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Submitted by Boss Foxx on Saturday, May 26, 2007 at 3:59 PM EST
 The television spouts out a warning of some kind, but you aren’t really listening. You’re too busy playing with your toys on the living room floor. It's some kind of game that you’ve created, cars and trucks versus those sad, little, green plastic army men. Your father sits at the edge of his seat on the couch, clutching his after work beer tightly in his hand. There's a strong surge of dismay on his face. You think to yourself how odd a look that is on your daddy's face, but go on crashing the plastic fire truck into the miniature green army man over and over again. You're a child; looks that form on your father's face like that last one don't register; you haven't learned what that look means yet. Behind your father's worried visage, you see the last remnants of day fading away, yellow daylight with measures of gray. The curtains that frame the picture of a dying day dance to the rhythm created by the fan that sits on the floor with you and your toys. Crash! Crash! The army guys need to go to the hospital. Hit and run. Where are the police? You can't find them; they never made it out of the toy box. Surely, if they were here now, they'd arrest your daddy for that look on his face. Mommy now sits beside Daddy and the light in the window turns a gray-green. She turns to look through the window behind her and then back to the television. Father sits his beer down. You reach for the ambulance because you've remembered what pile it's in and drive it to the scene of the accident. You wonder why the army man still holds his gun even though he's been slaughtered by the wheels of a semi. You make the screeching sound of tires as the ambulance pulls up. Mommy and Daddy are both wearing the same face, – now you know what the face is. It's a worried face. You've stopped screeching, but the sound continues. You don't know the magic that is the air-raid siren, but you hear it now. You're scared. You push the toys away and climb up onto the couch between your mother and father. Safety, right? You poke your head between their two bodies and search the outside view from the family room window. Everything looks okay, doesn't it? Mom? Dad? You begin to cry. Your father wraps an arm around you and your mother does the same from the other side. The three of you face the outside world from the confines of your own home. Safety, right? The couch vinyl catches skin and releases it in its own noisy way, like the sound of an inner tube rubbing wet skin, but nobody hears it over the screaming air-raid siren emanating from the center of town. Mommy begins to cry and seeing Mommy cry makes you cry even harder. Your father's grip on your shoulder tightens and then relaxes. Sorry, he mouths. What is wrong? What is wrong? Why is everyone acting so strange? What is making that noise? Why is Mommy crying? Please, someone. Please. Please. Please. Brilliant, blinding, white light envelops all that you ever knew of your back yard. The trees are gone. The grass is gone. The sky is gone. You feel your shoulder cracking underneath the strain of your father's grip. Mother is shrieking hysterically. What's wrong? What's wrong? What's wrong? The white light fades to a fiery orange. Trees and grass and sky make their return - only their leaves and blades and heavens are tainted with that same, seemingly sick, orange light. Then you hear it, the thunder of the blast. Fourth of July you think. Orange fireworks. Everything is okay, right? Mommy? Daddy? Everything is okay, right? But it's not. Mommy is pale faced even though she too wears the orange make-up that everything appears to be wearing. There's pain in your shoulder. You register it now, but don't care in a world that's gone from odd to bizarre to inexplicable in the matter of minutes. The pain comes from far away like... "Cleveland," your parents say in solemn unison. "Indians," your mind replies. Hot dogs and peanuts and the "Beer Here" guy that Daddy always flags down. Cotton Candy! It's the Fourth of July and the Indians are playing. You're hungry. You tap your mom's shoulder and ask her to make some food. She tells you to shhhh, honey. Shhhhh. FLASH. Closer this time. It burns. The air-raid siren silences its wailing. The explosion. Closer. The house shakes. The window blows inward. Thousands of glass shards, like bee stings, cut into your body and face. You've never smelled cooking flesh; and in the last seconds of your life you smell it but don't know what it is. Your mother is silent. Your father no longer pains your shoulder, but your hair is on fire. The world is on fire. You have just enough life left in you to hear your eyes sizzling in their sockets before your eardrums burst from the heat. FLASH.  Oh, yeah... Welcome to On the Couch XXVIII – Deterrence.  What you've just read, besides my small introduction, is a somewhat common dream for those who grew up between the years of 1945 to about 1991, between the A-Bombs being dropped on Japan at the end of WWII on up through the end of the Soviet Union. The dream depicts the nuclear nightmare, the end of our lives, or so we feared. I say we feared because we were the children of the Cold War. Basically, the Cold War was a chess game between the two most powerful countries on the planet. Every move used chess pieces such as: spies, allies from across the world, philosophies, propaganda, military or financial backing of allies around the globe, and increased military and space program spending. At every move, the leader of said pawn or rook would talk smack to the opposing superpower's leader. A move would necessitate move. Smack would necessitate smack. Escalation became a popular word for over forty years and it didn't mean going upstairs and downstairs in the mall either. The worst part, the part that had the common folk building shelters in basements around the world, was the nukes and their proliferation. Improvements in power and distance of nukes by one country would dictate improving power and distance of nukes in the other country. More of those nukes on one side would necessitate more nukes on the other. The two superpowers had enough nukes to blow the world up many times over. We're not talking just blowing up Central Park or Moscow Square; we're talking the whole enchilada, Earth. The two world powers stopped short of killing everyone on the planet because everyone included them as well. The Cold War never went hot because no country on this Earth could handle the heat in kitchens cooking with nukes. There's actually a word for it – deterrence. Deterrence – 1.) the act of deterring, esp. deterring a nuclear attack by the capacity or threat of retaliating. 2.) Measures taken by a state or an alliance of states to prevent hostile action by another state. 3.) The inhibition of criminal behavior by fear esp. of punishment. It's a scary proposition, to start something with a bona fide nuclear power. It's why every country on the planet is trying to enrich this and that, so that they can have deterrence like the rest of the big boys. Our nuclear weapons policy in America, following the usage to end World War II, has always been - nuke us and we will nuke you back. Unlike Kim Jong-il's nukes, ours do reach their destination and do, without a doubt, go bang. However, in reality, the United States nuclear capacity is nothing more than threatening window dressing. I know they go bang. You know they go bang. They know they go bang. Don't make them go bang. Deterrence.  What does deterrence have to do with wrestling? Let’s redefine while keeping in the scheme of things. Deterrence – 1.) The act of deterring former World Heavyweight Champions from chasing the belt while other talents chase the belt. 2.) Measures taken by creative to prevent former World Heavyweight Champions from going near the big gold. 3.) The inhibition of World Heavyweight behavior by giving former World Heavyweights something to do other than chase the big gold. In my opinion, the quality of the product depends greatly upon the quality of the deterrence involved with keeping former Heavyweight Champions out of the title picture when needed. What’s the story behind so and so, former three-time Heavyweight Champion of the World, not going for the belt once again? Isn’t that what wrestlers fight for? The big gold? When you can’t give the fans a viable reason why the champ from last year isn’t still trying to win that weight around his waist again, you’ve failed as a company. It should be, in fact, a sin to overlook that main, pervasive storyline of flagship title belts. Sure, when Triple H has the strap he’s telling us all that it’s the only thing he lives for, but what about when he’s not in contention or holding the Heavyweight Championship belt? What’s he doing with his time if that belt is the only thing he lives for? Now, why the hell is he screwing with so and so over here, out of the main event? What makes so and so over here so damned important that Triple H is no longer living for a chunk of golden metal around his waist? The deterrence must be good or else wrestling, as an entity, doesn’t make sense; and while I realize that it often doesn’t, shouldn’t it? It doesn’t have to be amazing; it just has to make sense. In the recent Raw universe, Khali decimated HBK, Orton, and Edge in order to face Cena at Judgment Day. It’s not the greatest or most fascinating deterrence in the world to simply beat the crap out of all the other contenders, but it works. Something stood in the way of Edge, HBK, and Orton. Khali brand deterrence. If you consider how long The Undertaker has wrestled in conjunction with how few times he’s held the World Heavyweight Title/ WWE Title, you might ask yourself what has that Deadman been up to all these years? Doesn’t he like gold? Something or someone was in his path, standing between his yard and the big gold. His brother, Kane kept the Undertaker busy off and on for years. Mankind is another obstacle that had to be dealt with in order to motor on towards another championship. Sometimes, just protecting Sara from D.D.P’s overdone smile was enough to keep The Undertaker distracted. As far as things getting in the way of a talent’s glory at the top, Undertaker has faired better than most. Now, his brother, Kane... I can’t count the storylines written for The Big Red Machine. I can’t count how many BAD storylines they’ve made Kane suffer through. I can’t count the times that Kane should have been going for gold when he was going for broke with this assjack or that assjack over little or nothing. I can’t recall a wrestler more deflated by creative with their over-inflated stories than Kane. If we could just get Kane versus Creative in some sort of handicapped match...(see, I didn’t mention necrophilia once...oops, damn!) How about those superstars who go from the big leagues to the little leagues like Chris Benoit when he moves from World Heavyweight contention to United States Champion? Why? It drives me nuts when a man, formerly carrying the hopes and dreams of the company in golden strap form around his middle drops that belt so he can go chase lesser belts with lesser talents in the mid-card. What? Did Benoit wake up one day and say, “you know what? That smaller, crappier, less heavy, less golden, less paying when you carry it belt just seems to fit me better than that other one that I struggled my whole life to obtain. You know... the one that verifies my existence, my blood, my sweat, my sacrifice, my broken neck, and the recognition from peers and fans alike that I am a top-tier performer.” I just can’t buy into that – not when a talent has already been there and done that. I suppose there are those times when getting a lesser belt does make good sense, though. It’s cheap deterrence, but it works. If you’ve carried all the gold of a company and still haven’t won the tag team belts or the IC strap for some reason or another; by all means, go head and win it for completeness’s sake. More power to you. I hope you lose it sooner than later and get back to the real(kayfabe) reason you’re here. You might be wondering why I’d write this now, with all the injuries to former World Title holders in WWE. Hell, some of them aren’t even with the company anymore or are retired from the ring completely. The broken and bruised will return again somewhere down the line. When they do, what will they be fighting for? They can’t all grab the big belt from the champ when they get back; so, what is in store for them? What will be their deterrence from reclaiming the big boy’s belt? The Undertaker is coming back one day. Shawn Michaels is returning eventually. Triple H is well on his way to putting on those boots and spitting water once again, much to the delight of this Triple H fan. Booker and Rey are returning. It’s rumored that JBL wants to make a comeback if doctors will clear him for action. Kennedy, while not a former World Heavyweight Champion, is in the same league of main event talents who, upon entering that ring once again, should be contending for the big gold. Granted, we could throw them all together in a Hell in a Cell or perhaps an Elimination Chamber match. That’s easy enough to begin with, but what then? This is wrestling damn it! We need reason! ...Sorry... We want reason, don’t we? Wouldn’t wrestling be better with a little reason from time to time? Three quarters of our 2006, 2007 main event scene is returning within the next year. They can’t all go for the belt. What will stand in their way? If revenge is all that Creative has for us as far as deterrence goes we already have a few clues as to what’s what when everyone returns. Undertaker could come back to take out Mark Henry, Edge, or Batista. Maybe he just annihilates them all at once? Rey Mysterio might return to face Umaga or Chavo. Shawn Michaels, if retribution is to be his, would come back to take out Randy Orton. Triple H could return to take out Edge or Orton in retaliation for his quad injury. I’m sure Kennedy wants a piece of Edge when he returns to ring action. Booker T, set to return in June, is probably the only one who won’t seek vengeance since he’d have to wait nearly a year to get it from the presently injured Undertaker. Yet, vengeance is so common it even has its own PPV. Why not spice things up a tad? Remember when Kurt Angle and Chris Benoit were getting all technical over being technical with each other? That feud took both men out of any title hunt for almost four months and put them in an engaging, crowd pleasing, reversal and tap-fest. It began with Benoit stealing Angle’s medals which was more than enough to get the two to tango. They danced in some of the best matches of 2001 which included a submissions match, Iron Man match, and a spectacular two out of three falls finale that makes Benoit/ MVP’s latest PPV entanglement look infantile. You’re a wrestling fan. I don’t have to speak for you with my memories of great deterrence. The Angle/Benoit example above is enough for you to see what I’m getting at. Think back on those storylines that didn’t involve the belt, the ones that thrilled you and made you a happy fan. Maybe a girl was involved. Maybe it was simple pride. Someone, somewhere, did something you got a kick out of. Maybe Rikishi did it for Samoa or the Rock. Maybe Angle did it because he was falling for Stephanie. Maybe Steven Richards did it because he had the Right To Censor. Maybe Triple H did it because he wanted more power. Maybe Kane did it because he was jealous or angry. Maybe Foley did it because he knew what Extreme was really all about. Whatever it was, something caught their eye; and for that moment, that something was bigger than the Ultimate Cracker Jack prize, the World Heavyweight Championship. That something kept them busy and kept us entertained. That stumbling block, that obstacle, that thing in the road that just can’t be avoided is deterrence. It is what makes a wrestling show fuller, more complete and it stacks a PPV. Deterrence makes sense. It’s what wrestlers do when they’re not going for the glory and it’s what we should be watching when the belt isn’t an issue. Deterrence, as a philosophy and a practice, is as important as the belts themselves in the world of wrestling; we’re going to need a proliferation of it in the coming year when old, belt hungry veterans return to the battlefield a little light in their middles.  Readers of On the Couch know Anxiety & Depression is where I stash my fears and my unhappiness regarding the wrestling world. Sometimes I have to search my innards to unearth what I’m afraid of and this week is one of those kinds of weeks. I’m rarely depressed, so that leaves anxiety. What’s making me anxious? There’s not much to get nervous about other than the unknown and the future and it’s in the future where I find my topic this week. Triple H is returning soon. First of all, my fear is that somehow, by an act of God or his darker foil, Lucifer, I’ll miss Triple H’s return. Who knows? It could be that my cable isn’t paid on time or it could be that I decide that a particular PPV isn’t worth it that month or I lack the fundage to pay for it. It could be that my DVR decides to flip me the bird and not work that particular evening. Why does that scare me? I’m a Triple H fan of course. He’s one of the main reasons I’m a wrestling fan. I remember watching his last return, the huge pop of the crowd, the electricity from crowd to camera and through the tube to me, sitting at home. There’s nothing better than a high caliber return. I don’t want to miss it. I prefer his heel work, but I don’t mind watching when he’s one of the good guys. In fact, I’d rather he comes back face and stays face for a good long time. I worry that, because of Cena, they’ll bring him back heel because WWE needs a super-villain right now. If you’ve read the Couch for any amount of time, you also know that I am not a fan of John Cena. In this instance, I’d rather Cena turns heel and Trips returns to wipe the wrestling mat red with Cena’s bloody carcass... winning the big gold for the 11th time and returning the belt to a more traditional look and vibe, thank you very much. But, yeah... I worry. I worry that DX needs closure and logically, for the end of DX to occur, HHH and HBK need to battle it out for one to ten straight PPV’s. We’ve already seen this. I don’t want to see it again. I don’t really think DX needs to return either. The fun in the sun is over, fellas. Move on; just don’t fight each other again. Do something else. Creative is one of those entities that always has me worried when a wrestler makes his or her return. What do they have in store for Trips? Is HE getting over-creative with himself? Is he coming back as a badass, like the McMahon/Helmsley version? Is he coming back like the lowly heel from 2003 and 2004? How about the snob from his early career with WWF? Will Triple H return to tell us penis jokes and chop at his crotch? He’s coming back as something, as someone – and soon.  Now we come to the end of things, the finish of another On the Couch. I’m happy, as always, to have you here. Your visits and your feedback make my couch happy. I hope the column makes you happy. We happy? This marks my fourth time on the main page representing the Columns Forum of Lords of Pain. Thanks to all who read and vote in that monthly contest. Thanks especially to those who voted Couch in April. I am honored to be here, just like I’ve been since the very first. Support your Columns Forum. It’s like saving the whales and preserving the ozone. The Columns Forum needs you. Read. Feedback. Write your own column. Make friends. Get read by thousands if you’re good. You are more than welcome, nudged, strongly urged, forced by gunpoint to feedback this column. You can do so by sending an email to LeviathansCouch@aol.com or by checking out my On the Couch XXVIII – Deterrence thread in the Columns Forum and dropping me a note there. Feedback is column-writing fuel, kinda like quality H2O in The Waterboy. Without it, column writers die. Thanks in advance. Until we do this again... *NEW GALLERY* Photos of BATISTA With His HOT NEW GIRLFRIEND!
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