In 1990, the WWF was the biggest thing in my life that I wasn’t related to. This culminated with Wrestlemania VI, when my hero (seriously) Hulk Hogan went up against The Ultimate Warrior. It was at the Skydome. In the days leading up to the big event, I’d wake up at an ungodly hour and bike out to the end of our street to buy a newspaper. (They were covering the event like it was the Superbowl.) Was I actually there? Of course. It was my friend John’s birthday and his father rented a luxury suite. For the next four hours people ate, played games and opened presents. Not me. I sat – by myself – with tunnel vision out towards the ring, clutching a Hulkamania bandana. I cried.
21 years later…
I’ve been waking up early (same); scouring google for reviews (instead of looking for the paper) and feeling a general bonery sensation. There will be plenty of premieres (hopefully), but this is my first time and it’ll probably be over before I even know what happened. (You know… just like…) Thankfully, I’ve learned my seclusionary (not a word) lesson and will be surrounding my television with friends Sunday for the east coast feed. Then it’s off to an official viewing party to watch it again. Then I’m going to The Piano Bar and singing songs. Then I’m going to come home. (And watch it again.) I don’t think there’s a “Hulk losing” element in play unless HBO has CGI’ed Jesse Metcalfe’s head onto my body. We’ll see.
If you’ve ever read or if you’re going to watch. Thanks.