"Don't you wish you were me? Everything a man should be."-Chris Jericho
There are not too many wrestling fans who wouldn’t want to know what it is like to be a professional wrestler, even it is was just for one day. You could experience the life on the road, the adrenaline rush of performing in front of thousands of rabid fans night in and night out, and the crippling politics backstage of forgetting to shake Billy Kidman’s hand. Sounds fun, right?
Of course, I have always dreamt this same dream. If I could get in the business, I would. Sadly, the odds of that happening are slimmer than Colin Delaney. A guy can still dream, though.
My dream, however, is a little different than anybody else’s. I don’t want to live the life of any old wrestler for one day.
I want to be Tajiri for just one day.
Out of the hundreds of thousands of pro wrestlers that have graced the squared circle, I want to be the Japanese Buzzsaw.
Before you ask, “What in the bluest of blue hells is wrong with you?” allow me to explain.
Tajiri was a fucking badass. He sort of sauntered to the ring, already preying on his victim. Once the bell rang, Tajiri proceeded to beat the everloving piss out of his opponent.
Tajiri’s kicks are the loudest, stiffest, coolest strikes in wrestling ever. Who wouldn’t want to see Nunzio or Super Crazy on their knees, groggy and hurt, and kick them as hard as possible in the head? I raise my hand to volunteer and won’t stop shouting “OH” like Horshack from “Welcome Back, Kotter.”
Beyond the strikes, Tajiri’s other moves made him stand out. The handspring elbow off the ropes is sorely missing from the WWE right now. Nobody made use of the Tree of Woe better than Tajiri. The Tarantula, illegal as it may be, just looks like fun. The Octopus…it’s called THE OCTOPUS!
Other factors of Tajiri’s arsenal make my craving to live in his body for one day stronger. His obnoxious screaming/shrieking when he charged toward his opponent, preparing to take their face off, was so different and cool. It seemed like Tajiri was mocking his opponents whenever he did it. It might also be the simple fact that Tajiri is fucking crazy. Good enough for me.
I would be remiss at this point if I didn’t admit my desire to spit the mysterious green mist into the face of anybody. I’m not even talking about using it as an underhanded tactic in a match. I just want to see my sandwich artist at Subway put too much lettuce on my Chicken Bacon Ranch sub and spray that poisonous mist into his face as punishment for sucking at his job. Seriously, if everybody in this country had the ability to summon up green mist from their mouths to spit into other people’s faces, crime rates would go down. Everybody would handle their issues with green mist, not guns or other harsher violence. Tajiri (or Great Muta, for that matter), teach us!
Moving on from his repertoire, Tajiri could be funny as well. Sure, it’s better to be the no-nonsense buzzsaw that he was known to be. But Tajiri was an incredibly well-rounded performer. His time as William Regal’s manservant still makes me laugh. I would love to be a stiff asskicker one minute and be in a silly skit with Booker T over shampoo or wearing this outfit and trying to be angry at Maven. Tajiri had the ability to be serious and comedic with the snap of his fingers and never suffered because of it.
Awesome character? Check. Awesome work rate? Check. What else is there?
Gear, of course!
I am naturally referring to his baller black pants and not his bland, blue trunks during his early run in ECW. Not only are Tajiri’s pants perfect for his in-ring style, but they look more comfortable than anything I have ever seen. I could play softball in those pants. I could join a breakdancing team in those pants. I would reckon that anybody could accomplish anything they put their mind to in those pants.
Being Tajiri is something that I couldn’t get enough of. Just one day of being Tajiri wouldn’t be enough. I couldn’t just Buzzsaw Kick one person. I would need more than one day to experience everything that makes Tajiri so awesome.
So the next time you daydream about being a wrestler, pick one out in particular. It makes the dream a lot more fun.
Now, pardon me. I am going to walk around my local supermarket with my iPod blasting this theme song and try not to kick the bejeebus out of everybody in sight.