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I’m pretty sure I would not look good in tights.
There is simply nowhere to hide all of the neglected exercise.
Speedos, therefore, would probably be a bad idea as well.
Simply put, I could not be a professional wrestler.
The Flyin’ Bryan is not a catchy name in the least.
These outlandish thoughts came to me rather quickly when I recently went to a WWE, that’s World Wrestling Entertainment for the uninitiated, event in Cincinnati with my dad and older brother.
I have never been a fan of wrestling.
It looks silly, the “plotlines” are ridiculous and I even heard a rumor that it isn’t even real.
However, since I was crawling around in diapers, my dad has been a fan.
My mom and him would go to matches all the time on dates before I was born.
How they stayed together long enough to have my brother and I is something I will never understand.
In fact, they recently celebrated 37 years of marriage.
Does my mom simply not see the stack of wrestling magazines in the restroom graciously placed for reading material?
Anyway, my mom decided to surprise my dad this past Christmas with tickets to a WWE event, so he now can see live the glorious fun that he watches multiple times a week on TV.
Luckily for my brother and I, she decided to make it a night out with the sons as well.
I hope my sarcasm can be felt and you realize the dread I had after I discovered the entertainment would last more than three hours.
That is 180 minutes or 10,800 seconds I would never get back in my life.
Still, I love my dad, even if I never tell him, and I wanted him to enjoy a night out of something he loved to watch.
When we arrived, the place was a madhouse.
Little children were holding up signs promoting their favorite wrestler and/or his signature move.
Adults, who I was personally embarrassed for, acted as if they were kids going to the circus for the first time.
A villainous wrestler would be treated to a chorus of boos while fan favorites were cheered like they just saved a baby from a burning building.
As is his personality, my dad did not show any real emotion as he watched each successive match.
But, I could tell he was enjoying it.
Whether it was a noticeable grin or a snicker at my continous jokes about the proceedings, it was obvious my dad was having a good time.
It still didn’t stop him from leaving for 15 minutes to track down a scratch off lottery ticket machine to fuel his other passion, but still the night was a success.
The three of us almost never hang out, and I could probably only count a few times where it was just the boys.
The truth is that I actually did have fun.
What I enjoyed most is hearing my dad talk about old-time wrestlers and actually knowing who he was talking about when he mentioned such greats as Andre the Giant, The Million Dollar Man, and, of course, Hulk Hogan.
In fact, a week later I even caught myself briefly stopping on a wrestling match while channel surfing.
As we walked to our car after the event that night, I got a big smirk on my face.
My brother asked me what was so funny.
I spun around and put my dad in a mock headlock.
It was my “macho” way of giving him a hug, I guess.
We all laughed.
It was a fitting end to an enjoyable night that should have came a lot sooner and a lot more often.
(Bryan Marshall is the staff writer for the Grant County News. He can be reached at 824-3343 or email@example.com.)