The only time I ever truly gave a damn about wrestling was when I was 13 years old, which is the way the world works. That was the late 1980s, and the era of Superstars of Wrestling, where the big wrestlers of the day would beat the crap out of a bunch of no names every week. Occasionally, somebody would get a fourth-generation video copy of Wrestlemania 3 or something, but it was mainly just Superstars.
I know the recent Mr McMahon documentary glosses over a lot of shit, and does have the gross veneer of the sanctioned product (the whole 'no, we really do care about the wellbeing of our employees now' feels particularly corporate). But I do feel vindicated that I never liked McMahon or Hulk Hogan back in that day, and was always more partial to Jesse the Body.
Which was weird, because during that period, with Ventura and McMahon on the commentary desk, the Body was the guy sticking up for the heels, while McMahon was clearly the cheerleader for the good guys.
I mean, I hated the heels as much as anybody, unless they were outside the usual black/white paradigm, like Demolition of the Ultimate Warrior. But I never fell for Hulkamania, and still remember that the first time I realised I was over wrestling was when Hogan won the 1990 Royal Rumble because he was winning fucking everything, and had a big old nothing of a personality, compared to the wonderful freaks like hacksaw Jim Duggan or Randy Savage
And then I get through the McMahon doco, and while a heck of lot of it was familiar, I hadn't heard the details of Ventura trying to set up a union for the wrestlers, and Hogan scabbing him out to the boss, so, you know, screw that guy. All this time, and the real heroes were the ones who acted the meanest, but I think I always knew that.
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