TRANSLATION: MEMPHIS 

TRANSLATION: MEMPHIS

Have you ever walked the streets foaming at the mouth for want of debauchery? Lusting for blood, leprechauns, men in spandex, and Budweiser? Have you ever just itched for these, the finer things in life? I know, I know, you’ve been there, but don’t beat yourself up. It happens to me too. If you find yourself in the above predicament again, and happen to be trudging dejectedly along Beale Street cursing your smackdown-free life, check out the sign above the New Daisy. It could, if the planets are aligned just so, be an Extreme Wrestling night. It beats aimless wandering. Once, at least. Now, I’m not going to actually recommend that you pay the $7 to witness this extravaganza. It’s completely dependent on what kind of sense of humor you have, and whether you can bear the exchange rate of at least 35 packs of Ramen noodles versus one night of “Chaos.” I, for whatever reason, am thoroughly entertained when thrust in the middle of a messy collective of absurd behavior. Wrestling night at the Daisy, by any definition, falls right into that category. One of the many features of the “Extreme Chaos Leprechaun wrestling” event held this St. Patrick’s Day, was the usual inclusion of some local bands between rounds. The unusual inclusion would be the leprechauns. Sunday’s musical line-up included Crippled Nation, Logic 34, the Shelby Forest Clique, and Muck Sticky. The Muckster served as the de facto musical emcee for this flesh-smacking throw down in green. Now, if the idea of Public Enemy’s Flava Flav swallowing and then regurgitating Kid Rock right onto the stage appeals to you, then Muck Sticky is your man. This is especially true if you enjoy the occasional eight-minute opus dedicated to the cleanliness (or lack thereof) of the female anatomy. The crowd, at any rate, was almost worth the admission price in and of itself. Rowdy fans spit trails of beer through the air while shouting, “Kick some leprechaun ass!” Girls sheepishly vomited in the bathrooms. Underage hip-hoppers flashed gang signs at the ring, cheered on by more chants of “I want to see blood!” Overweight men wore tights. I’ll stop there, I think. You get the picture. The night’s main attraction, of course, was the “Leprechaun Match,” which featured Hollywood, the 4’2” self-proclaimed midget-wrestling champion of the world. But it didn’t stop there. There were other battles to be fought on this heroic evening, one of which spilled from the ring and almost directly into my lap. If you have been denied the chance to gaze directly down at a large sweaty man in pink spandex and white leather boots writhing in the aftermath of a bodyslam, then you really haven’t lived. It was a special moment that I will forever cherish. Oh, to have something to daydream about on a gloomy day… Extreme wrestling, I admit, may be of no real comparison to the Wrestlemanias of the world. It might even pale when held up against the fond memories I have from childhood involving a sadistic desire to be one of the G.L.O.W. girls, AKA the Gorgeous Ladies of Wrestling. I could sure kick some butt back then. Anyway, it’s definitely low-key by lights and glitter standards. I mean, the Extreme Chaos costumes aren’t nearly as flashy and fabulous as the ones donned by those WWF fashion plates, aside from the pink. And the wrestlers, quite sadly, were all forced to share the same two Limp Bizcuit and Saliva songs for theme music. They even had to “recycle” the leprechauns from round to round. But, remember, it was only $7. How much did you pay for the real Wrestlemania on Pay-per-view this weekend? More than $7, I’ll bet. So, questionable, offensive, and bottom-of-the-barrel though it may be, I maintain that Extreme Wrestling is worth checking out. It beats an ugly night spent wandering the streets in boredom, at least. (Care to respond? click here.)

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