The Wrestling home of Moondog Manson

The latest WWF title reign of Hulk Hogan is much like a rectal examination: it's inevitable and happens for understandable reasons, but few people enjoy it and most want it over as quickly as possible.

As soon as the Hulkster's return was announced, it was perfectly obvious that he'd hold the title at some point. It was also obvious that he'd be booked into matches with all the young turks in the company -- HHH, The Rock, and so forth.

The reason it was obvious is that Hogan is clearly on his farewell tour. A quick look at his ringwork reveals that he has slowed down even further, and his energy level seems to be dwindling week by week. Hogan, as an athlete, is in his twilight years.

So it was only reasonable that he go out with a bang. Hogan was and is one of the biggest players in the pro wrestling game. Ask a non-fan Baby Boomer to name a wrestler, and they will invoke his name. Clearly he deserves one last swing of the bat.

But that doesn't mean I have to like it. Indeed, while I may find Hogan's matches intellectually stimulating before the fact, I dread actually watching them. Barring a miracle or some serious inspiration from both parties, the upcoming brawl between Hogan and The Undertaker will be among the dullest matches ever seen, rivalling even backyard wrestling for sheer painful spectacle.

With any luck, Hogan will be gone for good by this time next year, retiring at WrestleMania with his dignity intact. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about.

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Anyone who knows me can tell you that I despise misogyny in damn near all its forms. But I have to tell you, that does not extend to wrestling valets being treated as sex objects.

Because valets are worthless.

Let's face it. A manager at least serves a useful function -- bolstering weak interview skills in an otherwise-promising wrestler. A valet has rather the opposite effect, drawing attention away from the performer with whom they are paired.

I bring this up because of a recent controversy in my part of the world, wherein some wannabe valets were heckled at a backyard show and subsequently complained about the way they were treated. The fan -- one Dan Titus -- had no right to be making sexually-suggestive comments to these women who were only doing their jobs, so the argument goes.

Sorry, but no.

Valets are a low-rent T&A show. Nothing more. Their sole function is to provide a minor sexual thrill to the horny males in the crowd, as well as a loophole for their homophobia when they watch hot man-on-man action in the ring.

So don't come to me with your complaints about boorish fans. Don't tell me how hard you've worked to keep your body looking so good. I'm not impressed.

But you know what would impress me? If you got trained as a wrestler and put on some matches that didn't involve paddles, panties, or any sort of foodstuff. If you made that kind of effort to make a positive contribution to the wrestling business. That would impress me mightily.

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If there is a positive element to the recent roster split, it is that the WWF seems to have remembered the existence of Billy Kidman. Not only that, but they've booked him into a program with Tajiri, an equally-yet-differently talented cruiserweight. These are easily the most exciting matches in the WWF so far this year. Now the question is: will the WWF keep the push on Kidman and, by proxy, the Light Heavyweight Division? Rumors of Rey Misterio Jr.'s signing have been around for some time...

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Something I realized a couple days back that's been bothering me.

For five years now, I've been buying WWF pay-per-views nearly every month and taping them. I have an entire bookshelf here in my condo filled with the tapes. By my estimation, factoring in the cost of the shows and the blank cassettes, I have an $1800 library of WWF PPVs, ostensibly the best wrestling they could provide.

Yet when wrestling is not on TV and I find myself wanting to watch some, I am most likely to put in a $35 FMW DVD, or the ECW Barely Legal tape I bought at Wal-Mart for $9.99. I can count on one hand the number of times I've reviewed a WWF PPV tape.

Which begs the question: am I really buying these PPVs because I want to, or out of habit? And if the latter, how hard would it be to break? I suspect that if PPV Sundays were not such a major social occasion around my home, I'd have broken it long ago.

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On subject of wrestling tapes, I recommend two recent WWF DVDs -- Hardy Boyz: Leap of Faith, and Undertaker: This is My Yard.

The first shows the home lives of two of the more unusual WWF performers. The latter is fascinating if for no other reason than for the footage of 'Taker in his early days as Mean Mark Callous.

The advantage of the DVDs is that you get bonus matches. Full matches, not the usual WWF Home Video highlight clips. It makes a world of difference.

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Still on the wrestling merchandise tip, comic shops are now accepting pre-orders for a pair of trade paperbacks imported from England. One features Stone Cold Steve Austin taking on a biker gang. The other collects stories about The Rock, Mankind, and (yay!) Chyna.

If you want to pick up one or both of these, tell your local comic shop (click here if you need to know where to find one near you) that the books are on page 380 of the current Previews catalogue. They'll know the drill.

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According to an old fable, a female rabbit once approached a lioness and started bragging about her childbearing abilities. "Why, I can have dozens of children a year!" said the rabbit, smugly. "How many can you have?"

"Only one," replied the lioness, "but that one is a lion."

The moral: quality is always better than quantity.