Sweat, steroids, and tanning booths.

I have another confession to make.

I watch professional wrestling. And in a double-shot of guilty pleasures, I read (but never bought) the atrocious WWF comic books that came out. You know, the Undertaker comic, where the whole wrestling thing was actually just an outward illusion to us fans, because he was really battling undead zombies in the ring or whatever. I don't remember what the Kane comic was about, because it was just retarded. And, horror of horrors, the Chyna comic, which may have been moderately entertaining at the time it was released, but after seeing her Playboy spread and subsequent adult film "One Night in China" I have absolutely no interest in anything having to do with that psycho Joanie Laurer ever again.

When I first started watching the WWF, it was back in 1999, and my friend at the time Ahzriel introduced me to the wonders of professional wrestling, or "sports entertainment" as it is called today. At the time, all I saw of it was a homoerotic soap opera on steroids. Half-naked, oily men getting into compromising positions with one another between segues of poorly-acted, poorly-worded promos. The part of me that is fascinated with gay porn was very interested in it. I believed the storylines, was more interested in how cute some of the wrestlers were and how their tights accentuated their packages than in the actual athleticism that goes into being a professional wrestler, or "sports entertainment superstar".

In short, I watched wrestling like a girl. It wasn't until I met my husband and started watching wrestling with him that I started to learn a little bit about what goes on behind the scenes. I found out about "works" and "shoots" and "kayfabe". I started reading wrestling websites. I started seeing the psychology behind the sweaty grapple-fests. I began to see wrestling from a more masculine point of view.

It got to the point where I could start making fairly accurate predictions of which way things were going to go. Instead of cheering the popular guys, I started cheering the hardest workers. I learned to see the value of being a "heel" instead of a "face"... and wrestling became a whole lot more than a homoerotic soap opera on steroids.

I'm watching WWE (they lost a lawsuit from the World Wildlife Fund and changed their name) right now, as I type this post. Now, I'd be lying if I told you I am as entertained now by wrestling as I was back when I started watching it, but, as in anything, the world has moved on, and the edge-of-my-seat cliffhangers of yesteryear are gone, and what remains is a pale shadow of the exciting shows I remember.

I've thought about quitting watching it, I've thrown many a lightweight, soft object at my television screen when something incredibly stupid happens that just pisses me the fuck off, but I can't. I still have hopes that one day, something will happen that will bring wrestling back to the peak they were at when I first joined the fandom.

But I won't hold my breath. Blue isn't my color.

*This post is shorter than normal because we buried my grandmother this morning and my heart just isn't in it. I'll be back tomorrow.*