I swear to God, if Cody Rhodes had just busted out one mention of "Hard times," on his exit interview, I would have lost it. On a night when WWE continued down its path of rehashing things both old and new, Rhodes cribbing his dad's most famous promo would not have been out of place. He had already proven that heroic presence and what's called in the business "babyface fire" is genetic. Babyface fire. What is that phenomenon? Look to the Prime Time Players/3MB match, or for the best example, any Rock 'n Roll Express match from the '80s into perpetuity. When Darren Young or Ricky Morton take ass-whippings from Jinder Mahal or the Midnights, and then they tag in Titus O'Neil or Robert Gibson. When they clean house and play to the crowd and get everyone HYPE after that hot tag, that's babyface fire.
Or for a singles match equivalent, the fire is when Hulk Hogan's adrenaline courses through his veins, or when Steve Austin hits the Thesz Press, or when Sting calls to the sky and splashes a fool in the corner. It's Dusty fucking Rhodes bleeding like a stuck pig, the crowd at his back, threatening to brain Ric Flair with his bionic elbow and send him back to Space Mountain in an ambulance. Cody Rhodes had been the preening, pretty-boy bad guy for so long, I wouldn't blame anyone for forgetting that he was of Rhodes family stock. Well, that and because Cody definitely got his good looks from his mother. I love Big Dust, but if Abraham Simpson was the plumber who sired him, he'd call The Dream as homely as a mule.
But at Money in the Bank, a flame sparked with the Dashing One that had the Philadelphia crowd eating out of his hand. In the month succeeding his alignment shift, he conducted himself like a spiteful jackass, but how he was engaging in a douche-off with Damien Sandow was alluring, magnetic even. Tonight, he came of age. Countering the RKO into that Cross Rhodes popped the crowd at its highest volume for anything that didn't involve Daniel Bryan. His promo upon leaving the arena was brilliant. Maybe he was miscast all along.
Right now, WWE is in the trying time of building up a bunch of new heroes the right way, hard times indeed for fans who are aching to see some kind of payoff. Even though I will disagree with the complaints against this style of booking, I understand them. WWE has conditioned its fanbases to expect that their heroes can bounce right back. They should have been doing some of this building before now, before John Cena had to take an involuntary medical vacation.
However, what RAW (and Smackdown and the other satellites) reminds me of right now is The Two Towers. The middle third of the epic film trilogy spent a good part of its nearly three hours pounding home how bleak things were for every protagonist. Helms Deep was ready to fall under the crushing weight of orcs and Uruk Hai. Merry and Pippin had to deal with the most indecisive creatures known to man, elf, or dwarf. Sam and Frodo had no idea how to get into Mordor, even with the tricksy Gollum leading the way. By the middle of the movie's third act, all hope had seemed lost. But when Gandalf came riding in on Shadowfax with the Rohirrim reinforcements, the catharsis released was an endorphin rush on a magnitude shooting through the ceiling.
In a company where the heels never get this kind of advantage, the feeling has to be academic that the good guys are going to triumph in the end. What better way to make Daniel Bryan feel like the top guy despite his perceived-by-the-office weaknesses than to have him overcome these kinds of odds over a long period of time. And what better way to get a guy genetically predisposed to be a likable, relatable hero in Cody Rhodes over than to put him in front of a corporate tidal crush, only to have him stand tall, with or without his daddy's Midnight Rider mask.
Or for a singles match equivalent, the fire is when Hulk Hogan's adrenaline courses through his veins, or when Steve Austin hits the Thesz Press, or when Sting calls to the sky and splashes a fool in the corner. It's Dusty fucking Rhodes bleeding like a stuck pig, the crowd at his back, threatening to brain Ric Flair with his bionic elbow and send him back to Space Mountain in an ambulance. Cody Rhodes had been the preening, pretty-boy bad guy for so long, I wouldn't blame anyone for forgetting that he was of Rhodes family stock. Well, that and because Cody definitely got his good looks from his mother. I love Big Dust, but if Abraham Simpson was the plumber who sired him, he'd call The Dream as homely as a mule.
But at Money in the Bank, a flame sparked with the Dashing One that had the Philadelphia crowd eating out of his hand. In the month succeeding his alignment shift, he conducted himself like a spiteful jackass, but how he was engaging in a douche-off with Damien Sandow was alluring, magnetic even. Tonight, he came of age. Countering the RKO into that Cross Rhodes popped the crowd at its highest volume for anything that didn't involve Daniel Bryan. His promo upon leaving the arena was brilliant. Maybe he was miscast all along.
Right now, WWE is in the trying time of building up a bunch of new heroes the right way, hard times indeed for fans who are aching to see some kind of payoff. Even though I will disagree with the complaints against this style of booking, I understand them. WWE has conditioned its fanbases to expect that their heroes can bounce right back. They should have been doing some of this building before now, before John Cena had to take an involuntary medical vacation.
However, what RAW (and Smackdown and the other satellites) reminds me of right now is The Two Towers. The middle third of the epic film trilogy spent a good part of its nearly three hours pounding home how bleak things were for every protagonist. Helms Deep was ready to fall under the crushing weight of orcs and Uruk Hai. Merry and Pippin had to deal with the most indecisive creatures known to man, elf, or dwarf. Sam and Frodo had no idea how to get into Mordor, even with the tricksy Gollum leading the way. By the middle of the movie's third act, all hope had seemed lost. But when Gandalf came riding in on Shadowfax with the Rohirrim reinforcements, the catharsis released was an endorphin rush on a magnitude shooting through the ceiling.
In a company where the heels never get this kind of advantage, the feeling has to be academic that the good guys are going to triumph in the end. What better way to make Daniel Bryan feel like the top guy despite his perceived-by-the-office weaknesses than to have him overcome these kinds of odds over a long period of time. And what better way to get a guy genetically predisposed to be a likable, relatable hero in Cody Rhodes over than to put him in front of a corporate tidal crush, only to have him stand tall, with or without his daddy's Midnight Rider mask.