While the rest of the world has been glued to World Cup action, I rallied behind what many refer to as a pseudo-sport. While dragon chasers spent hours in opium dens, wrestling fans congregate in sports bars and that's exactly where I spent last night -- at Hooters, drinking beer and watching men annihilate each other with barbed-wire covered baseball bats. Ahhhh, pro-wrestling. You fill a void little else can.
It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.
You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.
Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.
Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.
The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.
One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].
According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:
I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."
It's a crippling vice and if you get hooked as a kid like I did -- forget it. You're a lifer and there's nothing you can do about it.
You try to give up, but you can't. It's like the Mafia because as soon as you're out, they pull you back in. This applies for both fans and wrestlers themselves.
Case in point, Ric Flair. The man is 57-years-old and resembled as distressed leather saddlebag. Up until recently, he was on the active roster and wrestled guys half his age and double his size. Now, I understand that pro-wrestling is filled with risk, but an exploding colostomy bag should not be one of them.
Pro-wrestling is also a secret brotherhood. Wrestling fans have a way of sniffing each other out. We use a secret language. If I interrupted every word you said by shouting, "What!", you'd probably be justified in punching me in the face. However, to a wrestling fan -- this would be met with a high five...and then, a punch in the face. Yes, the bit is cool, but let's face it -- it gets tedious real quick.
The fans are also maligned as being moronic, drunken, blood-thirsty louts. While this description is more than apt for a good majority of them, there are a few out there who are surprisingly passionate, lucid and intelligent. Between Will and Jerry, there's an encyclopedic compendium of pro-wrestling knowledge and these boys consistently awe me. Anyone who thinks wrestling fans are half-wits needs to sit down with these two boys.
One of the most annoying things about being a pro-wrestling fan [aside from being cast as a drunken, redneck imbecile] is when people point out that it's "all fake." It's not fake, it's scripted and there's a difference. You can't fake someone's ear ripping off [Mick Foley], a leg snapped clean in half [Sid Vicious] and tragically, you can't fake a man falling 50 feet to his death [Owen Hart].
According to Will, I am a cheap date. Two beers [which magically kept refilling themselves] and I was quite the merry individual.
According to Jerry, I'm also quite verbose and opinionated. No big difference there. Waking up this morning, I realized a few things:
- Ow.
- Why am I up before the sun is? 5:00 a.m. is not an acceptable wake-up call, sober or hungover.
- At some point during the night, I realized that I was cold, so I woke up, put on pajama pants and went back to bed. Then, I guess I felt hot, so I went to the bathroom, took off the pants, folded them and left them on the counter. I have no recollection of this, but I'm assuming this is how it went down.
- Last night, I visualized an entire episode of Wings while dreaming. Start to finish, credits and all. Best half-hour of television ever. I should have been a writer for that show.
- My phone should be taken away from me after consumption of any alcoholic beverage. I remember calling Missy and her answering with, "Are you drunk?" That kinda made my night.
- Seriously, ow.
I'm off to the gym with the Asian to "get swoll."
2 comments on "He who made kittens also made snakes in the grass"
Fool in the rain reminds me of Billy Joel. It's just so Joel-esque. Kinda freaks me out.
Billy Joel's great for freaking out squares, man.
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