Attending the Smackdown Taping: The Night We Went to Smackdown

"

Between all the booze, cigarettes, bartenders and Big Show sellout chants, I can't even think straight at this particular moment. What the hell happened last night? Why was my friend holding some random kid on his shoulders yelling at John Cena? Why did I give my number to a 60-year-old man and not the 25-year-old bartender? How did we even manage to sit near ringside for $17? I have chunks of memories laced with visions of two dollar drafts, HHH giving a pedigree to Jack Swagger, Jack Daniels and "Yes!" chants. It's like I'm missing two hours of my life. There is one thing, however, that is blatantly crystal-clear to me today... It was the greatest Smackdown ever! 

"

Side Note: I know I don't have to, but I always feel compelled to say this. You are about to read a rather long article. More so an epic true story based around a passion for wrestling and this week's Smackdown taping. There are no spoilers either. Even if you make it a couple sentences in or crap out halfway through, I thank you in advance for your read.

This is my odyssey. Kind of like Homer's, but without the magic, myths and legends. This is my opus. Kind of like Mr. Holland's, but without the awesome orchestra soundtrack or a deaf son. This is my story. A story of two men,  a night on the town and tickets to WWE Smackdown... 

 

Once Upon A Time in Manchester, NH

Mike (My Friend): Yeah...I'm not sitting here. 

I guess when you're a big guy, holding two beers, squished between me and another woman (larger then him), your patience bottoms out pretty quickly. Not only were we sitting in the "textbook definition" of cheap seats, but we couldn't even see the front screen, stage or half the ramp entrance. I guess this is what $17 buys you last minute at the box office.

This place. This Verizon Wireless Arena; It's a smaller venue, capable of seating 11,000 for a wrestling event...it was half-packed and half-blacked out. Large black cloths had been placed over nearly the entire upper section of the arena and also the "non-television side" of the lower section. I really shouldn't have been surprised, but the line leading into the arena would have told you otherwise.

But yet here we were. Trapped in a claustrophobic prison of sweat, beers, children, moms and people who have no common knowledge of the phrase "personal space". Why were we all on top of another when half the arena was closed off? Why was the line so long? How the hell is this place nearly empty, but I still manage to have Tyler Perry's Madea basically sitting on my lap with her elbows locked into my ribcage. That freaking line was ridiculous!

It was easily the longest line I've ever seen to enter this place. Elton John, Aerosmith, Green Day and Van Halen have all played sold-out shows at this venue, but never had this kind of entrance line. Either the security teams were patting down every member of Cenation in hopes of finding his talent, or this is what happens when you're trying to "herd" thousands of children in one direction. Either way, it was completely bogus.  

 The fact that we chose to not wait in that line is where everything went hilariously "un-according" to plan...

 - Two Hours Earlier -

Mike: Are you freaking kidding me with this line? If I'm going to wait in a line that long, I better be on Space Mountain by the end of it. Let's cross the street and go to Murphy's.

Murphy's is an indoor/outdoor Irish bar located in the heart of downtown Manchester. It recently added an entire outdoor deck and bar area (facing the arena) that has instantly become the hottest spot in Manchester. On any given weekend night, you'll find at least 500 people drinking, dancing to a live, outdoor band and yelling at TV screens whenever there's a Boston sports team playing.

Today, however, Murphy's was filled with wrestling fans...I giggled out loud at the site of five grown men wearing Cena t-shirts sitting side-by-side at the bar. It reminded me of a packet of skittles, but Mike probably said it best...

Mike: Look at the Rainbow Squad over there. I'm glad I chose not to wear my Cena get-up because this is far too close to home. We're bound to run into a ton of people we know, and I prefer to not look like a giant fruity pebble when that happens. 

Naturally, we grabbed seats right next to them and immediately struck up a conversation about wrestling. They knew a lot. A lot more than me and my friend knew combined. They knew rumors, gossip, the latest breaking news and could rattle off facts and dates at an alarmingly annoying rate. I love wrestling and can talk about it all day long, but when you reach and maintain a certain high pitch in your voice (usually associated with extreme excitement), then you lose me along with all your respect.  

Not to mention the fact that the bartender who appeared out of nowhere to take our order looked like an angel sent from heaven. Where have you been all my life? Sorry, Rainbow Squad, but when my future ex-girlfriend wants to get me a beer, I no longer care about Alberto Del Rio and your conspiracy theories about his "concussion."

Since I went out of my way to go to the box office and purchase our "soon to be disappointing" seats, Mike did the only thing a good friend would do. He offered to pick up the tab. We really wanted to catch the dark matches, see what NXT would bring us in terms of entertainment, but when the right hand of god is serving you Jack and Cokes, $2 drafts and hovering around your section of the bar more then others, you tend to not care about the WWE.

That is until the old man sitting next to us at the bar chimed in...this is where things got a little hazy.

 -One hour later -

After proclaiming that he could no longer sit in his sweatshop cheap seat, Mike got up and left me sitting alone with the combination cast of Big Momma's House, Sling Blade and Little Giants. Needless to say, I quickly followed his lead.

The colors, sounds, excitement and toxins were swirling around me by now. Off in the distance, I heard Hunico's theme song play and couldn't help but two-step my way around people. The sad part is that amongst me dancing around people, I lost Mike. I remember running into at least a half-dozen people I went to high school with, who I never would have imagined were wrestling fans. Isn't it always a pleasant surprise when you discover someone else has a passion for wrestling? They offered me a chance to sit with them, but me and my friends have a strict "no man left behind" policy, and Mike was still out there...somewhere.

If there's one thing I've learned from watching horror movies, being in this situation before and having common sense, it's to stay put and not wander around aimlessly. Mike would wander back this way eventually. No point in wandering off in two different directions.

...But the second I heard the opening Smackdown music, I headed for the nearest view of the ring, throwing the above statement completely in the trash. Mike would have to find me on his own.

 - Two hours earlier -

One of the greatest thing's about Murphy's is that we could see the ridiculously long entrance line into the arena dissipating before our eyes. All while enjoying frosty cold beverages, the company of the Rainbow Squad, God behind the bar and this old man sitting next to us. 

We must have been sitting there for almost an hour before the old man finally chimed in...

Old Man (name unknown): You guys going to the raslin' event. 

Me: You mean wrestling event? Yea, we're going...eventually.

Old Man: No, No, No... It's pronounced rastlin'. Don't let them fool you.  

While probably not the greatest conversation ice-breaker, we proceeded, over the course of the next hour, to talk about college sports, why he thought MMA was better, how me and my friend met, the bartender and her..."assets", how I write about wrestling, why I write about wrestling. I'm pretty sure we talked politics, religion, impending doom from Middle Eastern countries, but mostly about the bartender...who heard every single word this old man, Mike and myself said due to her incredible hearing superpower.

The flavors of whiskey, rum, cheap IPA's and soda had left my mouth with a sour taste and my brain with a foggy, feel good feeling. We clearly had no intention of leaving any time soon. The company was to good, the drinks were too cheap, the bartender too hot and the fresh night air too crisp. It wasn't until we noticed both the Rainbow Squad and the entrance line were completely gone. For how long, I couldn't tell you, but when Mike checked his phone and announced we were going to miss the opening of the show, we knew it was time to pack it up.

Old Man: You guys are funny. Write down your numbers and I'll text you whenever I'm here drinking cheap drafts. We'll do this again.

I'm assuming people would normally hesitate when asked by a 60-year-old man for their number. but this felt like no ordinary old man just like this was turning into a "not-so-ordinary" night. The electricity of the night was overtaking us slowly. We still had Smackdown left to attend, and local cable channels and radio shows were advertising appearances by John Cena, CM Punk and HHH.  We knew we were in for a good show, so why not give this old man my phone number? 

After I gleefully jotted down my digits and first name, Mike grabbed the pen and proclaimed "Yea, I'm hopping on this bandwagon." The thought of making a joke to the bartender about getting a copy of my number if she wanted it never even crossed my mind until now; because the next thing I remember, I was getting a Punk elbow drop from a rather large woman in our claustrophobic cheap seats.

 -Half-Hour Later -

As I stood there holding two ice-cold beverages watching fireworks shoot off around the main stage, I felt alive. The energy from the crowd, the river of booze flowing around my head and flashing lights all combined into an electric force that only those who attend wrestling events will understand. I was sure Mike was dead at this point or more than likely wandered back to Murphy's, but not even a lovely angel serving me drinks has any shot at keeping my attention once "Cult of Personality" blared over the sound system. I know I'm not the only one who would say that. You know who you are.

God forbid I stand, lost, at this point completely ticket-less at the steps of the arena entrance and watch some harmless wrestling. There always has to be one "Super" cop (aka half-ass arena security) who takes their job far to seriously..

"Sir, Do you have a ticket for this part of the arena?"

Me: Uh, I did, but it's gone. I lost a friend somewhere, and I'm just waiting for him to get back. Can I take a seat down there and wait for him?

"Nice try, but I'll need to see a ticket to let you pass. If you've lost your ticket, then I suggest the balcony section; you'll have less problems finding a seat up there"

Me (under my breath, but with the intention of being heard): Yea, because this place is so sold out.

As I wandered back out into the outer crust of the arena, I could hear Batman telling his sidekick: "They always think they can just rush for lower seats when they're empty.".

Yea, You know what? I do think I can "rush" for lower seats if they're empty. I think the WWE would rather see me and my friend cheering and chanting along with the crowd than having to show empty seats so close to the ring. But that's just my opinion. I'm just a drunk, WWE fan two-stepping around looking for my lost friend, but what do I know.

Mike: How about that guy, huh? Paul Blart the Mall Cop over there. What a toolbox.

Mike's sudden appearance startled me. The funny thing was I guess I never really lost him. Turns out he was behind me the entire time I thought he was "lost." Which meant he was behind me the entire time I was two-stepping to Hunico's theme. He was there when I ran into my old friends from high school and followed me into the arena when I heard the Smackdown theme play.  I was truly in my own little world I guess.

I'm not sure how it happened, who we killed or what we had to do in order to get to where we ended up, but roughly 10 minutes after we got denied entrance to the lower lodge seats of the arena, we were standing 20 feet away from the ring in two perfectly empty floor seats behind the announcers' table.

The Kings of Smackdown

Me: On the count of three, we chant "You're a sellout!" Ready? 1, 2, 3...

We got the chant going that night...you remember that when you watch Smackdown. Remember and respect it!

The Kings of Smackdown had finally arrived, settled in and were in rare form. We still can't determine how we managed to escape the law and upgrade our $17 tickets into $250 tickets in 10 minutes, but sometimes, life throws you a bone. Maybe the old man at the bar was God and by giving him the time of day and our phone numbers, we were handed down a ton of karma points...who knows?

All I know is that we ran our section. Got the kiddos involved in some good "PG" fun and got that crowd pumped up (at least in our section). Everything kind of became a blur of memories throughout the night, but I do remember a couple of things: the loud hum of the cheap ventilation system trying to vent all the smoke from the opening fireworks display, the fact that even though I could spit on the Big Show, it was still hard to hear over the incessant hum of the vents, the single mother of one whose child immediately latched on to Mike like he was his long-lost father and numerous fist bumps I gave the two eight-year-olds beside me. 

I completely forgot what it was like to go to a Smackdown taping. With no commercial breaks, it's a constant moving show. One minut,e Punk, Sheamus, Ziggler and Bryan are all in the ring, and the next moment, HHH is randomly planting Jack Swagger with a Pedigree for no apparent reason.One minute, I'm trying to get an "ignoramus" chant going; the next minute, I'm in line for a pretzel and beverage talking smack back to a 16-year-old who's trying to convince me Cody Rhodes won't be a world champion before 2014... I wanted whatever that kid was smoking because that is just a horrifically wrong statement. He was a Cena fan, so I understand we're not working on the same cognitive playing field. 

Side Note: For the record, I'm joking with all the Cena jokes. Cenation is easily riled up, which makes it 100 times more hilarious when you poke them. I like and respect Cena. You're an easy target, though; remember that.

These nights. These wonderful nights that revolve around the world of wrestling. The electricity. The passion. The love between crowd members would lift the spirits of the worst pessimist. The night seemed like it was just beginning, but I knew it was coming to a close shortly. John Cena was in the ring performing the final act of Smackdown, and in a couple of minutes, the booze would wear off, my lungs would clear and the show would be over.

The pop. The sizzle. The roar of the crowd is enough not only raise goosebumps, but set her heart and soul on fire. It might have been all the whiskey at Murphy's, but who cares? My entire being was on fire as we proceeded to erupt during the final last moments of the show. I didn't think much of it then, but looking back on it, I should have found it weird when I turned to Mike and saw him with the single mother's son on top of his shoulders. Probably a little sketchy, weird and creepy to have some random child on top of your shoulders, but it's the fact that it was a wrestling event that made it all seem so normal.

The smile of the single mother as she enjoyed her son enjoying the show to his fullest extent, the kids around me having them hold up there sign for higher viewing, the fist bumps to everyone around me, the 40-year-old father trying to get an "A-hole" chant started towards Big Johnny. We were a family. We were kings. We were ghosts and legends to these people. myths that appeared out of nowhere and delivered smiles to everyone around us.

We had made friends that were young and friends that were old. We had a new "drinking buddy," a new favorite bartender and another reason to add to the growing list of reasons why we love professional  wrestling. Even if the show sucked (which I imagine on TV it will, because it is Smackdown, after all) and even if the night had transcended from wrestling event to random night on the town, it was a night we'll never forget... at least parts of it anyways.

Isn't that what professional wrestling events are all about? Creating memories and sharing your passion for the industry?

In my mind it will always be the greatest Smackdown ever...

 - Six hours earlier -

Me: Hey Mike, Want to go to Smackdown? I'm thinking we get there around six, enjoy the atmosphere, see the dark matches. What do you think? I'm not feeling the whole alcohol thing tonight because I have a busy day tomorrow, but I think it will be fun.

Mike: Yea, I'm down. It's my birthday this weekend so I'm sure we'll get our fair share of the city of Manchester then. Let's keep it low-key.

I want to thank whatever, whoever made that entrance line the longest entrance line I've ever seen into that arena. I feel as though the old man at the bar had something to do with it...

Fate. Destiny. They're a funny couple sometimes.