What have Mail and Rumbles got in common?

Royalty.

When I ventured downstairs after arising this fine Wednesday morn, I discovered that I had been served an annoying note from a delivery company apologising that they had called and that the house had been empty. Of course, there would be no need to apologise had the house actually been empty, the apology should in fact read: "We're very sorry, we tried to deliver your parcel but we have sub-standard door-knocking/attention-grabbing skills, and our feeble knocking failed to wake you from your Snorlaxian slumber.

Underneath the mass-produced apology, which suggests that they foresaw their own inadequacy (FOR SHAME!), I saw a hastily scribbled phrase. It read: "behind the plant pot on the decking". Not even a full sentence. I was disgusted. I also felt that the slip of paper should have read: "we're very sorry, we tried to deliver the parcel and you weren't in, so we played a dangerous game of half-arsed treasure hunt with a possible risk of your parcel being nabbed from your garden, lots of love, I Hate My Job, Sr."

It's probably not around to ferret parcels in the garden instead of actually delivering them, but on this occasion it worked out, and the nuisance of having to get up early on the off-chance they come back to redeliver this week has been avoided. Thank you, I Hate My Job, Sr!

So in other parcel news, I received the first volume of the Royal Rumble Anthology this week, because I am a fool for a Royal Rumble. I was addicted to wrestling as a child, and my love of the Royal Rumble has survived into my adult life in spectacular style. I don't know why I love over-the-top-rope eliminations, but I do, I love them very very much. Watching wrestling, as an adult, requires a hefty suspension of disbelief, and also requires that I step away from any sort of cynicism, which is highly refreshing as cynicism is like a splodge of black paint which can easily smudge and darken an otherwise pastel piece. That's right, I am watching wrestling because it makes me a less harsh person, so leave me alone before I eliminate you.

I was a bit disappointed, therefore, by Royal Rumble 1991. When I began to play the disc, I expected to view roughly 3 hours worth of gargantuan/steroid-filled/fat men bouncing into each other and gurning ludicrously. I was looking for the best of acrobatic pantomime, athletic slapstick. While these things did occur, there was an overwhelmingly blatant stream of propaganda running throughout the event. I was slightly suspicious from "Rowdy" Roddy Piper's impassioned monologue/shouting like a maniac at the start, which featured the phrase 'our boys' quite heavily. My knowledge of modern warfare is very limited, and so it was necessary for me to have it spelt out for me, which it was fairly quickly, 'our boys' were away involved in Operation Desert Storm. I don't really know enough about the occasion to comment with any confidence, but I am fairly pacifistic in my tendencies, despite the fact I am, of my own 22 year old free will, watching wrestling, and I didn't enjoy the jingoistic pro-war messages clumsily doled out during the event. I think that conflict of any kind, but especially on that scale, has such complicated and varied motivations which I don't feel a WWF main even can convey with sufficient subtlety and tact. Supplying the Ultimate Warrior with a leather jacket bearing 'Old Glory' and pitting him against Sgt. Slaughter who suddenly is allied with General Adnan, an Iraqi general character who spends most of his time shouting 'allahu akbar' into the microphone, is a tactless and cackhanded attempt to address the issue.

　
The event ends with Hulk Hogan posing as his theme music plays behind him ("I am a real American, Fight for the rights of every man, I am a real American, fight for what's right, fight for your life!") before he pulls various signs from the audience which read things like 'Peace in the Middle East' (slightly ironic but responsible choice from the Hulkster) and later 'Slaughter and Saddam will Surrender'. The downfall of Saddam was promised a few times in the show, and given that with hindsight we know it took over 10 years and another war for this to occur, make the comments seem poignantly naive. Although Hulk Hogan was (and is) still wrestling at that time, so if he was instrumental in the eventual capture of Saddam that would have been hugely impressive (and entertaining).

The number of conservative and particularly far-right individuals among the wrestling contingent is upsettingly high, not sure what it is about the format that, perhaps, lends itself as a spiritual home of the right-wing.

A more amusing outcome of watching retro Royal Rumbles is that should I meet anyone, male or female, big or small, that is wearing a red and white horizontally stripey shirt then I amuse myself by imagining they are Tugboat.

Childish, but delightful. Like wrestling itself, in fact.