With the death of Macho Man, I have thought a lot about wrestling. For me, pro wrestling went from infatuation at a young age to denial when I was told it was fake. Rejection followed, then finally acceptance that it was corny and awful and fantastically simple. That’s when you can enjoy it. I was in HS when the WCW and WWF (later WWE) erupted into a ratings war (pre-DVR). Wrestlers jumped sides every other day, DX taught a whole generation to say “Two tears in a bucket – SUCK IT!”, and Ric Flair flopped in the ring and in marriage. In college we used to bet on pay per views and I won religiously. My secret? I found out who won the previous match and picked the opposite. This secret knowledge may turn the underground pay per view gambling scene upside down.
My favorite, though, were the video games. There was nothing better than creating a character on N64 and going for the title. My alter ego, the Patriot, had some classic battles against J. Billy Camplins (Camp) and FCT, the Fat Chick Thrilla (Stottsberry) and his damn Bill Cosby sweater. Occassionally, we would get so hammered, we let the computer simulate a triple threat and we hoped a timely finisher would net the title. I also joined a text based internet wrestling group where the best plots were published weekly after simulated matches (all text based). My best plot was when a guy trashed me on a post, I wrote that cops found kiddie porn in his locker and he was arrested. Upon arriving at the station, he was met with a devastating Patriot Missle. The commissioner posted it and my rival threatened my life. Whatever, kid toucher. Don’t mess with the Patriot!