I knew Shane Douglas’ Extreme Reunion project was dead in the water the very moment I saw him take off a silver wrestling mask and shirt to reveal his bleach-blonde locks, the t-shirt bearing his name and copyright-skirting logo. I knew it was dead for two reasons:

1. Douglas, despite sitting opposite the hard camera, didn’t have the foresight or the money necessary to purchase front row tickets, or wait until something more significant than a Kane/Big Show match was going on.
2. Douglas’ dramatic reveal—which, considering the fan who wound up getting his flop-sweat covered overshirt in his face—wound up being one of the great non-events in wrestling. Nobody popped, nobody gasped, and only a few people chanted “E-C-DUB” as the dejected former Franchise ambled his way slowly up the stairs of the Wells-Fargo arena, whereupon he tried to make it look as though he were forcibly ejected from Vince McMahon’s family friendly show not because he was a dickbag making an unnecessary, unwelcome commotion for those in his immediate era, but because he would soon be firing a warning shot against so-called corporate wrestling. Read more