"Ride of the Valkyrie" was iconic before it was remixed and fitted for Daniel Bryan. Richard Wagner was one of classical music's most beloved composers, and that piece, arguably his most famous, has a certain ominous quality that lent itself to several pop culture applications, most notably in the seminal film Apocalypse Now. However, it will always be imbued in my mind from the Looney Tunes short, a spoof on the opera, that had Elmer Fudd sing the words "Kill the wabbit" as he spear-hunted for Bugs Bunny. The main difference between Warner Bros. animated mascot and WWE's similarly animated Champ is that Bugs never in his history ever asked for Fudd to bring the fight to him. Tonight, Cena signed for his own hunt to start.
See, Cena is the wabbit, and Bryan is out to kill him. Figuratively, of course. It is a PG show. But make no mistake about it, this Daniel Bryan, the one who went HAM on an entire slate of Money in the Bank aspirants in Philadelphia last night, the one who made Randy Orton taste bamboo, the one who threw a friendship with Kane out the window when his opportunity arose, has been building to this moment for a long time. You can say it was when he cashed in his Big Gold Belt briefcase. You over there can say it was when he signed with WWE.
For me, it was when he, a scrawnier, less hairy version of himself, appeared for a cup of coffee on Velocity. Cena had not yet ascended, but everyone knew he was the next big thing. Here Bryan was, still under his birth name, scrappin', looking for every opening in Cena's steep granite facade. It would have been like if Fudd had two broken legs and was chasing after a Bugs Bunny on equal parts anabolic steroids and crystal methamphetamines, and not the shitty, run of the mill Kensington shit you get in North Philly. I'm talking that high-quality Blue Sky shit.
Hey, speaking of homicidal bunnies, CM Punk also fit the role of bizarro world Elmer Fudd too. His legs weren't broken, but his wabbit, the Mario-mushroomed, Chief Wiggum-special esquilax, certainly cast a more imposing shadow than any other woodland creature. Brock Lesnar came to kill Punk, but Punk had an answer. Sure, he didn't use his brain like Bugs would to escape Fudd. And good Lord, he could have used a foil, maybe Chris Jericho (too busy dragging Rob van Dam's corpse to a match that too many people for my liking thought was good), to alternate ripping down signs. PUNK SEASON! JERICHO SEASON! PUNK SEASON! JERICHO SEASON!
But then again, Punk already used his fancy thinkin' brain to make his point. You can't reason with the Leviathan. He thirsts only for carnage and despair. He can't have one without the other. If you press on against him, he gets confused and his weaknesses open up. Lesnar kicked Punk's ass from Pike Street to Park Slope and back, but Punk kept coming back. Was it because he was stupid? Quite the contrary. You bring the fight to Lesnar. That's the only way he opens up. It's the only language he understands.
And no matter how much Cena seems to indicate otherwise, force is the only language he seems to understand too. The only difference is that he doesn't need Paul Heyman to translate for him. He can speak for himself, and whether that's a good thing or a bad thing depends on whether you actually thought about spending money on Grown Ups 2 this past weekend. I'm not ripping anyone who did, mind you. It's just that I think that movie caters to a whole different audience than what I'm used to, and I think that audience overlaps with most of Cena's fans. I could be wrong.
But the size difference isn't nearly as stark. And Bryan's skill level is such that no one can struggle to imagine him taking Cena down, slapping on the NO! Lock, and making him tap for fear that his precious musculature would get rent asunder. Submission wrestling is far more painful than any lance, spear, or even musket. AT least they kill faster. Don't get it twisted either. Bryan isn't looking just for a good showing. He, and every single person who shouts "YES! YES! YES!" in solidarity with him when someone mentions his name, will be looking for the kill.
IN a world of wascally wabbits, Cena's the biggest one. When "Ride of the Valkyries" hits in Los Angeles? Oh, the bunny bloodlust will be at a fever pitch, and for the first time, the audience at large will be aching and throbbing for Elmer Fudd to kill the wabbit once and for all.
See, Cena is the wabbit, and Bryan is out to kill him. Figuratively, of course. It is a PG show. But make no mistake about it, this Daniel Bryan, the one who went HAM on an entire slate of Money in the Bank aspirants in Philadelphia last night, the one who made Randy Orton taste bamboo, the one who threw a friendship with Kane out the window when his opportunity arose, has been building to this moment for a long time. You can say it was when he cashed in his Big Gold Belt briefcase. You over there can say it was when he signed with WWE.
For me, it was when he, a scrawnier, less hairy version of himself, appeared for a cup of coffee on Velocity. Cena had not yet ascended, but everyone knew he was the next big thing. Here Bryan was, still under his birth name, scrappin', looking for every opening in Cena's steep granite facade. It would have been like if Fudd had two broken legs and was chasing after a Bugs Bunny on equal parts anabolic steroids and crystal methamphetamines, and not the shitty, run of the mill Kensington shit you get in North Philly. I'm talking that high-quality Blue Sky shit.
Hey, speaking of homicidal bunnies, CM Punk also fit the role of bizarro world Elmer Fudd too. His legs weren't broken, but his wabbit, the Mario-mushroomed, Chief Wiggum-special esquilax, certainly cast a more imposing shadow than any other woodland creature. Brock Lesnar came to kill Punk, but Punk had an answer. Sure, he didn't use his brain like Bugs would to escape Fudd. And good Lord, he could have used a foil, maybe Chris Jericho (too busy dragging Rob van Dam's corpse to a match that too many people for my liking thought was good), to alternate ripping down signs. PUNK SEASON! JERICHO SEASON! PUNK SEASON! JERICHO SEASON!
But then again, Punk already used his fancy thinkin' brain to make his point. You can't reason with the Leviathan. He thirsts only for carnage and despair. He can't have one without the other. If you press on against him, he gets confused and his weaknesses open up. Lesnar kicked Punk's ass from Pike Street to Park Slope and back, but Punk kept coming back. Was it because he was stupid? Quite the contrary. You bring the fight to Lesnar. That's the only way he opens up. It's the only language he understands.
And no matter how much Cena seems to indicate otherwise, force is the only language he seems to understand too. The only difference is that he doesn't need Paul Heyman to translate for him. He can speak for himself, and whether that's a good thing or a bad thing depends on whether you actually thought about spending money on Grown Ups 2 this past weekend. I'm not ripping anyone who did, mind you. It's just that I think that movie caters to a whole different audience than what I'm used to, and I think that audience overlaps with most of Cena's fans. I could be wrong.
But the size difference isn't nearly as stark. And Bryan's skill level is such that no one can struggle to imagine him taking Cena down, slapping on the NO! Lock, and making him tap for fear that his precious musculature would get rent asunder. Submission wrestling is far more painful than any lance, spear, or even musket. AT least they kill faster. Don't get it twisted either. Bryan isn't looking just for a good showing. He, and every single person who shouts "YES! YES! YES!" in solidarity with him when someone mentions his name, will be looking for the kill.
IN a world of wascally wabbits, Cena's the biggest one. When "Ride of the Valkyries" hits in Los Angeles? Oh, the bunny bloodlust will be at a fever pitch, and for the first time, the audience at large will be aching and throbbing for Elmer Fudd to kill the wabbit once and for all.