I do this because I must, I do this because it’s owed. I’ve long contemplated writing a long dissecting post about my somewhat remarkable and prolonged obsession with WWE. I don’t watch all wrestling, just this. Yesterday, I finally saw Wrestlemania XXX after having been off social media and categorically avoiding conversations about it from Monday morning to Wednesday in a successful effort to keep spoilers at bay. If you haven’t yet seen it and plan to, CAUTION: SPOILERS AHEAD.

Imagine being a little girl and idolizing Barbie and then watching her get raped in front of your eyes. I’m not trivializing rape here, or Barbie for that matter. I’m just trying to make a point. I used to play with wrestling trump cards in Primary School. One day, per chance I saw an Undertaker vs Randy Orton fight on TV. That’s when I started watching wrestling. Pretty soon I realized that it’s not “fake” as some people ever delight in pointing out, it’s staged, choreographed even. In fact, it’s the greatest form of theatre. I’ve also endorsed the view: So what if our kids watch a little bit of sex on TV, WWE keeps with it with just a little bit of sex. Today, thanks to the internet, it’s a nothing short of a phenomenon that outsiders don’t get and insiders can’t get enough of.

Getting to what finally got me to write this after what’s beginning to seem like a passive aggressive writer’s block – the match I was anticipating the most – The Undertaker vs Brock Lesnar. The build-up was superb and the stakes were as high as Fardeen Khan on New year’s eve. What I proceeded to witness dumbfounded me and instantaneously ended my childhood in three seconds. Maybe I’m being dramatic, maybe on some level I knew, but I do this because I must, I do this because it’s owed. Consider this my #ThankYouTaker

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