I believe in professional wrestling.
Like any other storytelling medium, the theater of pro-wrestling can inspire, enlighten, and unite. The transcendent power of a pro-wrestling match is best comprehended by those viewers caught in The Moment of Pop - that instant where the onlooker forgets what they're watching is staged and is inspired to rise to their feet or sink into their seat.
In that millisecond of purity, all contrivance fades.
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Kenny Omega drove his knee into the side of Okada's head.
There was an audible pop as boot met flesh, and Okada tumbled to the canvas, devastated. The crowd, enraptured by every strike, let out an awe-struck gasp (this knee was particularly vicious). That gasp spread out as a wave within the arena, and then fractured into light clapping and sporadic cries of "Kennnnnyyyyyy!"
My jaw was firmly on the floor. My eyes were stretched wide, straining to confirm what they had just seen.
Was this real? How could that have just happened?
Well...yes, it was real. It was New Japan Pro-Wrestling. And I was in love.
Read MoreI held Anakin Skywalker in my hands, and I felt nothing.
For the first time in my life, an action figure wasn’t anything more than a piece of cheap plastic. His poorly molded head stared up at me, devoid of magic. His unarticulated arm was stiff so that a lightsaber would go in and out the hilt extending from his hand, making it appear as though the blade could be turned on and off; the kind of gimmick I always hated even as a little kid. Toys with “Chop action!” buttons, bells, and whistles assumed I didn’t have an imagination. His fixed pose felt like an insult to my intelligence.
My mom sat next to me in the car, watching me open two more figures inspired by Attack of the Clones: a similarly stiff Obi-Wan Kenobi and a tiny Padme Amidala. We were in the parking lot of Wal-Mart, our custom during these sacred action figure openings.
Read MoreTune in to today’s pro wrestling fandom, and one of the first words that springs to mind is ‘entitlement.’
Wrestling fans have become consumed with their idea of Monday Night RAW; their World Wrestling Entertainment. We live in a culture of ‘smarks’, connoisseurs of the squared circle who believe themselves to be above the art of professional wrestling itself. Rather than simply following storylines and enjoying matches, we now take to Twitter to complain about the art we supposedly love. We argue about booking directions in forums, make fun of title belt designs at live shows, and urge Vince McMahon to #CancelWWENetwork when ‘our guy’ loses.
Read MoreI haven't watched a full episode of RAW in over three months.
I catch up by way of clips on Twitter and I skim through Hulu's already abridged version. I spend most of my time perusing the promos, the skits, and whatever vignettes there may be, cramming the broad strokes of the larger narratives so that I might be able to pass whatever WWE-quiz comes my way. Altogether, after also checking up on SmackDown, I've condensed my WWE-viewership into about thirty minutes a week (unless there's a pay-per-view and then that duration naturally increases).
The result is that I'm a much happier human being, and I'm probably a lot easier to be around. I don't obsess about booking decisions. I don't bicker with anyone online. I don't care about anyone's criticism of my criticisms. The imagined judgements of some phantom "real pro-wrestling fan" have vacated my mind, replaced with a sense of peace and the ability to interact with pro-wrestling in a healthier way on my own terms.
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