I took the news of Greg Plitt’s accidental death last Saturday hard.  The story is that he was apparently on an unauthorized photo shoot on railroad tracks when he was struck and killed by a train.  I sort of can’t fathom how this happens, but I suppose unexpected (and often expected) deaths often do that to us.

To say that I’ve been infatuated with Greg is a little understated.  I’ve frequently found myself unable to tear my eyes away from an image or video of him.  There was something superhuman about his physique and superhero about his devastatingly handsome face.

My first New Year’s celebration after beginning this blog featured Greg prominently in my first wrestling fantasy written specifically for neverland.  How could you not project him into your homoerotic wrestling fantasies?  Seriously?  I had such fun with it that it became a tradition for the next 4 years to write a special new year kick off wrestling fantasy for myself.

I didn’t follow what was apparently his rise as a reality television star.  I didn’t become a member of his online cult of personality pay site.  But I never failed to gasp a little each and every time I came across a new image of his perfectly proportioned physique, those ripped abs and minuscule waist, his thick, meaty pecs and big broad shoulders, the mountainously peaked biceps and that Clark Kent babyface.

I’m sure my affective reaction to Greg Plitt’s sudden death is closely tied to my more personal loss a couple of months ago. Losses do that to us sometimes, stretch across time and context and tweak one another in intuitive, even if seemingly unrelated ways.  I’m sad for those who cared for him in real life. And I will always remember with extreme fondness New Year’s Day 2010, when Artie Napiontek and I double teamed the massive mountain of mouthwatering muscle, subdued and bound him, and gut punched him until all three of us were profoundly satisfied.

RIP, Greg.