Moment of full disclosure: I love professional wrestling. Actual love. The type of love between a man and a woman or a man and a fine Cuban cigar. If we were in fifth grade, I would be in "like" like with wrestling. And it isn't in the sense of “I love the camp! Foreign objects rule!” or “It’s a parody of MMA" or “It’s so bad that it’s good,” much like how some worship Plan 9 From Outer Space or Jeph Loeb's run on Hulk . No. I actually love the sport...to the point where I refer to it as “a sport." I read the dirt sheets. I watch the occasional PPV. When I look at what John Cena has done to the WWE, I shed a single tear like the Indian Chief staring at a field of garbage. I fondly reminisce about the Attitude Era (the late ‘90s when the Rock, Austin, Angle, HHH, and Y2J were running wild) much like the Huffington Post does the Clinton years. It combines Hollywood drama, larger than life icons and athletic ability (which is typically overshadow...
Over-caffeinated and underpaid. Go America. Go Dodgers.