I think it’s funny that the fact that I don’t like wrestling has not kept me from watching five Wrestlemanias. (Wrestlemanii?). In one way or another I have managed to watch 25% of all Wrestlemanias ever filmed. I have seen The Undertaker go from zombie, to biker, and back to zombie. I have seen three generations of fat Asian men find their calling in a profession other than sumo wrestling. I have seen Stone Cold Steve Austin go from brash young upstart to battered old man with a serious drinking problem. I have seen all of these things, yet you cannot fathom the immensity of the fuck I do not give.

The simple answer is that I have friends, or friends who have friends, who are into wrestling. I don’t think any less of them for it, but wrestling is, by and large, pretty stupid. If you’ve never watched it, imagine a cheesy daytime soap opera where everyone is jacked, half naked, and stupid as a cinder block. Now imagine that all the drama and all the conflicts can only be solved by pretending to beat each other senseless. Sprinkle in some redneck announcers, overly dramatic entrances, and some finely toned women (some of whom are hot, most of whom are… well… men), and you’ve got wrestling.

But I’m not above it all. As much as it doesn’t appeal to me, I can’t help but occasionally shout at the TV, “OH! THAT HAD TO HURT!” when a wrestler gets piledriven into the concrete. (piledrived?) Sometimes, and just for a little while, my baser instincts come out and I start to enjoy it, and that makes me very, very afraid.