What the hell’s happened to wrestling? And why can’t I get enough of it?
Having just watched an amazing triple threat match pitting the eventual victor Roman Reigns against his best buddy Dean Ambrose and the man mountain Brock Lesnar I can safely say I’m hooked on the WWE.
I used to watch the wrestling on STV before my tea on Saturdays and it was, even adding the good old rose tint of nostalgia, a bit rubbish. Big Daddy’s best move was letting his opponent run into his belly.
To be honest I was just waiting for the A-Team to come on.
So imagine my surprise when I started watching some WWE matches with my wee boy and now – I’ll be damned – I think I like wrestling even more than him.
It’s certainly come on leaps and bounds since the early 80s when the almost static, often overweight, wrestlers used to endlessly grunt and grapple on the canvas.
Now there are plot lines and character development soap opera fan’s would love and the wrestling itself is, well, let’s just say it’s a lot more believable.
I’ve always had a soft spot for the baddies so my favourite wrestlers of the moment are a guy called The Miz and the aforementioned Dean Ambrose, the so-called ‘Lunatic Fringe’.
My obsessive personality (disorder?) has seen me develop passionate, all encompassing attachments to films, American Football and guitar playing, but now I’m getting on a bit I thought all that was over with.
Then wrestling hit me hard – like an attitude adjustment from John Cena or a Roman Reigns superman punch.