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Last weekend I went to the hotly anticipated Hulkamania tour in Melbourne, Australia. Not an event that was promoted greatly, I only found out about it the day tickets when on sale so, by the time I’d transferred money and found a friend to go with, the tickets that were left were pretty dismal, as the accompanying photos will attest.
And quite frankly, I’m glad I didn’t pay top dollar for what turned out to be a pretty mediocre display of has-beens and rejects that couldn’t make it in the WWE (or TNA for that matter).

The first match—which I missed due to the perils of public transport—consisted of the wrestler formerly known as The Godfather, now Pimp Fatha, facing someone who was apparently not memorable enough for the guy sitting next to me to recall when I asked him. From internet results, I later found out he was teaming with Eugene (whom I’m actually sad I missed!) against Rock of Love.

Next up, it was Spartan 3000 Matt Cross VS. Shannon Moore—another unimpressive match.

For the next match—a Melbourne Street Fight featuring The Nasty Boys against Vampire Warrior (familiar to WWE fans as Gangrel) and Black Pearl—I was actually really looking forward to it, as I love Jimmy Hart, who accompanied The Nasty Boys to the ring, and the Street Fight element would bring something new and raise the stakes. Unfortunately, I was mistaken. There were some entertaining spots, mostly courtesy of Hart, however this was the bout that really brought home that most of these “handpicked” wrestlers are pushing 50, if not older, and they just don’t have it anymore.

The following match featured a hot-pink-and-mesh-wearing Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake, again with Jimmy Hart, facing the good ol’ Heidenreich. While the match was below par, the group of drunk guys sitting in front of me made it entertaining, mocking Heidenreich’s army march and reminiscing about his time in WWE.

For all the men (95% of the audience) and the lesbians (the friend who accompanied me to the event, at least) in the crowd, the next contest was one of the bikini persuasion. Lacey von Erich went up against three no-names (but for journalism’s sake, they were Koa Marie Turner, Stephanie Pietz and Kiara Dillon). Lacey won the event, which was pretty much guaranteed, as the others were absolute dogs. I did feel a bit sorry for one of the women, who was pretty much booed out of the arena. She was getting on in years and her body just ain’t what it used to be.

The next match was the only good one out of the bunch, featuring Sean Morely, who we all know better as Val Venis, and Mr. Ken Anderson… Anderson. Morely took on the heel role, while Anderson attempted to do his signature ring announcement, but the fans chanted “Kennedy” instead. I have heard reports that Anderson’s body was as in-shape as it could’ve been, however I didn’t notice much of a difference. Compared to the other guys, he was one of the best looking ones there!

The aforementioned row of guys sitting in front of me had a field day with this match, chanting things like “Get a real surname” (oh so hilarious!) and the title for this column, “It takes skill to wrestle in 2009”, aimed at Morely. While he was by far not the worst performer that night, it was clear to see who the newer, more adaptable guys were (Anderson, Moore, Orlando Jordan) versus the older, stiffer ones (pick a name, any name). Those guys were snarky and obnoxious, but they pretty much hit the nail on the head in saying that it does take skill to wrestling these days. The fans are smarter and won’t settle for the stiff, fake-looking crap that flew in the ’80s and ’90s.

Following that match, it was USO Fatu and Orlando Jordan taking on Junior Fatu (Rikishi) and Brian Christopher, who emerged victorious in a battle of the Fat-u’s. There was some light-hearted comedy going on in this match, with Christopher doing the wave whilst attached to Jordan, who continued the move until he realised what was happened. Some funny chants, like “Jerry is your dad” and “Booker T” were circulating throughout the arena. And, of course, the Stink Face and the signature Too Cool dancing made appearances.

Finally, it was time for the main event. Now, I’m not a Hulk Hogan fan by any means. I think he’s a fame-hungry whore and a sell-out. However, I was expecting an exceptional match from him and “The Nature Boy” Ric Flair. Yet again, this was not the case.

The entrances began and took of most of the time allocated for this match. Flair got a pretty humongous pop, but it was hard for me to hear ’cause I was screaming my lungs out, too. But it was nothing compared to the ovation Hogan got. It made me a little bit sick in my stomach, actually. Especially considering the weak effort he put into the match. It was obvious he doesn’t have it anymore, and he looked positively arthritic when he was climbing the ropes, attempting to send Flair flying from them.

The most disappointing part of the night, however, was when Lacy von Erich assisted in Hogan’s win, which was very anticlimactic. Flair then exited the arena in shame, taking on the role of the heel and left with his tail between his legs while the most overrated performer in wrestling history basked in his glory in the middle of the ring. Gag me.
I always find when I go to a live event, it’s much more about the atmosphere than it is about the actual action that goes on in the ring. On television, you can watch the craft of wrestling in it’s truest form, as the camera gets right up in there. But when you have nosebleed seats like I did, you have to use your surroundings, and thank God I had entertaining people surrounding me.

So thank you to the group of young, drunk, Hogan-feather-boa-attired men in the row ahead of me. With such controversial gems as “Bring back Benoit” and “Get a real surname” mentioned above, they really made my section a enjoyable one.