Living through a pandemic has done a number on a lot of us. It’s been a long stretch and a heavy load on my outlook on life. I’m normally pretty chill, and things don’t get to me (or at least, stick around for long). But the refreeze on the cold war, global economic instability, and ideological hijacking of the U.S. Supreme Court, on top of coping locally with the implications of a global pandemic, have interrupted even my legendarily sound sleep. So, I took it as a sign from the homoerotic wrestling gods when, one late autumn morning, I was watching my local news, and Scott Williams’ face appeared on my screen.
Right? I mean, any time I lay my eyes on Scott, I thank the ether that this gorgeously handsome hunk stars in some of my favorite wrestling fantasies. But the sheer randomness of seeing him show up, completely out of the blue, on my local broadcast, sort of shook me just a little more than usual.
Of course, it had absolutely nothing to do with Scott’s incredibly sexy body of wrestling work, or even his incredibly sexy body. It was one of those “feel good” fluffy news pieces that local stations shop around to each other, to try to help us all avoid collapsing into paralyzing depression from watching the actual news. A Boston news outlet was set up near where a major motion picture was, reportedly, being filmed. Boston had closed down some city streets for the production, and locals were showing up along the sidelines to catch a glimpse of U.S. royalty (i.e., our entertainment stars). The poor local reporter who drew the short straw, and had to stand outside and make something that is, fundamentally, not news, appear to look like a news story, was interviewing the looky-loos.
And like a thunderbolt from the homoerotic wrestling heavens, Scott Williams is standing there with a microphone in his face! No. Fucking. Way! But yes. Way! I don’t know that I actually heard what Scott said when being interviewed, because I was yelling at the television screen, “NO FUCKING WAY!”
There’s some major meta mind-fuck happening here, when I’m tripping on catching a glimpse of a homoerotic wrestling star that I have crushed on since first laying eyes on him, who is, himself, hanging out in the hopes of tripping on catching a glimpse of a Hollywood star that, presumably, he is passionate enough about to stand around outside in Boston’s brisk late-autumn weather. If I didn’t already believe in the homoerotic wrestling gods, this adrenaline shot to my mid-pandemic morning would have totally converted me into one of the devout.
And because I KNOW that Scott reads the pages of this blog (because he occasionally comments, prompting me to immediately dig out one of his matches and rifle off some shuddering pleasure), I just want to thank him, personally, for brightening my day, yet again. Did you see any Hollywood stars that day, Scott? Did the reporter comment on your superhero-proportioned square jaw and devastating good looks? Have you kept the peaks on those mouthwatering biceps of yours sharpened while the gyms were closed during the pandemic? And, since the homoerotic wrestling pantheon is clearly set on putting you in my path, when am I likely to see you (preferably stripped down and in a wrestling ring) next?