Wrestling is fake? I know, but I care not

Two things happened last week that took me back to my childhood.

The first one was WrestleMania 30, which took place on Sunday night and had one of the biggest upsets of all time.

The second was the death of one of my childhood stars, The Ultimate Warrior. Now, do not give me the whole wrestling-is-fake line, I know that.

Do not tell me how these athletes — yes, they are athletes — dope up from here to Uranus, I know that as well.

Growing up, we had cartoons and Wrestling. There was that debate show on KBC that our parents made us watch to improve our skills and all we came out with was, “Ningeomba mkuu wa sakafu azime stima ili wenzangu waweze kupita kwa mwendo wa aste aste…”

The reason we hated it, okay, hate is a strong word, the reason we did not like it was that we were forced to watch it.

As a boy, you tend to look up to the older, bigger boys who do not cry at the touch of a whip and seem to create their own rules.

Wrestling had all these boys, and then some. It did not strike us how weird it was for a full grown man to walk around in his underpants.

COOL LOOK

Somehow, they managed to do that and still look cooler than the other side of the pillow. These men had so much baby oil on them, they left your screen looking all greasy.

These men would lie on each other in the name of fighting and we would not flinch. They were wrestlers and they did what they wanted.

If they decided to come naked, then naked would have been the trend. The Ultimate Warrior was still into face painting in his 30s, and he looked tougher than a soldier holding a bazooka.

We believed that these macho men were sent by God to come and teach boys the art of being a man. The coolest wrestler must have been Bret “The Hitman” Hart, with his supercool blacked-out shades, which he usually gifted some child on the front row.

My dream at that point was to travel to America, show up at one of the fights, and make sure I got a front-row seat.

This was a real goal and my baby sister, Grace, would spend hours trying to help me perfect that please-give-me-the-shades look that I would give The Hitman.

Then there was the Undertaker. He was the scariest man ever, but he won every fight. He would show up in a coffin with his sidekick, Paul Bearer, holding an urn.

That scene would make you smile and wet your pants at the same time. It was magical. I nearly disconnected my eyeballs as I tried to do that signature eye-roll that he did before he did his signature move, The Tombstone Piledriver.

This would literally bring tears to every child who believed that Wrestling was real. Then there was Mr Perfect, the coolest ever.

The swagger in his walk was enough to heal the sick but somehow, whenever I tried it, my mother would ask me if my butt hurt. I probably learnt about Native Americans from Tatanka before it was taught in class.

Someone lied to me that Koko B and Kamala “The Ugandan Giant” were from Uganda and even though I never harboured any dreams of making it to WWF (now WWE), it gave me hope that I would see a Kenyan fighting.

That would have been an Obama moment, had it happened. Imagine my disappointment when I learnt that Kamala was actually born in Mississippi and that his wrestling character was from a National Geographic Magazine article about a Doctor Kimala, a researcher in Uganda.

So big was wrestling that it was banned in our school after children started slamming each other on the floor and jumping off desks to “clothesline” an “opponent”.

It was a religion and while today’s children have Lil Wayne and Nicki Minaj as their idols, me and my peers had Triple H.

STRONGEST MEN EVER

British Bulldog, Jake “the Snake” Roberts, Caine, Hulk Hogan, Sgt Slaughter, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Big Show, Mankind, among others.

Tuesday nights these days have Champions League football. In the ’90s, they were reserved for the strongest men ever.

Men with boobs, men who applied baby oil, men who stared danger in the face before slamming it on the floor and holding it down for the “1,2,3” count.

Somehow, with all the violence, we grew up non-violent because we knew if you really wanted to fight, you had to be the Undertaker, and me and my skinny friends always avoided fights and would only watch other people fight.

So, there is a part of my childhood which now mourns The Ultimate Warrior like he was a Kenyan hero.

Women will never get why anyone would watch wrestling, but then again, we still have no clue why anyone would watch a soap opera. So I guess everything evens out.