Copy and pasted from mah wrestling blog post...
Being a wrestling fan – and a WWE fan in particular – isn’t always easy. I’m 31 years old now (my body creaks when I walk up the stairs), of moderate intelligence, and cynical and world-weary enough to know that, by any sensible metric, professional wrestling is something I should have left behind years ago, along with Superman pyjamas, Saturday morning cartoons, non-ironic usage of the word “poop”, and earnest aspirations to one day become an astronaut.
It’s easy to dismiss professional wrestling as television for idiots, an absurd pretend sport for children and the mentally enfeebled. And it’s hard to argue that it’s not those things, but it’s much more besides. It’s a surrealist soap opera played out before a live audience by super-athlete cartoon characters who just so happen to also be real people, who really do hurt themselves each time they get thrown out of the ring, or fall off a ladder, or have a television set explode in their face.
At its best, professional wrestling is a celebration of athleticism and strength and agility and drama and suspense and real-time storytelling; it’s unpredictable, it’s emotional, and it’s very, very silly. Most importantly, it’s fun.