For a lot of us, the best wrestler is whoever was on TV when we were eight years old. If you grew up in the ’80s, it’s Hulk Hogan—the guy who made you believe you could eat your vitamins and say your prayers, then go out and body-slam a giant. Your dad probably loved him because Hogan’s biceps looked like they could bench-press the family minivan.
If you were a ’90s kid, you’re probably screaming “Stone Cold Steve Austin!” right now. That guy was the human equivalent of a cold beer after a terrible workday—a chugging, middle-finger-raising hero for everyone who’d ever had a bad boss. You can’t argue with that kind of connection; it’s like arguing with someone about their favorite comfort food.
The “He Could Actually Fight” Argument
Then comes the technical crowd, the folks who watch matches on mute to “appreciate the psychology.” They’ll say Bret Hart or Kurt Angle is the best because they could wrestle a broomstick to a five-star match. It’s the wrestling equivalent of having a friend who only drinks single-origin coffee and judges your morning brew. Sure, they’re right, but sometimes you just want a quick, fizzy can of soda—or in wrestling terms, a John Cena entrance.
Speaking of Cena, he’s the guy you couldn’t see for two decades, which is ironically the most visible thing ever. He was the perfect role model for your kid, but he also made adults groan with his goofy raps. But you know what? He showed up. Every. Single. Night. That work ethic is like that neighbor who always shovels his driveway at 5 a.m.—annoying, but you secretly respect it.
