Game Over

Captain Lou Albano died today. He was 76.

He gained his fame as a manager in the WWF, and is mostly widely known for his appearance as Cyndi Lauper's disapproving dad in the gloriously '80s "Girls Just Want to Have Fun" video. But I remember him most fondly for his defining performance as Mario in The Super Mario Bros. Super Show!

You have to remember, I was, like, eight. Mario Brothers and Zelda were, almost literally, my entire life. And here was a daily TV show, which came on just as I was getting home from school, which combined the two in one brilliant package. There'd be some sitcom stuff with Mario and Luigi, a Mario cartoon, and then -- every Friday -- a long-form Legend of Zelda episode. I was enraptured. And considering the hellish time I was having -- separated from my mother, living with very loving but very not-my-mother great-grandparents -- the Mario show was an escape that I badly, badly needed.

I haven't seen anything from the show since I was a kid, and I'm okay with that. I'm afraid my cynical adult eyes will tarnish what are very fond memories of both the show and of Albano.

So rest in peace, Captain. You were very important to me during a very difficult time of my life. Which is pretty much the best thing any artist can do, isn't it?

I hope it's Neil Diamond

In the classic Star Trek: The Next Generation episode "I, Borg," Geordi and Data cook up a way to finish off the Borg once and for all: an insidious computer program. What is it? Just a picture -- but one that is illogical and impossible to properly reconcile in real three-dimensional space, like an M.C. Escher drawing. The theory is that once the image is uploaded into the Borg's hive mind, the Collective will start trying to figure it out. When they can't, more and more combined brain power will be devoted to it. And when that doesn't work either, even more RAM will get eaten up by this thing, until the Borg's CPU Usage meter hits 100% and they get a Blue Screen of Death.

My brain works like that sometimes, as you probably know. I hit something illogical and impossible to reconcile, and I obsess about it until...well, until my cerebral hard drive locks up.

Check this out: local radio station 94.5 FM (or "The Buzz," as they'd like me to call them, I'm sure) is sponsoring a trio of concerts over the next month, all three of which are sold out. The first is Jonathan Davis, who you might know as the frontman for Korn. The second show features local Texas band the Toadies, who haven't had a hit in about fourteen years, but have a passionate following.

The band performing at the third show? I don't know. I don't mean that I haven't heard; I mean I don't know because they're not telling.

Tickets went on sale last week. Tickets for a concert for which no band had been announced. The tickets were fifty dollars. Again, fifty dollars for a ticket to a concert with no announced act.

The Buzz then declared they would name the band...after tickets had sold out!

Huh?

There's an old adage in pro wrestling: if they announce that an upcoming event will have a "mystery guest," you're going to be let down. Why? Because if they had anyone worth talking about, they'd tell you to make sure you bought a ticket. If they've got a bona fide superstar that everyone would pay to see, they'd say so.

If they had a band worth a fifty dollar ticket, why wouldn't they just go ahead and announce it? What the hell kind of sense does it make to keep it a secret...unless they're ripping you off?

I've been bouncing this around in my head for the last couple of days, trying to piece it together. It's been a common topic of conversation among the bored at Pizza Place. The common theories:

1. "They're trying to build up buzz and excitement by keeping it a secret." Great -- except they're not announcing the band until after the tickets sell out. What good will any of that buzz and excitement do them? They'll already have all the money.
2. "It's a huge band that would normally sell out in seven minutes. By keeping it a secret, they slow that down, so everyone gets a chance to go." Except big fans of whatever band it is are still going to get left out, because they don't know their favorite band is playing! And again -- since they're not talking until tickets have sold out, what difference does it make how fast those tickets sell? They're the same price, whether they're sold out in seven minutes or seven days.

Not only does it not make sense from a business perspective, it doesn't make sense from a fan service perspective, either. Since the band is a secret, the people buying tickets are clueless. I mean, say My Chemical Romance puts on a show. Sure, My Chemical Romance sucks hardcore -- but there are people out there who like them, and they'll buy tickets to the concert. What you probably won't have are MCR-haters clogging up the seats and desperately trying to get rid of their tickets. And with the act a mystery, that's what you're guaranteed to have at this show. Even if the band is hugely popular -- like Incubus or the Red Hot Chili Peppers, the two guesses that seem most popular at Pizza Place -- you're going to have a large percentage of people who would rather die than drop fifty bucks to see their show. And those people are going to feel completely screwed and ripped off by this scheme.

Want it to get more interesting? The tickets have sold out -- they sold out Saturday, as a matter of fact. Have they made the announcement? No! On Saturday, they stated that they'd make the revelation later in the day...and then, instead, delayed it until Tuesday. So now they're getting jerked around with the grand reveal, too? And keep in mind, the concert takes place on December 9 -- just a few weeks from now, giving the inevitable percentage of ticket-buyers who hate the Mystery Band precious little time to unload their ducats on eBay.

So: the scheme makes no sense from a business perspective, it makes so sense from the audience's perspective. Why the bloody hell would anyone do this? Well, I have a theory. And it draws back to pro wrestling again. (Hey, I used to work for a pro wrestling company; I have to use that business experience somewhere, don't I?)

In 1990, World Championship Wrestling introduced a villain to act as foil for their champion, Sting. He called himself the Black Scorpion, and addressed Sting decked entirely in black. A hood covered his face; his voice was distorted to further hide his identity. He tormented Sting for an entire year (!), all the while leaving fans guessing as to who he really was.

Why all the secrecy? Because WCW didn't have anyone. Their original candidate -- some schmuck no one had ever heard of -- fell through. So they just strung it along for as long as they could, keeping the Scorpion under his hood while they frantically tried to find someone to take the role.

I think that's what the Buzz is doing. I imagine the concert was a last-minute ploy, so last-minute they had to start selling tickets before the contracts were signed. And in true American style, their PR department came up with this "It's not a bug, it's a feature" scheme to make it look like an inventive idea.

Either that, or the entire company is on acid. Or they're really, really stupid. Or both, frankly.

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Now playing: The Police - Synchronicity II
via FoxyTunes

No no no no no no

No.

Dammit, no:

Wrestling star Chris Benoit, his wife, Nancy, and their 7-year-old son Daniel were found dead in their suburban Atlanta home Monday. The deaths are being investigated as a possible suicide and double homicide, authorities told ABC News.

Lt. Tommy Pope of the Fayette County Sheriff's Department told ABC News that Benoit had missed several appointments over the weekend, leading concerned parties to ask police to do a "welfare check." When sheriffs arrived at the Benoits' home, they found the wrestler, his wife, and their son dead.

There were no signs of gunshot wounds or stabbing, according to Pope. Authorities are not ruling out other causes, such as poisoning, suffocation, or strangulation. Pope told ABC News that his department is looking at this situation as a "possible double murder, suicide."

Pope said "the instruments of death were located on scene," but would not specify what those instruments are or where in the house the bodies were found. Pope added the department is "not actively searching for any suspects outside of the house."

An autopsy has been scheduled for Tuesday morning at 10 a.m. However, it could be weeks before there is a result.

Benoit, 40, was scheduled to spar against C.M. Punk in a pay-per-view event Sunday night in Houston for the Extreme Champion Wrestling title. But Benoit canceled before the event, citing personal reasons.

A native of Edmonton, Alberta, Benoit was known in the ring as the "Canadian Crippler."

Following the announcement of the deaths, World Wrestling Entertainment issued a statement: "Chris was beloved among his fellow superstars, and was a favorite among WWE fans for his unbelievable athleticism and wrestling ability. He always took great pride in his performance, and always showed respect for the business he loved, for his peers and towards his fans. This is a terrible tragedy and an unbearable loss. WWE extends its sincere condolences and prayers to the Benoit family and loved ones in this time of tragedy."

Fuck.