When I was in grade 5, Brett “The Hitman” Heart came to my school. I presume it was to give some sort of inspirational lecture, in which he probably encouraged all present to ‘follow their dreams’ and ‘be the best they can be’. I presume, because I didn’t go. Even at that age of 11 or so, I realised that the WWE (or WWF as it was formerly known) was a load of steroid-induced, over-paid, washed-up footballers who had decided never to be respected in real life ever again. So the announcement of this man’s visit excited me about as much as being tomb-stoned by the Undertaker.

Wrestling, to me, was a complete non-event. I couldn’t care less whether the one in the green speedo won, or if it was the blue one-piece’s turn. I knew (well I was pretty sure) that it was rigged and so thought, since the element of chance was taken out of it, it’s not a sport it’s just a soapie with big guys ffighting.  (Some of you may not having picked up the double use of the ‘f’ in the word ‘fighting’ to illustrate that it is ‘fake fighting’. I need to point that out). This distinct ambivalence for wrestling continued all the way until my 4^th year of university, and my knowledge of wrestling remained in its infantile state. It is at this point that I have a slight confession to make..

Whilst watching an interview with an old wrestler called Hulk Hogan, I learned (spoiler alert) that the results of the matches are all predetermined! “Good heavens!” I exclaimed to myself as I lept from the couch in shock, but the healing process had already begun.

Suddenly my eyes were opened, and my lust for carnage unleashed. I now saw wrestling for its true potential. This wasn’t a sport, it was a spectacle! Before I knew it I was hooked on this imaginary world, where everyone wants to fight and recite monologues. It was like Shakespeare’s twisted, muscular younger brother had finally taken over the family business.