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The other night, I was flipping aimlessly through the channels, not really paying attention to what was on, since pretty much the same thing was on every channel. The same clips of the attack on the World Trade Center towers. The same litany of horror and patriotism scrolling across the bottom of the screen. The same bland talking heads telling us how awful this was, and how things would never be the same again. I was getting frustrated by it all, and just wanted to scream. Then I came across wrestling. I admit, I haven't watched wrestling in quite a while. I used to be a huge fan, but then all of my favorites like Jake "the Snake" Roberts, Brett Hart, and Mick Foley retired, and my interest waned. When I was a kid, I remember staying up late on Saturday nights - midnight, an unheard of time to be awake for a kid - just to watch the WWF Main Event, which usually involved Holk Hogan, the great American hope, taking on one of the arch baddies. And when it looked like Hogan was about to lose, I was crushed. No, it can't be. He can't lose. He's invincible! And as I would cheer, and pound my fists, and scream at the television, sure enough, Hogan would find the strength deep within himself to break out of the Camel Clutch of the Iron Sheik, or reverse Andre the Giant's choke hold. And I'd be ecstatic. Jumping up and down, screaming. Many times I'd wake my mom up, and have to go to bed - but that's okay, I'd already seen what I needed to. The wrestling heroes were larger than life. They played out cosmic dramas for us, embodying the eternal conflict of good and evil right there for all of us to watch. And as time went on, and the audiences matured, wizened, and became a little jaded - things were no longer simply good and evil. The story lines grew more complex, the issues they dramatized were grabbed from the head-lines, and the characters took on complex lives of their own, becoming more than the two dimensional archetypes of my youth, shades of grey, instead of black and white. Sometimes it seems that the stories are more important than the wrestling. I remember when the Undertaker was leading his Satanic Cult, and was going to sacrifice the owner's daughter right there on live television. I admit, it was a very engaging story, and I loved the BDSM undertones of Stephanie tied to the giant cross - but I remember thinking, "Uh ... aren't they suppose to be wrestling or something? I don't see any big sweaty guys rolling around in the ring with each other. This is .... curious." But that only lasted until the pyrotechnics started, and I was back into the drama. Well, this Thursday, as I was flipping through the
channels, I saw those wrestlers allow their masks to slip a
bit. They postponed the matches that had been scheduled, and
for two hours, they simply talked about the tragedy. Here
were these big men. Athletes. Superstars. Larger than life
heroes. And they were talking about how the attack affected
everyone, even them. How they had lost friends, and family,
and how in the years to come, they would lose more. They
talked about coming together. About reaching deep and
finding the strength needed to rebuild our cities, our
dreams, our hopes - and to continue on. It was shocking to
see these people in such a human way. So fragile. The masks
gone, revealing their pain, and fears, and their love for
our country. Several even cried, and I think that was the
hardest part to watch. Heroes aren't supposed to cry. But
they do. Heroes aren't supposed to be human, but they are. I
drew strength from that, and realized that there are many
kinds of heroes. The volunteers digging through the rubble
are heroes. The thousands turning out to give blood and
supplies, who took part in candle light vigils and prayer
ceremonies are heroes. The young men and women who will be
defending our country are heroes. The people who are picking
up their lives and simply moving on are heroes. The people
who are choosing wisdom instead of hatred, courage over
fear, justice for vengeance - are heroes. There is something
innately heroic about the American spirit - and just like
Hulk Hogan in my youth, we're going to overcome the
insurmountable odds, break out of this choke hold, and be
victorious. |
