Another piece of childhood biting the dust

Happy trails, Jimmy Snuka: “Superfly” has passed away.

There’s no sense in me writing yet another long-winded eulogy for a professional wrestler.  Jimmy Snuka wasn’t taken from the world far too young; he was 73 years old and certainly lived out a fairly full life, albeit probably wrestled a little longer than he probably should have, but such is often the case of professional wrestlers from the 80s and 90s who literally have nothing else to do but continuing to don the tights and get in the ring.

My last visit to the topic of Jimmy Snuka was marred with skepticism and questions of his honesty and intentions, as it seemed a little too convenient for his health to so rapidly begin deterioration as involvement in a third-degree murder/manslaughter charge began to creep up on him, but then again non-physical variables are certainly capable of manifesting physical ailments due to the limitless power of the brain to the body.

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The Ft. Lauderdale airport shooter looks like Brandon Belt

Inappropriate, given the tragic loss of multiple lives at the Ft. Lauderdale airport, but when I saw the mugshot of the gunman, I couldn’t help but notice the striking resemblance to San Francisco Giants first baseman, Brandon Belt.

Sure, he’s the player I identify as the guy I dislike the most on the team I dislike more than any other in Major League Baseball, which I almost want to say that he’s the guy I dislike more than anyone else in MLB, which isn’t entirely accurate, because that dubious honor goes to Melky Cabrera, but even I have to feel kind of bad for Brandon Belt that he’s such a dead ringer for a guy whose face has been, and will probably be flashing all over the news for at least another week, as a guy identified as a mentally ill, PTSD-addled example of the shortcomings of veteran care and mental health knowledge.

Seriously, when I first saw the mugshot, I immediately thought that Brandon Belt had done something illegal and gotten arrested or something. 

I hope one day when Brandon Belt is inevitably exposed as being the overrated hack he is and is designated for assignment, and has to take his talents to Asia in order to keep his career going, Asian fans will make signs using the Ft. Lauderdale shooter’s mugshot with Brandon Belt’s name.  Like when Taiwanese fans used a photo of Johnny Cueto on a sign for Manny Ramirez, because All Look Same.

Oh, Atlanta #1,017

TL;DR: Shell casings found in various Atlanta locations indicate a concerning number of incidents on New Year’s Eve involving celebratory gun fire.

You know what’s a great idea to celebrate things?  Discharging lethal weapons.

I mean seriously, I’ve heard of plenty of incidents of there being celebratory gun fire in parts of the world before, but usually they’ve been like, Islamic terrorists firing AK-47s into the skies, screaming Allahu Akbar or some shit.  Or like rednecks really celebrating their second amendment rights, in the backwoods and/or their white supremacy compounds.

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lol Curbed hipsters

Occasionally, I like reading Curbed.  Sure, the writing is a little biased, the commenters are amongst the most pretentious on the planet, but sometimes, it’s a nice way to see other neighborhoods and parts of town that I might not be so aware of.  At the end of each year, Curbed does this thing called The Curbed Cup, and they like to poll readers to determine, what the best neighborhood in the region is.

Previous winners in Atlanta aren’t any real surprises; Inman Park, Old Fourth Ward, Kirkwood, Reynoldstown; these are areas rife with pretty successful gentrification and are appropriately densely packed with hipsters, new money, and hipsters with new money.  Last year’s winner was a little bit of a head-scratcher; the West End, which to anyone who isn’t familiar with the area, it’s basically the region of town that is literally on the other side of the tracks, that is full of blight, crime, unoccupied and dilapidated homes and more crime.

There’s no denying that the potential of the West End is grandiose if it could ever actually be successfully cleaned, reset, and developed appropriately, as it sits on a lot of prime real estate that the burgeoning Atlanta real estate market would salivate over, if it were remotely usable.

But anointing it as the best Atlanta neighborhood of 2015 was quite the head-scratcher, and I would wager money that bloggers and snarky internet commenters could write essays on how great the West End is in their opinion, but they wouldn’t be able to say NO fast enough, if they were asked if they would actually live there.

That’s the kind of place the West End really is.

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Grayson Allen and the double-standards of athletics

Impetus: Duke basketball player Grayson Allen suspended indefinitely by the team for intentionally tripping Elon player (and then proceeding to throw the biggest temper tantrum this side of Christian Bale)

What is the risk when a college basketball player deliberately trips another player on a hardwood court?  Broken bones, contusions, concussions, among other types of injury.

What is the risk when an ordinary citizen deliberately trips another ordinary citizen on the street, in a hallway, at the store, at school, or any other location?  Broken bones, contusions, concussions, among other types of injury.

The difference is that when a college basketball player does it, although it is seen on television and by thousands of spectators, they get a whole lot of scrutiny, criticism, disdain and blown up on social media, but when an ordinary person does it at any other ordinary location, they are classified as committing assault, and are subject to arrest, among other criminal punishment.

It goes without saying that this sort of double-standard is troubling as far as society is concerned.  Just because Grayson Allen is a talented basketball player for one of the most recognized sporting teams in its entire sport doesn’t mean he shouldn’t be punished like an ordinary citizen for his dangerous actions. 

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CRYME TYME PREVENTIN’ CRIME TIME

Short story even shorter because I’m a retard and lost the first time I wrote this and don’t really want to re-write it but it’s too good of a story to go unmentioned on the brog that’s never up: Former WWE wrestler and member of the tag team Cryme Tyme, Shad Gaspard, physically incapacitates would-be robber at gas station and restrains him until cops arrive

Sometimes, stores write themselves.  Of course this story took place in Florida, where the vast majority of crazy people seem to live, and where the vast majority of former, indy and developmental professional wrestlers reside.  Kudos to Shad Gaspard for reacting quickly and appropriately in laying out a dumbass who thought it was a good idea to try and bully a 6’6 285 lb. behemoth of a man, and then inform him that he was going to try and rob the joint.

I think my favorite part about the story wasn’t necessarily the fact that the perpetrator was actually armed with a BB gun and not a real gun, but the fact that when Gaspard removed it from his person, he actually crushed it in his grip:

Gaspard told TMZ he found that out when he squeezed the handle so hard it broke. 

Of course he crushed it in his hand like he were Luke Cage or something.

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Not entirely sure I believe

Did I write about “Superfly” Jimmy Snuka back when he was first convicted of manslaughter last year? [yes I did]  I want to say I did, but I still have no means of cross-referencing my own prior posts to verify.  It still kills me that I can’t, and adds to the cauldron of unhappiness that I’m dealing with on a daily basis.  I want to say that I did, but I can’t with full certainty, but really it has everything to do with the corresponding photo and not necessarily the words I write, although there could very well be an overlap.  Whatever

Anyway, I saw news about how Superfly now has terminal cancer in the stomach and has been given around six months left to live.  This is pretty sad news for nostalgic old wrestling fans, and it doesn’t help that Big Van Vader just weeks ago was diagnosed with a failing heart and estimates that he has two years to live.  Superstars of yesterday are meeting their maker today, in the most unfortunate of circumstances, due to in what will mostly likely be attributed to their younger years in an industry that had a tremendous amount of drug abuse and a sheer lack of concern over head, brain and other physical ailments.

However, given the circumstances that Superfly is under the legal gun and the primary suspect in the 1983 death of his then-girlfriend, I have to admit that my knee-jerk reaction to the news of his health as being one of skepticism and potential nonbelief.  Whether it’s a strategic tactic to garner sympathy or pity so that a dying man is not sentenced to prison, or there’s an elaborate plan for Snuka to fake his death and then exile himself back to Fiji where he could presumably live out his life on the run, I have to say the timing of this “I’m dying” scenario is a little too convenient and atypical to the types of diseases or ailments that seem to emerge for anyone with a modicum of notoriety getting put on trial.

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