If you want to put asses in seats, you gotta come up with something new. The marks have seen this angle before. Double reverse turns don't work in this territory. The babyfaces are getting go-away heat from the crowd and security can't contain the little old lady in the front row from hurling her folding chair into the ring. The heels working under hoods have been exposed as the Mulkey brothers by the kid waiting outside the arena loading dock for autographs. Meanwhile the beer has gone flat at the concession stands and nobody can sell their t-shirts at the gimmick table because the marks spent all their money on the price of admission. The ghost of Gordon Solie hovers over the announce table silently weeping.