How Wrestling Stole My Soul and Created My Identity

This article is intended on giving those who don't understand the world of pro wrestling an inside mind of a fan. Those who could care less probably should turn back now. Those who do, see how much you can or can't relate.

3-2-1.

The lights go black for as I looked on with anticipation. Suddenly, and without warning, music blares through the house speakers as spotlights circle the building. The arena erupts with cheers and and high fives.

Raw goes live and a chill rushes through my body. You might have thought it was me that was about to walk out the curtain. But at the age of 12, I happily watched from the stands.

This is the feeling that I would continue to receive before each show I would attend. It's a high that can only be received by attending a live show—a feeling that could only be obtained by the crazy world of professional wrestling.

Growing up, most kids want to be a professional ball player, a police man, or even the President. I was no different...or so I said.

At times I declared I'd be an archaeologist, others a soccer player. But the truth is I've always wanted to be in professional wrestling.

Since I can remember, I've always been a fan of pro wrestling. I used to torture my brother, who's three years younger (and a whole lot less good looking ;) ), as we battled it out in submission matches during commercial breaks.

To this day I'm undefeated.

For the most part, I've been told that wrestling is something you grow out of like old pajamas and action figures. Yet I can't see how that could ever be.

Friends, and enemies alike, question me "You do know it's fake, right?" And when I was young the question really bothered me. I was ready to defend the profession like it was my own. To me it was.

But now I just smile while nodding and thinking to myself, "If you only knew."

Wrestling for many is an embarrassment. The choreographed art is seen as fake, including the blood, blows, and bodies. And the fans are perceived as dorks, losers, and stupid.

So much is the case that many fans are embarrassed to even claim that they are fans. They don't wear the t-shirt out of there homes and they don't talk about last night's show with friends.

But soon that feeling wears off. I don't care anymore. I am who I am.

Wrestling provides a bigger than life side of reality and soon I'd begin doing anything to try and get a hold of any piece of that world.

At a young age I began collecting action figures, reading any wrestling magazine I could get my hands on, watching every VHS tape I could, and catching every episode from NWA to WWF to Smokey Mountain.

Wrestling had stolen my soul. But at the same time it provided me with an escape. While everyone else called it fake, to me it was the real world. I found that life often resembled wrestling. And if I'm a dork for following it so closely, so be it.

Wrestling became my addiction. I did anything I could to get a fix. From epic backyard wrestling bouts, not the hardcore crap as we had style and charisma (so I thought at the time) to attending live shows.

My obsession got so bad that I would wait out back, with several dozen other addicts, in hopes of autographs from my favorite stars. Writing this piece I've come to realize that I did it just to feel closer to the biz than the actual John Hancock on the paper, as I have no idea where the signatures of Booker T, both Hardys, and many others have gone to.

The only signature I know for sure the placement is my highly prized Ric Flair signature. He's one of the few I truly looked up to and admire, for that I will always keep it.

But after two decades of hiding my passion for the sport I've found the B/R. Here I've been able to unleash my thoughts and feeling about the sport of pro wrestling, for better or for worse.

It is here that I've discovered that I haven't lost my soul, but found my identity.

Wrestling is where I blow of steam, capture some fun and energy and above anything else, get entertained.

It's everything you'd expect from a hobby, or in my case an obsession, and every time I'm looking for a boost I just think of the memories when the lights go off, 3-2-1 and the bolt of electricity runs wild through my veins.