Step into the electrifying world of the WWE, where every chokehold and piledriver has a tale to tell. Ever wondered...
Few people can truly claim to be as devoted to the theatre of wrestling as the man we affectionately know as "The Bard of the Body Slam". Imagine a life drenched in colourful spandex, ringing with the sound of steel chairs and punctuated with cries of "It's a slobberknocker!". You're now picturing an average day in his life.
This Bard was cradled by a mother whose lullabies were tales from the golden age of wrestling. By the time he could speak, he was distinguishing his Hulk Hogan from his Bret 'The Hitman' Hart. Instead of playground games of football, his childhood was filled with playful reenactments of 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin's 'stunner', although, thankfully, his friends were considerably more forgiving than any actual wrestler would have been.
He spent the 80s absorbed in the bewitching world of the World Wrestling Federation (WWF). From the thunderous beats of Hulk Hogan's 'Real American' to the chilling toll of the Undertaker's entrance bell, the Bard lived and breathed the spectacle. And who could forget the heart-tugging reunion of 'Macho Man' Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth at Wrestlemania VII? The Bard could certainly never admit to shedding a tear.
As WWF morphed into WWE, our wordsmith faithfully followed. This wasn't a passive watching, however; no, this was study. This was dissection. This was pouring over each match, each storyline, each grand entrance like a scholar would ancient texts. I'm pretty sure his dreams are commentated by the incomparable Jim Ross.
He might not have stepped into the ring himself, but through his writing, he could body slam with the power of Goldberg, execute the 'Perfect Plex' like Mr. Perfect, and radiate charisma like The Rock. His words encapsulated the raw energy of the 'Attitude Era', the ruthlessness of the 'Ruthless Aggression Era', and the groundbreaking spirit of the 'New Generation'.
The Bard's work wasn't just journalism; it was poetry, written in the language of piledrivers and powerbombs. His pen dances on paper like Rey Mysterio on the ropes. He is the Shakespeare of wrestling; a maestro who crafts sonnets out of suplexes and scribes soliloquies about smackdowns.
In essence, the Bard of the Body Slam is as integral to wrestling as 'Rowdy' Roddy Piper's kilt or Ric Flair's 'Woooo!'. His passion, like the legendary John Cena, may be unseen, but it is undoubtedly there. He may not be a wrestler himself, but in the world of wrestling, he is a heavyweight champion.
So, to him, I'd like to say this, in the spirit of Vince McMahon: "You're hired!". But not in the corporate, soul-sucking way. You're hired by the fans, by the spectacle, by the sheer force of wrestling itself. Bard, you keep laying the verbal smackdown, and we'll keep reading. Woooo!