silence?

Weren’t you all asking that ten years ago, when Paul Heyman threw his hat at me?

Weren’t you all asking that fourteen years ago, when I screwed Bret?

Weren’t you all asking that sixteen years ago, when the Kliq hugged in the steel cage?

My job is to make you ask that question. That’s all my job has ever been. And you know what? I’m the best. I’m the best in the world at what I do. And you are all going to miss me when I’m really gone.

Fake Vince is kind of a pseudonym.