So there’s this guy I like and one day I found out that he has a hankering for this thing where gigantor men chuck each other around and yell and pound their chests and yell some more, then break chairs on their noggins. No, it’s not a weekend of male bonding in the Appalachian backwoods, it’s the WWE. And it’s really not my thing. But I’m a supportive girlfriend, so I will drink this milkshake!
Although, I will admit, when I was young (in the 80s, baby!), my dad, sister and I would pull out the TV tables most Saturday nights to munch on mom’s homemade burgers and watch some wrestling action. Those were the heydays of Macho Man Randy Savage, Andre the Giant, Rowdy Roddy Piper and, of course, Hulk Hogan. Good times. But my passion for the sport didn’t last past adolescence, so to say I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see it live was a huge understatement.
Once we arrived at the main event, the cheesy over-the-top guilty pleasure that is professional wrestling washed over me once again. Honestly, this stuff is fun to watch live. So FUN. The crowd is hilarious and gets you so energized and pumped. We had a kid sitting in front of us that couldn’t contain his emotions. He was jumping up and down, cheering on his heroes or booing the villains the whole entire time. He even had a mini-championship belt he would lift above his head like a prize fighter. And the guy who took me to the event? He had as much fun as that kid, minus the belt. But don’t think he didn’t try to steal it. All’s fair in love and wrestling, I think?
Do I watch wrestling on TV now? Nope. Would I go to another WWE live event? OOOH YEAH!