The first time I ever got in a ring, it was to take a picture with a clown and a dwarf, and it was in an AUSTIN 3:16 shirt.
I said: I paid five damn dollars to take a Polaroid photo with a fake Doink and a little person, who was also wearing a Stone Cold Shirt.
I said: I was happier than Orson from Garfield and Friends in a Pontiac Silverdome sized big ol’ pile of cartoon sh__, just to be in a wrestling ring for the first time and I didn’t give two stadiums full of hand-drawn pig sh__ whom it was to pose with!
*Insert applause here*
For a good chunk of my youthful wrestling fandom, my family of five didn’t have much in the way of disposable income.
I said: We were broker than the internet when Kanye West’s beloved life partner showed off her well-polished poop dropper publicly.
I said: I didn’t get the opportunity to watch much live wrestlin’ as a youngin’ being raised up, down yonder in the “Holler”, so, when my old man kindly took me to the handful of local-independent events that I was able to attend, I was happier than a drug cartel when a medical cannabis law doesn’t pass!
As you may have noticed, either by my current stylistic homage or by my double digit, and counting, innovated stunner variations, I have a devoted fondness for the “Texas Rattlesnake”.
I said: I have been a Stone Cold fan since I was d__k high to a jackass.
I said: I used to jump up and down in my tightie whities when I heard that glass shatter, signaling that a mad motherf___er was about to come down the entrance way, before I even knew my own rattlesnake was good for more than pissing pop, and I imagine I’ll still be a Steve Austin fan when my rattlesnake is good for little more than pissing in my pawpaw-pampers!
But why, you ask, does a fancy hold-escapin’, crazy move inventing, inner-and-outer peace promoting, strict herbivore, have such affection for a badass boss-brawlin’, simple movement mastering, avid hunter?
Because that “take no sh__ from nobody” personality promo’d perfectly to the rebellious rhythm of my hot blood pumping pre-to-post pubescent heart, and had me giving mealy mouthed, dream-dismissing guidance counselors stunners in the Monday Morning Raw of my imagination.
I said: because that work-horse put-everything-you-have-into-everything-you-do mentality sang the sweetest swears into the happy-to-hear-’em half-boy-half-man heart, and had me rewinding, rewatching, and falling short at recreating his classic matches and interviews, in the training-rings and bathroom mirrors of my early career.
I said: because, more than just the unparalleled-in-cool attitude, more than just unwaveringly-mentioned-among- the-greatest-of-all-matches: now, when I listen to his unedited thoughts expressed in podcast form, his liberal dropping of knowledge and his thankful attitude towards professional wrestling, wrestlers, and wrestling fans inspires the Oh-Hell-Yeah outta me; not only to be a better wrestler, but to be a more generous and grateful human being.
Somehow, he went from making me want to be a bad motherf___er, to making me want to be a better moutherf___er.
And that’s motherf___ing beautiful.
*Insert my applause here*
Thank you, Steve, so much!
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