As a small girl, I would eagerly await the moment Dusty Rhodes won a wrestling match. More times that not, it seemed, he would also bleed- a lot. I never wanted to see that, but I knew that he would power through and be victorious no matter the pain. My grandmother was a true believer. Kayfabe was real; as real as air. She would get so worked up, especially whenever someone grabbed a chair to smash over their opponent’s head. “Kill ’em!” she would yell and we would have have a good laugh. As I got older, my brother’s preferred promotion was WWF. He had all the action figures and we we never missed the chance to watch the excitement together.
Flash forward thirty years. I’m happily married to Mark and we’re flipping channels on a Saturday night. There’s a replay of this week’s RAW and Smackdown. After watching for a few hours, we’re hooked again. We haven’t missed a match since, and it’s been years. From RAW, Smackdown, NXT, New Japan, and even Dusty’s kid’s All In, we never miss. I guess we’re all in, too.