Wrasslin'

You’re probably going to hate me for this, but I’m about to talk about professional wrestling. Bear with me, people.

I used to watch WWF/E programming starting in late 1999, when the so-called “Attitude Era” was at its height. Many consider that period of time as somewhat of a golden age in pro wrestling, and I have a difficult time disagreeing with that notion. Stars such as Stone Cold Steve Austin, The Rock, The Undertaker, Triple H, and Mick Foley dominated the main event stage, while up-and-coming superstars of tomorrow were showing the world what potential their future would hold.

Fast-forward to 2011, when many of those old stars are on the rapid decline or already retired. The remnants of the Attitude Era have, for the most part, faded away, while many elements and figures of that time have chosen to linger.

As a stupid kid, it’s easy to fall into the storyline and become what they call a “mark,” believing that what you see is real and that the people that brutalize themselves before you are legitimately good or bad people based on their performances. Looking back on my viewpoint back then, it’s kind of disgusting that I jumped for joy when the “good guy” slammed the “bad guy” through the announcer’s table or pushed him off of a towering steel cage.

When the mid-to-late teens set in, so did the awareness that I was watching a planned performance and more of an appreciation for some of the moments these performers created. Regardless of who the character was that was being maimed, I marveled at what these athletes are capable of doing – and enduring. As my teenage years waned, so also did my interest in wrestling; the spectacle began to wear off.

The years have quickly come and gone since I gave up following professional wrestling, and recently I’ve started watching again. Having absorbed a college education and attained a little more sensitivity for my fellow man, I now watch some of these normally unthinkable stunts with a twinge of horror running down my spine. The amount of risk and pain associated with this business is about as close as one might possibly get to inhuman. I become aware that these are not simply “good guys,” “bad guys,” or stuntmen putting themselves through these brutal spots. These are human beings who regularly fall on their backs on the wrestling canvas or jump off the turnbuckle in the corner. Every single bump they take inflicts some toll on their body that will be amplified manifold some day.

So when I see someone like The Rock return to professional wrestling, I don’t get excited. Instead I feel regret that they’ll go right back to torturing themselves for a little bit of fame and a decent paycheck. I recently watched one of Mick Foley’s pay-per-view matches for the TNA promotion in which he was back to his old tricks, falling on barbed wire and falling through wooden tables. I couldn’t stand seeing Foley getting beat up in his prime, simply because I liked him so much as a wrestler; it’s even worse knowing that he’s had the ability to walk away from the sport on multiple occasions.

So when I found out on Monday that Canadian superstar Adam “Edge” Copeland was retiring, I felt that it was a moment that really did signal the end of an era. Edge was one of those young up-and-comers from the Attitude Era’s peak, and here he was now, standing in the ring and telling the world that his arms were numb and trembling uncontrollably. This man signified so much simply by standing there and pouring his heart out to his fans – an old era eclipsed by the new, the physical toll that professional wrestling can take on a human body, and how alarmingly backwards the business can be.

For those who don’t have much of an idea of what goes on during a wrestling match, I’d like to present to you one of Edge’s own classic matches. Note that only one of these crazy fuckers still wrestles for WWE.

(And no, this won’t suddenly become a wrestling blog. No worries there.)

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