Much of my early teen years were spent lapping up every minute of post-school WWE entertainment on TV with relish. Those were the days when the matches broadcast on Smackdown, RAW and Heat were the subject of hotly contested school debates, passionate adulation of our favorite stars, and animated card games. ‘Chest 57 inches, clash!’ Does it ring a bell somewhere!?
It took several more years when the ultimate truth dawned upon me that the entire farce was a neatly packaged dose of entertainment rigged from the very start, its organizers were shrewd businessmen and the stars themselves were excellent actors.
One of the few
greatest thrills,
Of our
juvenescent boyhood,
Was primitive yet
iconic.
The ‘Deadman’ wakes up alive from the
coffin.
The ‘Caverner from Death Valley’
7 foot monster, whose eyes
Blares death and destruction.
He pulverizes the opponent,
Picks him up with ease,
Inverts him,
And locks his head between his knees.
Sends flames shooting out of his eyes,
With a death stare.
Bang!
Tombstone Piledriver!
Epic commentary ensues.
The Undertaker’s Dead Man Walking theme
Reverberates around the stadium,
As waves of frisson ripples through the
spine.
A classic 90’s
kid’s moment of thrill,
When we believed,
all that
Precipitated on
the great stage of WWE.
Was real, unplanned and not show business.
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