WrestleMania XXVI, Part Seven

With our WrestleMania weekend winding to an end, the first thing I did was return the Lumix camera to Best Buy. They still charged me a 15% "restocking fee" (which everybody knows is bullshit), but I suppose it was worth it for the memories. (For future reference, Canon's picture quality is much sharper and clearer.)

We then headed down Central Avenue to the Heard Museum, home to many Native American artifacts. I think deep down, Andrew has always been a history nut. I mean, for a guy who takes pleasure in shaking his head at the world's absurdities, history provides a wide array of idiots and failures to ridicule. On the other hand, history also has its fair share of marvels. In fact, we were impressed that the Heard Museum could exist in a state that was then on the verge of banning ethnic studies in classrooms.

The Heard Museum was perfect evidence that ethnic studies should continue. There was a whole wing dedicated to kids cultural artwork, and I gotta say, from what I saw, there is a lot of artistic talent in Arizona's elementary schools. I don't believe the ban, which was signed into law over a month later, benefits anybody in the long run.

Andrew and I took a guided tour of the museum, which I eventually bailed to stare at the Barry Goldwater Collection of Hopi kachina dolls. I loved them. There was one kachina doll holding a Peanuts comic that I really liked. As I tried to get a picture of it with my cell, a worker walked by and said, "that's one of the contemporary dolls," and walked away. I guess since Phoenix is run by idiots, they expect their tourists to be just as dumb.

Actually, most of the Arizonans we met were very pleasant and kind. It's actually hard for me to believe that they'd be the type to restrict their kids from learning cultural studies or pass such controversial immigration laws. I prefer to think that it's all just a result of political nonsense that reflects Arizona's politicians more than its people.

The East Gallery of the museum was the most sobering. On display were photos, paintings, writings and various items from Arizona's Native American boarding schools. It was awful reading about how children were taken from their families and forced to become Americanized. They were punished for speaking their native tongue and for craving foods they grew up on. And for what? To become handymen and secretaries? What a waste. An even bigger waste would be if the kids of Arizona didn't learn about it.

Andrew and I ate lunch at the museum cafe before heading to the U.S. Airways Center for a broadcast of WWE Monday Night Raw. Yes, there's always more wrestling after wrestling. That's how they keep the fans happy.

As we waited in yet another line, I gave in and bought a Bret Hart T-shirt for the road. I thought the design was really cool: a screaming skull with gray ornamented wings in front of a pink blaze. Andrew must have thought it was cool too 'cause he bought one for himself and wore it to work when he returned to Hawaii. Given that he works for the state prosecutor, I can only imagine what his co-workers thought.

Our seats for Raw were up in the rafters, but we saw everything just fine. Since Raw is a live cable show and not a pay-per-view, we had to sit through commercial breaks as anyone watching at home would. We sat next to a very polite family from Yuma, who weren't able to attend WrestleMania the day before. The father kept grumbling to us how a few beers at the arena cost him $20. He was pretty funny.

His wife, to my surprise, was a real WWE fanatic. I remember her apologizing in advance to Andrew if she started "going nuts" for Randy Orton if he wrestled.

"I'm a big fan," she told Andrew with a smile. Her son, sitting next to her, rolled his eyes.

When Bret Hart came out to address his victory over Vince McMahon, Andrew and I gave him another standing ovation. It was always good seeing the "Hit Man." But since Shawn Michaels was forced to retire after losing his match at 'Mania, the whole show was a tribute to him. During commercial breaks, the WWE played clips commemorating his career. Shawn eventually came out and gave a farewell address, which neither Andrew nor I cared about until Shawn thanked Bret for forgiving him. It didn't necessarily change how Andrew and I felt about Shawn, but it was a good gesture.

The show was good overall. The Hart Dynasty (a trio comprised of Bret's family members and proteges) and Jack Swagger got fair pushes, and in a "dark match" (non-televised match), Edge beat Chris Jericho by disqualification in a World Heavyweight Championship rematch. Triple H, Shawn's best friend, came out after the match to help Edge, delivering "Sweet Chin Music" (Shawn's super-kick finisher) to Jericho in tribute.

A funny moment happened as Jericho recovered. Edge charged him to deliver a spear (a shoulder tackle to the stomach), but Jericho mistimed the impact and fell on his own before Edge made contact. It was hilarious! They tried again, and the second time around, Edge nailed the spear perfectly.

And just like that, our weekend in Phoenix was over.

As Andrew and I walked across downtown on Van Buren Street, we looked at the skyscrapers and took in the clean Arizona night air once more.

"Central may be the most important street in Phoenix," Andrew said, "but Van Buren is where it's at!" I think we both made the most of the city, and hurried up the I-17 to catch the Raw broadcast on USA Network.

We quickly ate dinner at a Waffle House right by the hotel. Andrew had a plate of chili topped with hash browns that was delicious. I had a breakfast sandwich that was neatly put together and tasted very fresh. For a chain restaurant, we were both stunned at the care they put into their unhealthy dishes.

We made it back to the room just in time to watch Raw on TV. We were never on-camera since we sat too high up, but it was fun to see what we couldn't in the live audience.

I packed my WWE merchandise neatly in my luggage, and the next morning, Andrew dropped me off at the airport. The poor guy spent an extra day in Phoenix after I left. I have no idea what he did, but I'd like to think that he bought a sombrero somewhere and drove around in the hopes of getting racially profiled by an ignorant cop. It wouldn't have been the most surreal thing he experienced that weekend.

As I get older, I am often reminded of how much harder it is to get together with friends, be they from high school, college, or even work. We're all busy people, and we're all growing up doing grownup things. Finding time to go to WrestleMania or even hang out for a cup of coffee is now equivalent to moving mountains. That's why I'm always grateful to spend time with Andrew or any of my old friends--especially if it involves traveling halfway across the Pacific to a city known for taking boredom to new levels.

It was a fun time, so thank you, Andrew, for not completely losing your mind throughout the trip. I wonder if we have another WrestleMania in us...