Mickey Knoxx – Sidelineland

Wrestlefest Live – 2026

February 28, 2026 wrestlebard4 Comments

As I mentioned in my last post, this year at Wrestlefest NYC I enjoyed (and was only slightly terrified of) getting to experience what it was like being behind the camera, recording some incredibly hot homoerotic wrestling content. I’ve been a consumer of homoerotic wrestling for so long that being literally behind the camera put me through some fascinating mental gymnastics that made me think about my relationship to homoerotic wrestling content in a new way. Not to get too existential here, but being the one pointing the camera has made me think about myself and my relationship to what turns me on about wrestling just a little differently.

Last Year’s Hottie Ring Announcer for Wrestlefest Live 2025

If recording homoerotic wrestling content was an exercise in mental gymnastics, Wrestlefest Live this year was nothing short of a mindfuck for me. In a good way. Probably. Mostly. Wrestlefest maven Scooter approached me a couple of months ago to feel out if I might be up for being ring announcer. My almost immediate answer was yes, and then a couple of hours later, I was suddenly questioning what the fuck I’d just gotten myself into. I mean, I’ve watched enough wrestling to be familiar with the role of a ring announcer. But, then again, have I ever actually, really paid attention to what a ring announcer does? Honestly, when a ring announcer is doing his thing, I’m mostly just cranking up my horny heat in anticipation of the match to come, right? Fuck, I should’ve paid more attention! I snapped a dozen pics of last year’s ring announcer at Wrestlefest Live 2025, so you’d think I was paying attention then. But no, I was just crushing on the hot ring announcer.

My only other time doing anything remotely like this was co-hosting the Gay Wrestling History panel event at Wrestlefest two years. That time, I had the legendary Bob Wood to lean on as co-host, though, and it was mostly moderating a lot of talking and reminiscing, rather than hyping up a hungry crowd. For Live this year, I had an outline of the matches from the event organizer, KC Ryder. I had the list of who’s wrestling in which matches. I had a few announcements to make at the beginning, a few people to thank at the end. It sounds straightforward, right?

Holy fuck, it was barely contained chaos! I was chatting with BG East’s Kid Vicious afterward who assured me that putting on a show like this is always this wild and improvised with a thousand last second details to wrangle into one event narrative. And that’s definitely what this was like. An hour before the event started, I was in the dressing room with all of the wrestlers trying to take down details of exactly how they’d like to be introduced, finding out if there were any important beats to plan for. Holy fuck, just try to imagine me, one of the most notorious homoerotic wrestling-infatuated people you’ve ever read, trying to stay on task surrounded by about 25 smoking hot wrestlers in various states of undress. I’m still not sure if that’s my idea of heaven or hell. There was one classic moment where I was trying to write down information on how Beau Jordan and Ben Monaco preferred me to introduce them before their match. I’m assuming I was probably staring, glassy-eyed, at Beau’s bare, luscious pecs, because he abruptly grabbed my pen, took my paper, and wrote it down himself. I mean, he wasn’t being a dick about it. At all. It had more the feel of “Oh, you poor, completely overwhelmed walking hard-on, let me help you out.”

Beau Jordan knows I’m not looking at his eyes

Actually, the spirit of pitching in and helping out was everywhere. Of course, this room was packed with massive muscles and even bigger egos that were going to climb into the ring later that evening and tear into one another in a bid to come out victorious, but there was a whole fucking lot of cooperation and collaboration required by everyone to just get to that stage in the first place. Like, when I was getting down the details to introduce Kayden Keller’s handicap match against both TK Wu and Freddy Campbell… I could be misremembering, but I think it was Kayden’s suggestion to announce the team of TK and Freddy by both their combined weight and combined height, which was almost certainly my funniest line in the ring that night. Everyone was pitching in ideas to put a little polish on this very underground event in order to make it shine. There was just a ton of earnest respect for professional wrestling in that dressing room. Everyone was there, fit as fuck, and even with some occasional pre-show nerves in evidence, absolutely everyone focused like a laser on putting on a phenomenal event to entertain an appreciative audience.

Being ring announcer made this completely different from my experience of attending Wrestlefest Live the previous two years. For one thing, I didn’t get to enjoy the wrestling itself nearly as much. As soon as one match started, I was checking my notes about what happens next in the show. Not that I didn’t get to watch some. I’ve absolutely got to download these matches the minute they hit Watchfighters, because what I did get to watch, it was hot and intense and all-in entertaining. But I dialed in absolutely every ounce of my attention just for that minute or so before each match when I was in the ring, trying read my scrawled handwriting to get the intros right, trying not to look like as nervous as I felt, trying to remember when to wait for each wrestler’s ring entrance. And just when I would think I’ve got a grip on this thing, someone improvises or plans change. Kirk Donahue (that sexy bastard) rips the microphone out of my hand before I can introduce his opponent. Sir Dark grabs me by the face and plants a kiss on my mouth as he and Rick Roma are pumping up the crowd before their tag team match. KC Ryder pulls me to the side to give me a surprise announcement to make just before intermission. Sir Dark grabs me by the face an plants a kiss on my mouth. Did I mention that one already? Fuck!

There’s no way I can try to do justice to the hot wrestling, so I’ll save a full set of reviews for when I can watch the matches once they’re released. But I can share some blurry, impressionistic flashes of what I experienced when I was tearing my eyes away from my notes to watch the show. Like, in the opening four-way match (Ty Alexander vs Pup Leopard vs Sid Shaw vs Spenser Locke), the choreography of four fierce men tearing into each other and in the din and chaos, crafting these unmistakable characters for absolutely everyone to read. I mean, Ty Alexander was Ty, right? Self-obsessed almost to the point of comical if it weren’t for him delivering some of the biggest hits on opponents of the evening. Spenser Locke was the overly earnest football jock punch-drunk on adrenaline and getting his bell rung. Pup Leopard somehow was immediately the babyface hero holding the entire audience in the palm of his paw. And Sadistic Sid Shaw was that fucking mountain of intensity and muscle that always looks like he’s about to bulldoze everyone and bury them under 10 inches of asphalt.

I probably saw more of the second match than any of the others, because it was legitimately a rip-n-strip match that went all the way and, most importantly for my tastes, kept going! I announced the rules, of course (thanks to Beau patiently writing them down for me), so I knew someone was going to be naked and defeated before this one was over with. But intellectually knowing that’s coming is just a whole different experience than watching the gear come off and these two gorgeous beefcakes suddenly wearing nothing but boots and the magnificent muscles the homoerotic wrestling gods blessed them with. Like, even I didn’t really know if this was just a tease. Hell, Ben came out interrupting me when I introduced him, in street clothes, saying he’d thought better of the match stipulations and was backing out. But what I loved even more than that these guys literally just put it all right out there for everyone to see, was that they kept wrestling! The brutal pro wrestling punishment continued, indulgently naked and unselfconscious. The fact that the ref, who was last year’s ring announcer who I crushed on, also lost his shirt and got into the action only made me love this match even more.

There was some super fun tinkering with tropes in the tag team match between Sir Dark/Rick Roma and Rocko Mortis/Dash Halley. Have I mentioned Sir Dark planted a kiss on me at the beginning of that match? Honestly, quite a bit after that was a haze for me, but I absolutely loved the storytelling. “From Italy (Sir Dark) and Little Italy (Rick Roma) and weighing in at exactly the right amount of marinara sauce….” The surprise babyface heroes in this match were fucking on fire. Give me a bold type and underline babyface who pounds his crotch into his opponent’s dazed face, and I’m completely sold! Rocko and Dash as goth baseball playing zombies made for a pitch perfect contrast with their crowd-pleasing opponents, and the tension in that divide between Team Vendetta and The Gothletes was sensationally ripe for homoerotic pro wrestling melodrama done right.

Wild Man Dick Clayton punished The Handsome Strangler hard

The match just before intermission was sponsored by Cole Cassidy and his Weekend Wrestling operation, pitting Wild Man Dick Clayton against the legendary erotic scamp, the Handsome Strangler. Fuck, trying not to eye fuck those two guys in the dressing room was nothing short of torture. So, I happily eye fucked the fuck out of them along with everyone in the audience when they climbed into the ring for their match. But it was the special guest referee for this match that took my breath away: Elite Eliot. I have obsessed over Eliot for years. His live match against Zip Zarella for BG East’s first Wrestling with Pride has gotten me off more times that I could possibly count. I think the wrestling was hot and beautifully executed, but no shit, I couldn’t say definitively for exactly three reasons. One: Wild Man Dick Clayton’s ass in that loin cloth. Two: Handsome Strangler’s mouthwatering pecs. And, three: Elite Eliot hog-tied in the middle of the ring, left for fans (and a ring announcer) to take selfies with at intermission.

I was first in line during the intermission to take a selfie with hog tied hottie Elite Eliot

After the intermission there came my funniest line of the night introducing TK Wu and Freddy Campbell squaring off against Kayden Keller. That vibe of the terminator taking out two out-matched pretty boys landed beautifully. There was a lot of painting outside the lines throughout most of the matches, but the adrenaline rush of watching mighty Kayden go on a rampage and tombstone fucking everyone, including the ref (MPJ) had this sensational off-the-rails feel to it. In fact, I wasn’t really sure how to handle my ring announcer duties at the end of this one, with the ring littered with knocked out wrestlers several minutes after the bell had been rung.

The penultimate match of the show was such a fucking crowd pleaser. The promotional material for the BG East sponsored match had been teasing Kirk Donahue taking on a “mystery opponent’ for months. The posters just showed a silhouette of hot muscle hunk next to Kirk’s smirking double bicep. I heard so much talk about this in the weeks leading up to the event! I heard more than a few fans grousing about the gimmick being overdone. Why the mystery? And of course, every one of those conversations was an answer to that very question. I had fans swear to me that they had the inside scoop on who the mystery opponent was, and, for the record, everyone who shared their theory about who he was was incorrect. So, I had the distinct honor of getting to be the one to put the mystery to rest when I introduced the triumphant return to the ring of none other than Z-Man! A lot of us have followed on social media news of Z-Man having been seriously injured in an accident a while back. He’s got some seriously impressive scars that hint at the hell he’s been through. But holy fuck, that man is never in anything but pristine and perfected condition! He is so fucking gorgeous and in such phenomenal shape. I don’t actually know what the extent of his injuries were, but I was cheering him on along with absolutely everyone in the place as he went toe-to-toe with dastardly Kirk Donahue. Fuck, the drama was breathtaking. You could hear the collective gasps and tense holding of everyone’s breath as Z-Man and Kirk battled back and forth. And when Z-Man absolutely clawed his way to victory on nothing but his drop dead gorgeous looks, stubbornness, and the flood of good will pouring down on him from this roaring and appreciative audience, the rafters were shaking with excitement.

The final match of the evening was a 7-man elimination match for the Wrestlefest Live championship belt, and it nearly broke me. I mean, it was designed to be barely contained chaos, so what was delivered was exactly as ordered. But my responsibilities as ring announcer for this particular match only actually made sense to me about 10 minutes before the match started. I had seven staggered ring introductions to make, starting with the stunning Chase Addams squaring off against perennial favorite Ethan Axel Andrews. Straightforward enough. I think I nailed that part. But then, it got way more complex. Not to pull back the curtain too much on the production side of things, let me just say that it was solely up to me to start the countdown every couple of minutes (or so) before announcing the next entrant. I know I fucked up Leon Cyrus’ entrance, damn it. I forgot to actually announce his sensational moniker, “the Swiss Menace.” I think I got the rest of the intros right. I’m pretty sure I announced at least one elimination in error, but despite the ref arguing with me, somehow I had the final word. Fuck, if I’d known earlier the power I held! I absolutely loved how this match played out, with some of my very favorite people in homoerotic wrestling (Lobo Gris, Tarz Lando, Mickey Knoxx, and Bobby Carter) commanding the spotlight to the extremely climactic end. Also, a quick shout out to referee Chris Collins for seeming almost as overwhelmed as I felt, while looking sexy as fuck… and for single-handedly being responsible for illegally eliminating one of the final three competitors. Fuck, I love pro wrestling melodrama!

Again, this post is all about me. Please stay tuned for a more full-throated send up of the sensational matches that went down at Wrestlefest Live 2026 once they’re available for us all to enjoy on video. But just one last observation from my extremely subjective perspective: as phenomenal as the wrestlers were, and as much work was put into putting on this incredibly fun show behind the scenes, a key ingredient that was absolutely essential to making it work was the fantastic audience. I don’t just mean this as a cliché. Genuinely, it takes an audience of earnest wrestling fans like this to land this plane as spectacularly as this one landed. These wrestlers literally bared it all, they put their bodies and egos and dignity on the line, and there wasn’t a cynical snark the entire three hours. They poured a ton of love and respect onto absolutely everyone, and the sum total of the event was so much more than any one incredible match, more than any particularly impressive move, more than all of the hot bodies combined, even. It wasn’t just fun wrestling. It was an event, and everyone showed up for it, and that made it fucking fantastic.

I think that’s a bit of what I’m taking away from this experience… none of us are “just” seat warmers in this homoerotic wrestling community. We’re all participants. We’re all co-creating the edges and the heart of what it means to be passionate about homoerotic wrestling, as wrestlers, as content creators, holding the cameras, producing events, buying hot products, cheering for our favorites, and, yes, even ring announcing. Homoerotic wrestling isn’t something just happening on the other side of our screens, or only inside the ring with us merely spectators on the sidelines. We are, all of us, creating this community, this economy, and this fraternity out of our shared passion and investment of ourselves in all our varied ways. Keep up the amazing work, my friends!

Wrestlefest – The Content

February 20, 2026 wrestlebard4 Comments

I was talking with a first-time Wrestlefest NYC attendee while we were hanging out in the lobby of the New Yorker last weekend, and the newbie said exactly what I’m thinking whenever I’m socializing at a fest. “I see these guys and think to myself, wow! I’ve jerked off watching that guy wrestle!” I’d venture to guess that one of the top motivations to attend a Wrestlefest is to get to see and bump shoulders with the wrestling stars we get dehydrated over. I’d bet one of the other top motivations to attend is creators showing up to create wrestling content to market to the rest of us who are excited to get a chance to meet those on-camera wrestling stars.

I think that I occupy a novel place in the swirling constellation of people and events that constitute a Wrestlefest. I possess this curious type of notoriety mostly for slowly constructing this blog for coming on 17 years. A surprising number of attendees at a Wrestlefest seem to have read me, which always blows my mind. However, no one really recognizes me on sight. If folks are familiar with me, it’s not my face they recognize. It’s much more likely my words… maybe, occasionally, someone might recognize my voice from Sidelineland Sounds posts. I think my self-perception and the curated point-of-view of my narrative voice here on the blog is that of a relatively anonymous everyman in the homoerotic wrestling universe. And, honestly, I enjoy inhabiting that space.

But blogging about homoerotic wrestling for so long has placed me in tantalizing proximity to the real celebrities, which, honestly, I also enjoy. A lot. I remember early in my blogging days wondering whether a wrestler might ever read what I’d written about him. I assumed not, but along the way, I discovered that sometimes they did. A few months into blogging, Derek da Silva posted a link on Twitter to my review of one of his matches, and I just about blew a blood vessel with excitement. Wrestlers have reached out to thank me for something I’ve written, which is absolutely always a thrill. A handful of times, I’ve even had wrestlers contact me with a tactful request for a correction to something I’ve erroneously written, which, honestly, has the same effect on me (“fuck, he read it!”). Eventually, I got the opportunity to start interviewing wrestlers, and occasionally hang out with, share meals with, and in a few treasured instances, even wrestle some of the wrestlers I’ve enjoyed watching on video.

I have a Pavlovian response to the Moynihan Train Hall at Penn Station now.

I found myself straddling that divide between the content creator crowd and the everyman homoerotic wrestling enthusiasts in a whole new way at Wrestlefest NYC this year, though. A few months ago, I got a message from Sir Dark, asking me if I’d like to help out behind the scenes with a new rumble match he was lining up at the start of the fest. I immediately and enthusiastically said yes, though I had no idea what I’d actually be doing. I switched up my train schedule to get there in time, and basically walked out of Penn Station and was immediately on the job helping wrangle wrestlers and get all of the participants in the right place at the right time. I can’t quite find the words to capture the vibe of an insane number of gorgeous wrestlers squeezed shoulder to shoulder inside a hotel room, changing in and out of their clothes, anxiously warming up, sizing each other up. I was wanting to look everywhere at the same time.

Sir Dark shoved a camera in my hands, gave me a 30-second tutorial, and suddenly I was manning the primary camera for the next 45 minutes! If I didn’t totally fuck it up, there’s going to be an incredibly hot cavalcade of sexy wrestlers battling it out in a Wrestlefest rumble match on Watchfighters in the near future. I’ll be very excited to review it once it comes out, because… fuuuuuck, so much fucking hotness was packed into that hotel room. But, holy shit, in the moment, the pressure of not fucking this thing up suddenly had me pitted out in under a minute. It’s fucking hard! I mean, it certainly wasn’t made any easier by there being anywhere from two to eight wrestlers on the mat at any given time. Where to point the camera!? How to restrain myself from gasping and moaning (“fuuuuuuuuuck”) and ruining the shot? I’m convinced this was karma for any and all snarky comments I’ve made about camera work in past reviews. But honestly, what a fucking trip being a few inches away from a steady stream of sexy mat wrestling playing out live right in front of me. It was almost an out of body experience, as I self-consciously observed myself being the one framing the action, attending to one angle versus another, circling this direction or that to give the camera one narrative lens at the expense of another choice I could’ve made. And, at the same time, I kept finding myself awestruck that these sensationally sexy wrestlers were tossing and twisting and squeezing one another to submission close enough that I could’ve reached past the camera and literally touched them.

And then the next morning, I went from my first ever duty behind the camera of hot wrestling content creation to my second opportunity. I heard that Mickey Knoxx and a couple of other wrestlers wanted to film a three-way match and needed a cameraman. Perhaps buoyed by unfounded confidence (I mean, I honestly don’t know yet how my camerawork played out for Sir Dark’s rumble), I offered my services and they were graciously accepted. Again, I knew practically nothing about what I was about to record. What that turned out to be was another swoon-inspiring three-way confrontation between Mickey, Nick Lean, and Leon Cyrus. Holy fucking hell! I don’t know when this will come out on Watchfighters (again, presuming I didn’t totally fuck it up with my camera work). I’m not exactly sure with what liberty I’m entitled to talk about it, but it’s not like I signed an NDA or anything. I’ll just tease that it’s a sensationally intense contrast of size and attitude, with even the combined aggression and craftiness of Mickey and Nick just barely stacking up against the beefy bulldozer, Leon. And talk about stacking… fuck… okay, I’ll save the details for when it’s actually released, but I’m thrilled to be able to sneak off set these little tidbits I’ve always wondered about as strictly a consumer: the grunts and moans and sweat are real. The whole thing is just so fucking intense and intimate and immediate in a way that’s completely consistent with what shows up on the screen when I’m watching matches like this on video. Fuck, these boys go at it, and however much management or producing went into it before I showed up, cocks were genuinely stiffened by the hot action, and I’m not just talking about mine.

Rocky Sparks recording at last year’s Wrestlefest Live show

My first two stints behind the camera were a blast. I have a whole new appreciation for the craftmanship that goes into creating homoerotic wrestling content. It takes a lot more than just beautiful men throwing down. These were absolutely immersive experiences unlike quite anything else I’ve experienced in my many, many years of obsessing over homoerotic wrestling. I had a whole new appreciation for Rocky Sparks and MilesX as I watched them man the cameras at the Wrestefest Live show on Saturday night. I chatted with Rocky about his camera work briefly after the show. Rocky brought up the “voyeur kink” angle of what can make being behind the camera exciting. Watching and being watched wrestling, recording and being recorded wrestling… there’s a super hot interpersonal dynamic there that makes the creation of wrestling content something a bit different than my experience of “just” wrestling itself or “just” watching. Rocky told me he loves being behind the camera, and after watching him record three Wrestlefest Live events over the past three years, I can testify that he’s fucking amazing at it. If the action in the ring wasn’t so incredibly captivating, I could probably get off just watching Rocky circling the ring like a shark and somehow magically always being in the right place to capture just the right angle, to document every moment of spontaneous agony and sadistic delight.

I feel like I’ve earned the right to consider myself an expert in terms of being a lifelong consumer of homoerotic wrestling videos. I’m really good at watching and getting off on hot wrestling content (I mean, I’m really, really good at that). I’m an enthusiastic novice when it comes to wrestling itself. Even “novice” is giving myself far too much credit, but it’s an entirely different experience and a different and delightful turn-on for me to be grappling with an opponent than it is to watch a wrestling match. And, it turns out, being the one behind the camera is a whole different dimension of wrestling turn-on for me. It’s powerful and intense and pressured. It’s immediate, and yet half a step removed from the drama playing out in front of the camera. Manning the camera is to be purveyor of a wrestling narrative in a way I’d never experienced before last weekend. It’s to be the designated voyeur, the appointed docent framing the wrestling art with context and perspective that might, if done right, accentuate and celebrate homoerotic wrestling action in a way that a consumer downstream might be able to be drawn into the room and feel the immediacy of the action, too.

Fuck. I hope I did it right. Rocky Sparks and MilesX deserve a raise!

Happy Place

February 14, 2026 wrestlebard6 Comments

I often describe myself as “not a convention guy.” This characterization is based on having had to attend work-related conventions in my non-wrestling-related career, and pretty much hating them. I may have even feigned sickness halfway through one work convention in order to justify going home early. I was a super shy kid and grew into a relatively introverted adult who can, when needed, socialize and schmooze, but it’s not my happy place. Having arrived in Manhattan for my third Wrestlefest NYC and my fourth Wrestlefest overall (also, super fond memories of my first Wrestlefest in Toronto), I’m having to rethink that picture of myself I’ve had for decades of being “not a convention guy.” Maybe it was less about me just not liking the forced socialization of conventions, and more about me just not enjoying socializing with my non-wrestling-infatuated work colleagues. Because walking off the train and into my hotel and finding the lobby packed with dozens of wrestlers I’ve enjoyed watching on video and socializing with online and at past fests, it turns out, this is my happy place.

Making small talk doesn’t feel like a chore here as I’m mixing and mingling at Wrestlefest like it normally does. Running into wrestlers who read the blog is a pretty good icebreaker, of course, but I’m pretty sure it’s more than that. There isn’t that sense of pressure I often feel weighing me down in a lot of large social gatherings, where I’m constantly assessing how quickly I can bring a conversation to a close without seeming too rude. I love talking to all of these beautiful men as deep into wrestling as I am. I’m not worrying so much about being noticed checking out the bevvy of hot guys absolutely everywhere, because we’re all doing it, and it’s really the raison d’être of 500+ gay wrestlers assembling in one place, right? And I just don’t have to burn any of that mental energy I spend in other settings trying to not let my thoughts play across my face when I’m deep into picturing what the hot guys around me would look like wrestling. It’s literally why we’re all here.

Being at the Kick-Off Party last night sort of brought this home to me in a fresh way. Probably a dozen times or more I locked eyes with different guys as we acknowledged that we were both checking someone else out, and we just smiled in acknowledgement. And I didn’t have to try to manage anyone else’s implicit homophobia. No need to try to sooth anyone else’s sexual insecurities by me looking away and pretending I wasn’t just eye fucking Beau Jordan’s ass and picturing him wrestling in that mesh singlet he was wearing last night. We were all eye fucking Beau Jordan’s ass and picturing him wrestling in that mesh singlet. He was wearing that mesh singlet so that we’d all be eye fucking him and picturing him wrestling, I’m pretty sure. Of course, part of what I’m describing is just being in queer spaces, but I think it’s more than that. There are plenty of queer spaces that don’t feel at home to me like this does. I’ve almost reached the conclusion that it’s not that I’m socially inept and still carrying around that awkwardly shy kid from my childhood making me count the seconds until I can get out of mixing and mingling. I’ve just spent most of my life mixing and mingling with the wrong crowds.

I wonder how I might have a completely different impression of myself if I’d grown into myself under different social conditions – if I’d had access to spaces where what I was really passionate about was validated, rather than all those things that it was always assumed I should be passionate about, but really wasn’t (sports, cars, girls, etc.). I mean, I know that there are plenty of gay wrestlers into those other things in addition to wrestling, but just talking about myself here, I wonder if I’d have a whole different impression of myself and the way I navigate the world if, much earlier in life, I’d even known that spaces like Wrestlefest could exist in my world. I’ve written before about noticing my sense of self changing since getting involved in meet-up wrestling. I feel more attractive. More assertive Stronger and more capable in general. And last night at the Wrestlefest Kick-Off Party, it also occurred to me that I’m happy to be swimming in this sea of wrestlers of all shapes and sizes wearing anything everything from thongs and jock straps to trunks to ass-less singlets to street clothes. And, did I mention that fucking sexy mesh singlet that Beau Jordan wore?

Another thing I’ve learned about myself is that I never can remember to take pics at these shoulder-to-shoulder hot wrestler mixers. I just can’t bring myself to put a screen between me and the thrilling experience of being there and shouting over the din with friends and checking out this gorgeous assembly of wrestlers. I put out feelers to a few of those gorgeous wrestlers who did take pics, and I want to thank Barrett and Sir Dark for letting me drop them here to try to illustrate, just a little, the joy and drama and wave upon wave of wrestler eye candy that, it turns out, is my happy place.

Rear-View Mirror

January 12, 2026 wrestlebardLeave a comment

I totally missed the BG East Besties season this year. Literally, the flu hit me like a ton of bricks last week, and by the time my fever broke and I crawled out of my sweat soaked bed linens with enough working brain cells to engage with the world again, the voting was over and the winners were announced. In past years, I’ve spent weeks obsessing over these awards. I’ve openly lobbied for my slate of nominees from time to time, which, let’s be honest, turned out to be completely uncorrelated with actual votes. I’ve second guessed the nominations process and spread baseless conspiracy theories about vote rigging (just for fun). So, it feels sort of bewildering to discover the entire process played out on its own while I was hacking up a lung and feeling like my head was about to explode.

I’ve enjoyed seeing more lauds and awards for homoerotic wrestling in recent years. Other companies and other bloggers have been calling out their favorites, and I’m here for it. I seldom completely agree, of course. BG East fans never fail to break a different direction from where my fanaticism points me in the Besties, and the shout outs and laurel crowns laid out by other companies and passionate fans and commentators will typically overlap with many of my tastes, but definitely not all of them. Like, there’s that Zach Reno superfan from Wrestlefest NYC last year who regularly lobbies for me to lay down more love for lovely, lovely Zach. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally dialed into Zach, but I’ll probably never be as devoted as this superfan. But that’s what I love about awards season. As much as it can be invalidating for passionate wrestlers who get overlooked (and I get that), the more shout outs from more perspectives reflecting a greater diversity of tastes and passionate opinions are hopefully getting the word out to wrestlers and producers about the range of what we like. I get my chops busted regularly for having “too narrow” of tastes and interests, but the solution isn’t me pretending to like stuff others like just to put them over. The solution is more praise from more people, more purchases, more enthusiasm and fan-wrestler-producer engagement.

I enjoyed a ton of sensational wrestling in 2025 that entertained and turned me on. In terms of Sidelineland-approved awards and my wrestling infatuations, I’m happy to lend my voice to heaping praise on the hot hunks who turned me on hardest this year. Here are my picks for the body awards:

Best Butt: Mickey Knoxx. I’m an ass aficionado, and 2025 shoved a whole lot of spectular glutes in front of me. I get why Monstah Mike took the Bestie, but for my money, the aesthetics of Mickey Knoxx’ gorgeous ass just can’t be beat. I’d probably pick Joey Mason’s bubble butt for 2nd place for me, but again, the field was rich.

Best Bulge: Bruno. I’m turning to the deep roster at Abs Art on WatchFighters for my pick for best bulge. I’ve been captured by Abs Arts’ turn to more full-on erotic content with their Bruno Extra channel, and getting an unobstructed view of what Bruno is packing has been a highlight of 2025. Second place bulge for me: Beau Jordan. Fuck, that scimitar is hypnotic!

Best Legs: Alexxwrestler. This masked man was haunting my dreams in 2025. His cockiness is an aphrodisiac all on its own, but it’s his gorgeous legs and, especially, how he uses them to wring opponents out like dirty laundry that sends me. Best Body Bestie Winner Chase LaChance gets my second place nod for his gorgeous tree trunks.

Best Body: Bruno. Yeah, 2025 was the year of Bruno-obsession for me. His body just makes me gasp every time I see him. It’s a lot more than the sum of its parts, and watching him use it to wrestle is an absolute fantasy-cum-true. Second place for me is Bruno’s sometimes-partner-in-crime, Roland. Get the two of them in a wrestling ring, and I may quit my job of never get off my computer again.

Pulling the focus back a bit from just the eye candy, there was a whole lot of wrestling in 2025 that made me swoon. In terms of wrestlers doing what wrestlers do best, here’s my list of shout outs:

Favorite Babyface: Dio Characi. Fuck, yes, every day of the week. For the third year in a row, Dio got the Bestie for 2025. He’s such a prototype for what I think of as a babyface… impossibly pretty face, rocking hot bod, with this impish edge-of-naughtiness about him that I can’t tear my eyes away from. And did I mention I met him at Wrestlefest NYC last February?! My second place choice would be Bobby Carter for all of the same reasons.

Favorite Heel: Brendan Byers. Yeah, I totally swing with the rest of the BGE fans who handed the title to Brendan for the second year in a row. In May, I did a retrospective review of Brendan’s debut match against BBW from back in the day, and I’m still in awe of the career arc he’s taken. In 2025, he was a fucking hungry beast. My second place pick is Sir Dark. He defies categorization, but really, let off his leash like he was when he fucking devoured KC Ryder at Wrestlefest Live last year, and I’m hard pressed to think of when I’ve cheered harder for a rabid heel.

Favorite Jobber: Mickey Knoxx. I always feel like I need to apologize for naming someone as a phenomenal jobber, but there’s a whole lot more to being a magnificent jobber than losing. Mickey is a sensational example of that rare art. He’s tough, with a seriously mean edge, fierce and gorgeous, and not idling for a second, deserving again and again the ire, fury, and hungry beating of one opponent after another. My second place is yet another gorgeous Canadian, Ryan Reilly, who I had the distinct pleasure of chatting up at the WrestleFest NYC kick-off party last year. Fuck, how I get off on seeing that boy hurt.

Finally, let me just call out some of the matches that rose to the top of my list. It’s always comparing apples to oranges in these types of shout outs, but again, in the interest of celebrating some sensationally hot wrestling entertainment that dropped in 2025, here I go:

Favorite Match Match: Characi vs. LaChance, BGE’s Wrestleshack 35. It sort of shocks me to agree, yet again, with the majority of BG East fans in calling out his super fun and sexy shack match that I reviewed in June. I adore both of these hunks, and putting together their phenomenal bodies and lush personalities and watching Dio being unable to restrain himself from worshiping and possessing Chase’s award winning body felt so fun, funny, and authentic. My second place mat match is the one I reviewed just a few weeks ago, in which Tarz Lando and Adam Stone get down to business in a semi-private backyard soaked in oil.

Favorite Ring Match: Jordan/Cruz vs Knoxx/Mortis, Wrestlefest NYC Live. This category is suddenly very challenging for me to narrow down, because it’s simply impossible for me to disentangle the thrill of being in the front row of that show from evaluating the relative merits of matches I watched on my computer. It was wild and immediate and sweaty and sexy, and I’m still musing over how homoerotic wrestling needs to see a whole lot more of a Chippendale Stripper Erotic Terminator. Second place is Canuck/Reilly vs MPJ/Bruno from the same show, for many of the same reasons. That classic babyface vs heel tag team beat down was so well told!

Favorite Erotic Match: Knoxx vs Sterling, BG East’s Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 10. Normally, I’d insist on nakedness to really elevate a match as best erotic wrestling, but fuck, what these boys do in thongs (barely) is totally on fire. Fuck, the sweat, the ravenous lip locks, the possessing and grinding while keeping the battle for domination perfectly on simmer is a work of art. For my second place favorite erotic match, I’m pulling out one I haven’t yet reviewed, but I promise I will. Yjrgn vs Twinkfighter on WatchFighters is some of the hottest, most unapologetically mean-erotic wrestling I’ve seen in a long time. These guys go at it hard, and the harder they punish, the bigger their cocks get (particularly Yjrgn). No pretense. Just intensely hot submissions for the purpose of turning themselves and us on.

I think I’ll leave it there, because I could spend another week writing this and still find more gems from 2025 that I want to treasure. As always, this isn’t to slight anyone or anything by failing to shout out any of the rest of the hot wrestling action from last year. And, of course you disagree, in whole or part, because that’s the pleasure of being part of a diverse community of varied opinions and tastes. Congratulations and much gratitude to everyone who put out hot wrestling content in 2025. I hope you get all the strokes and lauds you so richly deserve!

Happy New Year – 2026

January 1, 2026 wrestlebard6 Comments

2025 was a shit show. And, at the same time, it included some of the most fun and fulfilling things I’ve ever done. Whenever I mention anything even obliquely political, I know that it’s going to grind the gears of some readers. However, after 16 and a half years, it’s still my blog. So, I’m fine to start 2026 shedding some followers who can’t tolerate hearing me say that 2025 seemed to me to be a complete dumpster fire when it comes to free speech, human rights, and the rule of law. Of particular relevance to what I write and obsess about here, the pendulum swing toward sexual repression and desperate conformity aren’t just politically ominous. They’re already having a direct and damaging impact on what has always been at the heart of this blog, namely, the celebration of homoeroticism and, specifically, homoerotic wrestling. It’s chilling, that explicit social project to transport us into a romanticized, puritanical re-imagining of a Reagan/Thatcher/Brezhnev world order (but with internet and social media-supercharged globalization and without the lip-service to democratic idealism). But, then again, my homoerotic wrestling self came of age in 1980s. I’ve witnessed the ways that we endured under the pall of cultural repression, and I honestly don’t think there’s any way to stuff the genie back into the bottle, no matter how much a neo-Falwellian moral minority tries to crawl into bed with the incoming tide of a transparently lascivious cult of personality. The first time around was scary and dark, and we’ve probably got scary and dark times still ahead. But, I believe we’ll march out of this moment in history like we did the first time, chagrined and with a shameful reckoning ahead, but with hard earned victories against provincialism and the persecution of sexual and gender diversity and, let’s face it, sexuality itself.

But, like I said, 2025 had some of the most enjoyable and rewarding moments for me in recent years, as well. My mind is already on WrestleFest NYC again. I’ve got my room booked and bags packed already for next month, but holy hell, WrestleFest NYC 2025 was pretty unbelievably fantastic. I regularly have flashbacks to the kick-off party last year, walking around the bar and feeling like my homoerotic wrestling social media feed had magically materialized in 3D before me. I mean, even if I didn’t recognize dozens of the homoerotic wrestlers I regularly get off to from my Smaug’s treasure of wrestling videos, the eye candy alone at that party, with all of these gorgeous men in singlets (+/-) would’ve been haunting my wet dreams all year long. I might have mentioned before that I chatted with Dio Characi that night, which has got to be near, if not at, my top, brush with fame for 2025. I actually don’t believe I’ve mentioned before that, after we were done talking, Dio turned back to his friends nearby, and I swooned every time his truly magnificent ass incidentally bumped against me in the crowded press of hot horny men packed into that bar. Fuck, 2025 definitely wasn’t all bad.

The WrestleFest NYC Live event was another absolutely spectacular highlight of 2025 for me. It was hot drama, without any effort to disguise that this wrestling show was entirely for gay eyes. It was earnest and larger-than-life in a way that mainstream pro wrestling shows don’t come close to for me. If anything, it was that much better for the authenticity and all-in brilliance of bringing homoerotic wrestling drama into the ring and in front of a sold out crowd with absolutely everyone in attendance being on the page. Sitting in the front row that night was fucking special for me. Not just because it was fun and sexy, but because it was this beautiful crystalizing of a community of us who, I bet, all quietly got off to watching professional wrestling on TV at some point in our lives. I’ve got my ticket to the sold out 2026 show already in hand, and I’m hoping to have another sweaty, nearly naked wrestler/wrestlers fall into my lap again.

Speaking of brushes with fame, I profoundly enjoyed wrestling with Scott Williams again in 2025. I continue to marvel at my life each and every time I stand in front of the Thunder. Talk about homoerotic wrestling fantasies materializing before my eyes… fuck, Scott is literally the fantasy muscle man of my dreams, somehow, improbable yet true, standing in front of me and demanding that I show him just how much my infatuation and fanaticism translate into crushing him into perpetually shocked submission. He confessed to me the last time we scrapped that, a couple of years ago, when we wrestled for the first time, he approached that meet-up in a spirit of “charity,” indulging a fan fantasy just to be generous. He keeps coming back for more, though, which makes me think he’s either the most charitable muscle man on the planet, or he genuinely looks forward to trying to earn back that Thunder cred he spends down every time I wring a submission out of him.

Another truly gratifying adventure in 2025 was finally launching a creative collaboration between me and my best buddy, AR. We’ve been writing and creating homoerotic wrestling fiction together almost daily for years now, and we’ve been discussing the possibility of formally sharing some of the art we co-create with other homoerotic wrestling fans. The precise recipe of our written narrative and AR’s gorgeous graphic art bakes up something that feels both entirely novel and thoroughly familiar to a homoerotic wrestling sensibility. In May, we began taking subscriptions for our original homoerotic wrestling serial, Heels & Heroes, an erotic pro wrestling fantasy told in entirely original graphics and text. We launched a roughed-out version of our vision directly on Patreon, and then an amazingly talented and generous subscriber and friend, JoseSustanciaP, constructed a stand-alone site for us to have even more creative freedom to build the Heels & Heroes universe. It was something I was genuinely proud of, not only because I love the quality and integrity of the content, but because it reflected this wonderful synergy that I enjoy so much with AR.

Much less satisfying, and much more in keeping with the zeitgeist of 2025, was what happened next with Heels & Heroes. After posting weekly updates for more than six months, we were nearly at the climactic end of the initial story arc, encompassing seven chapters centered on a traveling big-time international professional wrestling fed putting on televised wrestling shows down the U.S. East Coast… when abruptly, Patreon deleted our account and confiscated the $1,000 we’d earned through subscriptions thus far. This was as completely unexpected and out of the blue as it sounds. In a truly Orwellian turn emblematic of 2025, Patreon publicly announced one day in November that they had revised their community standards, and a day later, our account was deleted and all evidence of having every existed scrubbed from their platform. I hope that subscribers were, in fact, reimbursed for all of the money that they invested in Heels & Heroes, as Patreon implied they would. AR and I are deciding how to finish the final chapter of Heels & Heroes for fans to enjoy, while we consider the realities of a world in which censorship and gaslighting are increasingly mobilized to pretend that homoeroticism does not, and never did, exist. And doesn’t that just sum up a whole lot about the end of 2025 for all of us?

I’m still way bitter about how things played out with Patreon, but almost two months later, I’m more philosophical about it. This whole debacle happened literally at the same time that Can-Am was announcing they were closing business because of the patchwork of U.S. states who have enacted laws trying to outlaw internet pornography. These anti-pornography laws have been buoyed by the political tide of a head of state famous for (among other things) asserting that men with enough celebrity star power are entitled to grab women by the genitalia. Companies like Patreon, as well as purveyors of homoerotic content like Can-Am that we take for granted, are cracking down as the end result of a concerted effort to protect the sensibilities of a moral minority that’s gunning for much more than just pornography. They’re out to construct a world in which sexual and gender minorities and the celebration of eroticism don’t exist, or, let’s be honest, they’ll exist only behind closed doors and mostly for the benefit of those with sociocultural capital to keep themselves and their desires hidden. As we come to the close of 2025, I finally get all the romanticism about “the way things were” and hearkening back to a pre-internet, pre-social media world dominated by a U.S. president who refused to acknowledge the existence of AIDS, much less truly mobilize resources to fight the epidemic, because it was (mis-)understood to be “just a gay disease.” Yeah, it’s no coincidence that the puritanically romanticized re-imagining of the world they want to drag us into was in its hey day right around 1984.

Oh, wait. Did I get political again? Honestly, if you don’t recognize that your life, your passion, your homoerotic wrestling kink, your sexuality, and your very existence are political, you should should probably wake up right about now. Wake up. Act up. Keep yourself safe, but recognize that this is a shit show. New players. New technology. But this is a shit show we’ve seen before. And, while far from everyone survived the 80’s the first time, yet, we endured. So, join me in making a commitment to celebrate homoerotic wrestling in 2026. Not because someone else has given you permission to, but because we are fierce and beautiful and defiant and passionate, and we will continue to endure.

The New Me

November 11, 2025November 11, 2025 wrestlebard2 Comments

This is the time of year when I start getting excited for the holidays. I mean, sure, Thanksgiving is tolerable, and I enjoy exchanging presents around Christmas. New Year’s Eve means less and less to me as I grow older, it seems, but MLK, Jr. Day later in January feels like it’s growing in pertinence and urgency this year. But for the past few years, what I think of as the climax of the holiday season is really the Presidents Day holiday, aka Wrestlefest NYC. A few months ago, I was more ambivalent, grousing about how expensive a weekend in Manhattan is and the hassles of travel. But at this point, the excitement and anticipation have taken over, as I think about a few hundred sexy men who all share the same passion for wrestling that I do suddenly concentrated within a few blocks of Penn Station. Meeting up with old friends, being shoulder to shoulder in a bar with wall-to-wall singlet-wearing hunks, watching a live homoerotic wrestling show, and, oh yeah, throwing down with opponents I’ve enjoyed wrestling before and squaring off against a few new wild cards… that quantity and quality of eager anticipation I used to feel as a kid for the approach of Christmas is now entirely transferred to Presidents Day (which, ironically, was probably my most forgettable holiday when I was a kid).

BG East’s recent release of Motel Madness 25: Revenge stokes that eager excitement for the sexy spontaneity of a Wrestlefest. There’s the public side of Wrestlefest that, honestly, I enjoy just about as much as the private wrestling side. Motel Madness 25 opens in the loud, crowded bar that’s hosted opening night live oil wrestling at WFNYC the past couple of years. You can hear the electricity in the air in the appreciative hoots and whistles when Mickey Knoxx and Bobby Carter are introduced. Watching a couple of EXTREMELY lucky fans/wrestlers get the honors of coating both of these gorgeous boys’ bodies in oil as the crowd roars with excitement punches that intensely hot button of public homoeroticism that has me turned on immediately. It reminds me of the BGE at Paradise matches that regularly pop up in the shuffle of wrestling content I get off to, when all eyes are on these barely clad muscle boys getting liberally lubricated with everyone simmering with envy for the hands that get the honors of applying the oil.

I probably should disclose again that I am completely biased about both Bobby Carter and Mickey Knoxx. To be completely honest, I love both of these guys. As I’ve mentioned before, I got to know them a bit online before meeting them in person, and they’re just solid, genuine, good people. I probably over-identify with Bobby’s encyclopedic knowledge and passion for homoerotic wrestling videos, although, as proud as I am of mine, Bobby’s familiarity with every gay wrestling video produced in the past 30 years puts me to shame. And Mickey’s combination of introvert/shyness and uninhibited debauchery absolutely charms the pants off of me. I’ve since enjoyed hanging out with both of them, and they both feel like friends I’ve known all my life. Honestly, when they started showing up in BG East releases, I sort of worried that feeling a personal connection with them off camera might be an obstacle to me lustfully objectifying them on camera.

I need not have worried. Fuck, they’re hot as hell! When they start wrestling in that way-too-small blow-up pool in the bar, it’s homoerotic poetry in motion. Bobby’s body blows my mind. He’s got the tapered-V torso of a competitive bodybuilder, with that tiny waist and magnificent muscled ass that belongs on a comic book superhero. I know for a fact that Bobby is way cerebral, but there’s something just raw and carnal about this gear he kicks into when he’s wrestling. And I’ve never NOT swooned at the sight of Mickey, especially when he wrestles, but, yeah, any fucking time. He’s got those supernatural fey king eyes that are almost as paralyzingly gorgeous as his perfect ass. Like Bobby, he’s also got that sensational ability to be nowhere else than in the match when he’s wrestling. Neither of them seem to have an ounce of self-consciousness about them. They’re just going at it like there’s nothing else in the world but a super hot opponent vying for control. The oil wrestling is perfectly balanced between eroticism and wrestling. It’s not like the tight confines of the pool lend themselves to serious competition, but fuck, they pull off some astonishingly beautiful wrestling despite the geography and oil. Like, how in the hell does Mickey hold that suspended bearhug with so much glistening lubrication? I’m genuinely gritting my teeth in concern for both of them when Bobby hoists Mickey into a stunning erotic sculpture of a torture rack, but holy hell, he locks Mickey down as if they weren’t confined to a 6’x4′ plastic rectangle and coated in oil.

No one’s a loser, but Bobby owns Mickey’s gorgeous body to the delight of the bar crowd before all is said and done. Mickey doesn’t appear to hold a grudge as they make out in exhaustion, but looks may be deceiving. Because the second match of Motel Madness 25: Revenge picks up the story at WFNYC a year later. Mickey’s invited Bobby to his hotel room for a rematch, and his preternaturally fog-colored eyes look fiercely determined. The erotic tension is instantly thick in the air as they check out each other’s phenomenal physiques poured into tight singlets. Their scrap continues to teeter on that lust/competition edge, until right around the moment that Mickey suddenly grabs Bobby by the ankles and viciously stomps on the bodybuilder’s balls until Bobby submits. Bobby is clutching his assaulted testicles and gasping in shock when Mickey finally lets him go. “I don’t remember you being that mean,” Bobby observes. “It’s the new me,” Mickey snarls back like a boss.

The action continues to be mean and intense in a way that only makes it that much sexier to me (and, quite obviously, to Bobby and Mickey, as well). The scrap on the portable wrestling mats is rough, like that super sexy camel choke where Mickey grabs one of the stripped singlets and uses it to strangle his trapped opponent. It’s when the action spills onto the bed, though, that things get serious. Honestly, wrestling on a mattress typically slows things way down for me, but these two dial it up as soon as the sheets start flying. Bobby sits on Mickey’s face in a foldover pin and wedgies that Tauwell singlet so deep Mickey’s choking on it.

You can tell who’s the loser in the hotel room based on who’s screaming and begging and obediently saying the winner’s name on demand. But it’s all just poetry at that point. The pain and pleasure are just delicious notes in the lustful concoction Mickey and Bobby brew up in that Manhattan high rise hotel. The product is subtitled “revenge,” but this dish is served steaming hot and both gorgeous men are savoring every mouthful with an open genuineness that just can’t be faked.

Fuck, now I seriously can’t wait for Wrestlefest NYC!

Mayhem

September 5, 2025September 17, 2025 wrestlebard1 Comment

Watching Watchfighters Rumble Match – Part 1 gives me so many vibes of being at a Wrestlefest. Actually, it specifically gives me vibes of being at Wrestlefest Canada. I swear I stayed in that hotel room! Well, I’m pretty sure it’s at the hotel I stayed at when I enjoyed attending WF Canada three summers ago. But the vibes are about a lot more than the accommodations. There’s this serendipity about the pop-up community that forms at a fest. My best analogy is to summer camp, where you look forward to getting thrown into this community of people outside of your regular life, and the proximity and shared interests and just everyone stepping outside their lives and into this chosen community creates this incredibly fun esprit de corps. The (no shit) 13 wrestlers who join Sir Dark’s rumble in WF Rumble Match – Part 1 all look like they’re having a fucking blast.

It was at Wrestlefest Canada I experienced my first of many group mat matches. The rumble has all of those elements, but bigger and more intense and with an even more out of control feel of a melee. The premise is, like a pro wrestling rumble, a new wrestler is added to the mix every so often, and wrestlers are eliminated when they submit. And that’s it. Like, that’s all the rules. So the wrestling drama depends entirely on the luck of the draw, pacing, and the fickle alliances and betrayals that play out depending on who happens to be on the mat at any given time. It’s absolute chaos AND it’s got this compelling momentum that I can’t take my eyes off of.

I’m tuned in for my favorites featured, of course. Sir Dark appears to be the mastermind of the mayhem, which, honestly, is so on brand. If you could bottle chaos, I think he’d guzzle it daily. He’s got this constant edge of unpredictability about him, I think showcased never more clearly than in his Wrestlefest Live match last February in NYC. But he’s souped up and riding the feral edge about him as this rumble starts up, but holy shit is he in there with the yin to his yang. Ethan Axel Andrews is the other wrestler to kick off the Rumble, and he’s more like a cruise missile. Their opening scrap against each other is one of the most intense of the next 20 minutes, which sort of makes sense because all their attention is on each other, and their both fresh and primed. Ethan is rolling, exploiting his size advantage for a bit when he latches on a leglock and threatens to snap the Dark one at the knee. Sir Dark screams at him with total bile and adrenaline, “Fuck off, NO!” Fuck, that guy rocks me.

Every minute (or so, the timing isn’t entirely precise), a countdown signals the arrival of a new wrestler to join the fray. In these raucous 20 minutes, favorite wrestlers of mine show up in the mix and I’m unable to stop myself from cheering at my screen. Mickey Knoxx comes in hot, flexing and strutting and wasting no time tearing into Feroce in a completely unfair double team with Demonflex. Isaac Andrews comes in looking gorgeous as fuck with his hairy chest and beard. Kayden Keller and Chase Addams turn the heat way, way up when they take each take their turns as the fresh man diving into the mix.

Just like it works at a fest, though, there are also these unexpected finds, wrestlers I don’t think I’ve ever seen before but once I do, I can’t take my eyes off of them. The fourth entrant is introduced as Mischief. He’s adorable, with this gentle giant feel about him as he strides onto the mat. And then, holy fuck, there’s nothing gentle about Mischief! The guy is grinning ear to ear the entire time, so transparently loving that uncorked chaos Sir Dark is serving up. Two things in particular about Mischief make me swoon. One is just how much delight he takes in muscle bullying a smaller opponent. No apologies. No giving a little guy a fighting chance. He just licks his lips and tucks in to the bite sized morsels with relish. The other thing that catches my eye and turns me on about Mischief is this go to move he has of buttoning an opponent up and just clamping his huge hand over the guy’s face and refusing to let the fucker breathe. He does that more than once, and it’s such a fucking BOSS move.

There are some other new-to-me wrestlers that instantly impress me. I’ve seen Feroce DeLeon on Watchfighters before, but I was not expecting just how much absolute abuse his hot body can soak up. I met Kevin Nova at that fest in Toronto a couple of years ago, and he’s buffed up and gotten super aggressive in a way that makes him fit right into this wild melee. I’ve followed Demonflex on social media for what seems like forever. We’ve had near-misses at scheduling a 1:1 for the two of us, and watching how much fun he has swimming in this chaos makes me want to make sure that meet up happens soon. Veneno is this tasty little masked scrapper who looks like he should get submitted super fast based on nothing but size, but there’s a short king under that mask who is taking on everyone and in the center of the fray at all times and holding his own like a terrier. For some reason I think I have seen Neil Rey somewhere, but I’m not placing him, but he’s fascinating to watch come in and join this big boy gang triple teaming the little guy on the mat at the time.

That little guy is the other new-to-me wrestler epiphany that caught my attention out of everything happening at once in the maelstrom. Honestly, I was worried about pretty boy B Sprite when he first showed up. I mean, this kid is pretty. Too pretty, and lithe, and lean, and he ends up in the turbulent waters right when there’s the likes of big, burly bad asses ripping into each other like Isaac and Kayden and Neil. I have to immediately reassess lovely B Sprite, though, when he doesn’t skip a beat, and half a second after stepping onto the mat he’s got a claw working on twisting Mickey’s balls off. Lovely B Sprite is fucking mean and skilled, and sure, maybe I’m just identifying with him because he goes after Mickey like he’s got blinders on.

Writing a review of the Rumble is a bit like trying to film it, I suspect. There’s just so many mini-dramas playing out, it’s impossible to see them all in one viewing. Actually, it’s impossible to see them all upon repeated viewings, because the camera misses some of the action on one side the mat while documenting the grappling on the other side of the mat. Like, I’m not sure what drove terrier-like Veneno to actually submit, because the camera and I were enthralled with watching Kayden lift Mickey by the balls, cradling the wailing Canadian across his chest, and then slamming Mickey down in a brutal gut buster. If you like clean edges and drawing within the lines, the Rumble may not be for you, because it’s super raw and spontaneous and messy. And I’m convinced every single one of those wrestlers is having an absolute blast because he loves wrestling, and he’s exhilarated by the chaotic brew Sir Dark is serving on tap.

I’m going to towel off and settle in for the Rumble part 2, now. I had no idea this was exactly the international wrestling drama I needed to take my mind off the end times!

Wrestlefest Live – 2025

February 26, 2025March 4, 2025 wrestlebard6 Comments

Like Wrestlefest itself, Wrestlefest Live grew in leaps and bounds this year. I attended WF Live last year, and it was an awesome, fascinating, intense, and immensely entertaining event. Last year, the Live show had the feel of getting smuggled into a speakeasy during prohibition. We were escorted, one elevator-full of wrestling fans at a time, to the undisclosed location. Seating was limited in a sparse, Manhattan loft space on the upper floor of a high rise. It was mat wrestling in front of an intimately small but enthusiastic crowd. The matches were bigger than the setting, really, with some fantastic, high profile wrestlers from the underground scene, stars of both self-published and corporately produced homoerotic wrestling. Seated inches away from match after match of sizzling hot bodies grappling for dominance was unlike anything I’d ever experienced before, and when the box office opened online for the show this year, I eagerly snatched mine up hours after they went on sale, which turned out to be a good thing, since the show sold out in about 12 hours.

Wrestlefest Live this year was billed as more. More matches, a lot more wrestlers (accounting for tag teams, celebrity refs, and unannounced ring takeovers, turned out to be A LOT), but the one element that piqued my interest most was the promise of a full blown pro wrestling show in a ring. I was in suspense, wondering how they’d pull this off, knowing it was set in the same club where the kickoff party had occurred the night before (see my account of drooling over Dio Characi there). I tried to moderate my expectations, frankly. I was picturing the possibility of sort of a backyard wrestling feel, but in this case, in the backroom of Red Eye. Let me be clear, I admire the fuck out of backyard wrestling, with the young wrestling enthusiasts who improvise a pro wrestling setting on the cheap in order to live out (and record and share) their fantasies of being larger than life pro wrestlers like the ones they love watching on TV. Sometimes the “ring” is a trampoline or maybe just a few traffic cones and an unsecured rope marking the imaginary boundaries of a ring. Seriously, I’ve enjoyed watching some backyard wrestling from time to time on YouTube, when I find some hot young men going all in for the raw love of it. However, I wondered if Wrestlefest Live this year might similarly require the audience to imagine more than it literally delivered, sort of like backyard wrestling enthusiasts with the passion, if not the actual equipment and budget, of indy pro wrestling.

But, whoa. Like, WHOA! This was a legit show, the actual incarnation of unapologetic pro wrestling for a homoerotic wrestling audience that I’ve always fantasized about but never quite believed I’d get to witness. Sometime between the end of the kick-off party and the start of the show, an army of elves (who I’ve since learned were primarily made of up many of the wrestlers in the show) literally assembled a pro wrestling ring in the back room of the club. It took up about 80% of the floor space, and they packed in the 70 or 80 of us who purchased tickets into the remaining 20%. You know how eager I was for this, considering I gave up the opportunity to keep chatting up Ben Monaco, Beau Jordan, and Mickey Knoxx at the bar to elbow my way to near the front of the line as soon as the doors opened. I scored a ringside seat near the corner of the ring where the wrestlers made their entrances. I mean, everyone had an up close and incredible view, but fuck, I could literally reach out and touch the ring. When Mickey Knoxx made his ring entrance with Rocko Mortis for their tag team match, he peeled off his top and tossed it out of the ring at my feet (I haven’t asked Mickey, but I prefer to believe it was intentional). Moments later, when their opponents, Beau Jordan and pinch-hitter Seon Cruz took the ring, Beau ripped off his tear-away stripper pants and also tossed them down right in front of me (again, I tell myself it was an intentional bit of titillation especially for me). Like, fuck, I was right fucking there! When Sid Shaw and Zach Reno’s off-the-rails match spilled out of the ring, it was nearly in my lap. For a couple of seconds, Sid had a hold of my shoulder and was trying to climb over me and my buddy next to me because sensationally sexy lightweight Zach was about to thrash the living shit out of him. Fuck, I was right there, and we were ALL right there, and what played out in front of us was incredibly hot, hilarious, and gorgeous pro wrestling action.

Most of the wrestlers on the card have grown up before our eyes, turning their passions for wrestling into entertaining videos on WatchFighters. Quite a few have headlined for companies like BG East, Wrestler4Hire, and Weekend Wrestling. I suspect few of them have done anything quite like this before, pulling off a live match in front of a roaring crowd of guys turned on by wrestling. But honestly, you wouldn’t have known it. The entire show had polish about it. There was an earnestness and unblinking sell about it that was totally un-self-conscious. The slams where hard and loud. Bodies were literally catapulted off the ropes. The face plants into the turnbuckles shook the ring and hurt just to watch. The slaps and stomps popped with this spontaneous authenticity that left bright red hand prints and yellowing bruises behind. I’m mean, sure, I’m certain there were moments that I needed to suspend my disbelief, but as I look back on my memories of the event just over a week ago, I honestly don’t remember them. I just remember the stories playing out in front of us. And the hot bodies. I remember those really well.

There were competitive matches packed with impressive athleticism and wrestling technique. Babyface hero Dash Halley put those meaty pecs of his on the line against massive muscle bruiser Leon Cyrus in a best-of-5 battle that hit hard and kept us guessing to the sweaty end. My buddy Bobby Carter’s match against the institution, Lobo Gris, also started as one of those highly competitive and suspenseful battles, with pounding muscles and long, wrenching submission holds. But all of the matches showcased personalities and drama at least as much as they did stunning athleticism and technical wrestling. Both of the tag team matches were both dripping with melodrama, which is what tag team wrestling demands. When Kid Canuck and Ryan Reilly faced off against MPJ and Bruno the Beast, there was a shocking tag team partner betrayal culminating in a humiliated jobber pile of hot, sexy, demolished pretty boys. In most of the matches there was the teetering back and forth of the balance of power, with wrestlers owning the momentum and taking liberties and threatening to count their chickens before they hatched. Oh, and did I mention there was hot, hunky stripper wrestling? I feel like that deserves to be repeated.

The messiest and the most polished matches were back-to-back. My pick for messiest match was Gabe Steel taking on Drew Harper… and then Gabe taking on Dash Halley… and then Gabe taking on surprise reveal of Jonny Firestorm… and then Gabe taking on both Gabe and Drew. It was all high impact moves, with piledrivers for days. Honestly, there was so much going on I lost the thread of what the hell was exactly happening and who I was rooting for. Entertaining? Absolutely. But way, beautifully messy. The Weekend Wrestling feature of the evening was pretty much the opposite. Sadistic Sid Shaw took on Zach Reno, as I mentioned before, and it was smooth and polished to a glistening shine (just like Zach’s ass, which yes, we saw). Sid and Zach told the story of the underdog little (hot) guy refusing to be intimidated by the big, unhinged muscle brute. There was forced stripping, trunks pulled to show off two sets of hot glutes, and spanking. It was tightly told, with a couple of extensively experienced wrestlers to make every bump and spank feel spontaneous and part of a bigger story, including pulling in some ass whooping on Cole Cassidy (Weekend Wrestling Producer) which was oddly satisfying (not sure why I keyed off on seeing heartthrob hunk heel Cole get his ass kicked as much as I did).

And then there were just these unique moments that speak to the diversity of wrestlers and wrestling that populate this fabulously sexy community. Sir Dark’s match was just entirely off the hook and unlike anything else in the ring that night (in a super fun way). He was feral and bloodthirsty, out to fuck someone up so bad that he impulsively takes out the ref before a pop-up challenger can be identified from the audience. When KC Ryder steps in to be the beautiful blond babyface hero to stand against the forces of chaos uncorked by maniacal Sir Dark, the drama really got intense. Their match was ego-fueled and larger than life. It was sexy as hell and had me holding my breath in suspense and awe. Not sure if I’m conveying it, but it was just a whole different flavor to add to the buffet of Wrestlefest Live. The inaugural championship match between beefy babyface Ben Monaco and take-no-prisoners muscle heel Tarz Lando was (possibly) the the most thoroughly sweet treat for squash fans. The championship belt was decided in a super hot muscle massacre, dripping with cocky swagger and taunting trash talk and gorgeous, huge hairy pecs everywhere. The range throughout the evening was delightful, and the bench was deep.

It wasn’t perfect. There was a 20-minute delay at one point to try to troubleshoot the livestream that stopped working. There were blown moves, an occasional oversell, and even a frew more undersells. I saw Gabe Steel icing a swollen-shut eye after his match, and I’ve seen hints on social media that he may have more story to tell about things that didn’t go to plan. But as a gay fan turned on by wrestling, by sexy wrestlers and the drama and the battle for domination, it was magnificent. It was larger than life. From the rainbow ring to the ball claws and face sitting, it luxuriantly gay. It showed a ton of respect for the art and science and athleticism and beauty of professional wrestling. And it felt deeply respectful to a standing-room-only crowd of homoerotic wrestling fans. Those with credits for this sensational production included KC Ryder, Rocko Mortis, Cole Cassidy, and my cousin Scooter for what had to be a shit ton of upfront organizing and legwork, and there was another small army of guys holding the cameras and running the equipment. A quick shout out to the hot, handsome nerd-hunk ring announcer who should’ve thrown down the mic and ripped off his shirt (but didn’t). All of the celebrity refs (Chase Addams, Ethan Axel Andrews, and new-to-me muscle god Boy Radio) brought the sexy-in-stripes vibe and helped stir the pot of drama inside the ring at every turn. The Red Eye staff were uniformly delightfully hospitable and gorgeous (especially the bearded server with that hot-ass singlet serving drinks at ringside). I look forward to posting more detailed reviews once the matches go up on WatchFighters, but in the meantime, I’m combing through my hundreds of pics and videos I snapped, despite the announcement at the start of the show encouraging us to only take pics and videos “sparingly.” So not sorry!

A Few Are Familiar With Me

February 15, 2025 wrestlebard2 Comments

I’ve been flying a bit under the radar this year for Wrestlefest NYC, but I’m happy to report that I’m back to enjoy it again this weekend. It’s a bit wild how quickly events like this went from being crazy intimidating to me the first time to just cruising in and looking forward to seeing old friends. Reports are that this is likely the biggest fest by far, with more than 600 attendees having RSVPed. I know for a fact some of the RSVPs didn’t show, and there’s really no “registration” or check-in, so how many wrestlers have descended on Penn Station this weekend is unknowable. However, based on the opening kick-off party last night, I’m convinced there is a huge collection of wrestlers concentrated in just a few city blocks in downtown Manhattan right now, and it’s pretty exciting to be part of it.

The kick-off party last night was overstimulating in every way. Scooter and his tireless band of volunteer organizers put together an amazing event at a club devoted, for the evening, to just those of us here for Wrestlefest. Two floors were packed pec-to-pec with sensationally hot wrestlers in singlets, trunks, or less. The eye candy was dizzying. Bodies in all shapes and sizes were there, but one mantra kept echoing in my thoughts about absolutely everyone: “Fuck, wrestling does a body good!”

Everywhere I turned was another homoerotic wrestling celebrity sighting. Many of them I count as friends, but are nonetheless members of the pantheon that set alight the homoerotic wrestling fantasies of so many of us. Canadian Mickey Knoxx was there wearing nothing but irony (i.e., an American flag leather jacket and star-spangled ultra briefs). I also got a hug in on Bobby Carter, showing off the body that’s been setting BG East and Watchfighters on fire this year. It felt like coming home, getting sweaty hugs from Drake Marcos, Chase Addams, and Ollie Watts.

Just as exciting was meeting some new friends for the first time in person. I may, or may not, have awkwardly insisted on giving Beau Jordan a hug. I mean hell, I can’t really start my day without a strong cup of black tea and Beau’s fashion singlet morning jerk off on Blue Sky, so I feel like I know him intimately despite having never met before last night. It was Sir Dark who gave me an spontaneous hug after figuring out I’m the guy he’s chatted with on social media and who’s been swooning over his Watchfighters matches. I unabashedly fanboy-ed on Steve Mason, who managed to be disarmingly and smolderingly magnetic despite being one of the few there in street clothes.

It’s hard to describe just how overstimulated I was, hoarse from shouting over the noise, packed in tight with acres of sexy wrestlers, some of whom I only managed to admire from a distance. I’m not ashamed to say I swooned over JJ Allen’s tree trunk thighs, Lobo Gris’ magnificent ass, and Tarz Lando’s huge, hairy pecs. I clocked celebrity sightings of Matt Larsen, Rocko Mortis, Nero the Beast, Isaac Andrews, and Ben Monaco. I introduced myself to Ryan Reilly, who’s been grabbing my attention on social media lately, and discovered that’s he’s as adorably charming as he is stunningly sexy.

At one point, I caught sight of this blindly hot hunk across the way waiting for a drink at the bar. I didn’t get a good look at his face at first, distracted as I was by his hot body poured into this absolutely perfect singlet. When I did finally get a look at his face, I knew that I know him… like, know him well! But, still, it took me a good half a minute before I realized who I was eye fucking: Dio Characi. Dio traveled as part of a herd of devastatingly sexy, gorgeous young hotties in singlets, but I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to fanboy. I blatantly interrupted his conversation with his hot, bearded companion (truly sorry, bearded hot guy), and managed to introduce myself. Now, I’ve chatted just a bit with Dio by DM before, but for some reason, I was nervous as hell. He’s almost ethereally beautiful. I mean, one of the epiphanies for me last night was that every single wrestler I’ve lusted over watching wrestle on video was even more stunningly beautiful in person by at least a magnitude of 5. But Dio was even more stunningly beautiful than he is on video by a magnitude of 12 (approximately). I honestly kept thinking that I should probably let him get back to grazing with his herd of gorgeous hotties, but no shit, his face lit up when he placed that I was “that guy” who writes about him. Turns out, he’s charming as fuck (sorry Chase), seemingly almost as delighted to be fanboyed as I was to fanboy. I had to explain to a friend who was with us who Dio was (I know, and I totally agree with you… I need to slap that friend upside the head someday for somehow NOT knowing who Dio Characi is). And I was explaining, in front of Dio, that Dio is a wrestling superstar. And Dio quietly, demurely shrugged his big, muscular shoulders and shyly corrected me: “A few are familiar with me.” Lest my poorly informed friend believe the grossest undersell of the century, I repeated more emphatically that Dio is a fucking SUPERSTAR! And I kid you not, Dio practically blushed, and again, humbly insisted, “A few are familiar with me.”

I say all this for a couple of reasons. One reason is to just fucking brag that I had a delightful, real life conversation with Dio Characi. If I die in the forecast blizzard on my way home tomorrow, I still say it was worth it. But really, my point is just what a delight it is to get to swim around in so much good will in this wrestling community of ours. I mean, sure, there are egos. There’s drama. Literally, I overheard in the deafening din of the club last night conversations about ageism and racism and body fascism. It’s not like being united by a shared delight in homoerotic wrestling breaks down all biases and barriers and makes us better human beings. However, I do suspect it might make us, on average, happier human beings – and not in just an “I’ve got mine” sort of way. I suspect a large majority of the hundreds in attendance last night shared, at least briefly, the same sense of wonder and awe that I experienced at the size and scope of the community gathered there, and the unmistakable fact that who was there was just the tip of the iceberg. It’s bold and ballsy and beautiful, and it’s something to be celebrated. What divides us doesn’t surprise me at all, and I don’t mean to minimize it, but what unites us and what seemed to infuse that loud, sweaty club full of wrestlers last night, was a shared passion and the remarkable good will that can emerge from being community together.

Simply the Best

January 26, 2024 wrestlebard4 Comments

In the past, I’ve talked with more than one on-camera wrestler who’s described their strong ambivalence about the year-end award seasons. From a fan perspective, it’s all fun and games, speculating on our favorites and comparing our picks with the the average votes of other fans. I imagine from a company’s perspective, it’s just good marketing, drumming up attention on the catalogs they’ve logged over the previous 12 months and maybe giving a little extra sales push from the attention. And I’ve heard wrestlers sincerely excited to be nominated, enjoying the love sent their way whether they win or lose. But I’ve understood the sentiment when wrestlers have described how it can be actively invalidating at times. Like, maybe they were so proud of a particular match that they starred in, but it wasn’t even nominated. Or they worked so fucking hard for months in a caloric deficit to make those abs pop, but didn’t get a mention. Honestly, the LAST thing I want is for a hot, eager homoerotic wrestler to feel invalidated for putting themselves out there. That’s the opposite of what this blog is about. Let’s all normalize the celebration of all sexy wrestlers following their passions on camera for our enjoyment!

That said, I still find myself getting swept up in the awards season hoopla. Jakob commented here a few weeks ago that he’d like to hear my personal picks, just in case my tastes might direct his attention somewhere fun. That seems cool to me and, hopefully, in the spirit of validating the beauty and art of homoerotic wrestling. So, I’ll reflect a little on the nominees and winners of the BG East Besties, and weigh in with any additional nominees I’d like to add, in the spirit of hopefully reinforcing more of my favorite wrestling hunks to keep going at it.

The slate of Sexiest Match nominees was super competitive, so kudos to the nominating committee (yeah, yeah, I’m on the committee)! And, honestly, the fan favorite winner, X-Fights 58: Dio Characi vs. Kayden Keller, was my pick. But if you’re looking for top tier sexy fucking wrestling, all of the nominees are golden. Wrestle Worship 5 was also on my short list. Mat Scraps 4 makes me salivate like Pavlov’s dog just thinking about it. Into burly bear daddies beating the living fuck out of hardbodied twinks? Dive into X-Fights 58 match 1. Really, anything with Dio and/or Forrest in it. Or Zach. The only match from my short list that didn’t get into the nominations was Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 with debuting Zach Ramos burning down the house against rising erotic muscle heel Gabe Steel.

Best Mat Battle nominees also strong, though there were so many hot and hard fought mat battles this year. My top pick was Mickey and Forrest in Undagear 37, which was nominated but didn’t get the fan vote. Fuck, the intensity in that match made me felt like I was the one taking all those vicious slaps to the face! I also had Mat Scraps 4, because… see my comments above regarding anything with Dio and/or Forrest.

Best Ring Match was a foregone conclusion for me, and apparently for the majority of voters. Anything that starts with “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” was destined to make me lose several loads. The Comeback 3 might have been competitive for that reason alone, but fuck no, Brad, Jonny, and debuting Kal Connors all three made that match crazy hot, hilarious, and flinch-worthy vicious! My short list also had the Hunkbash 29 tag team of Firestorm/Steel vs. rookies Vigo/Angeles, because it was so unexpectedly off the rails spontaneous and messy. Like, so fucking fiercely messy, I couldn’t take my eyes off of it. And by “it” I mean more than just Vinny’s ass. But… yeah, Vinny’s ass. But again, I’ve got nothing but love for all of the nominees. Any other year, and any of them could’ve owned the crown. But “welcome Brad Rochelle back to the ring” is the anthem of 2023, as far as I’m concerned.

For Best Body, here’s particularly where I don’t want anyone to feel invalidated, because the quality of hot bodies on camera in 2023 was just so insanely high. Last year’s winner and my pick again was Dio, but newcomer Kal Connor stole the title from him. And fuck, Kal… yep, a fucking stunningly crafted body, particularly for the fitness and aesthetics. Like, Kal beating out Monstah Mike (runner up) sort of sums up the quandry of a contest like this. Just two completely different physiques, both jaw droppingly hot, both get me hard the instant I see them, both the product of a genetic lottery and a whole lot of hard fucking work. Tanner, Tony, Vinny… the also-rans are all deleriously sexy hot bodied hunks. I nominated Tony and Vinny, in addition to Dio. But honestly, if we accept that differently built bodies make equally legitimate claims to be best, I’d add Forrest, Jesse, Hayden, Jason/George, Paris. All you boys who’ve got the balls to stare the camera in the eye and flash those double biceps wearing nothing left to the imagination… you ALL rock me hard.

The Top Heel category brings up a little controversy for me. The title officially switched hands after Kayden owned it for the better part of the past decade. It returned to the hands of former winner and institution, Jonny, so that makes sense. At the risk of bumping into Kayden or Jonny sometime and getting my ass kicked, I have to say that I nominated and voted for Brendan. Kayden’s loss to Ace Aarons in Ruff ‘n’ Raunchy 7 honestly shook me out of Kayden’s corner. That match still sort of haunts me for the drama and the seriously weird dynamics of the heel-on-heel story. Nobody on the list is undeserving, but I’m honestly keying in lately more to the likes of Brendan and Mike.

Dio Characi, repeated for Top Babyface. When you look up babyface in the dictionary, it should have his picture. I think every match description I’ve written for him and every review I’ve done has used the word “cherubic.” Fuck… again, see my comments above about anything Dio floating my boat. Sunny DeLeon also just embodies that babyface vibe. Honestly, though, I actually nominated Lobo Gris, Damian Pike, and Kal Connor. Though Damian didn’t make it to the ballot, I stand by him deserving the nod. Runner-up Jason/George didn’t even occur to me, not because he’s not devastatingly handsome, but just because he has a “fuck you” edge to him that makes me not think of him quite as a babyface. But again, all good, particularly if we add Damian…. and Mickey.

Forrest as Jobber of the Year again just fits. Dude has a corner on the market of pissing off heels in just the right way to get his SENSATIONAL ass (more on that in a moment) kicked harder and harder. He was my pick, and my nominee Freddy also got to the ballot. My other nominee was Kal, who didn’t get to the category, probably because we’re all still trying to peg exactly what role he inhabits most naturally in the BGE universe. Runner-Up Tanner is a sensational sufferer, of course. Damian is totally worthy. Hayden was a steller muscle jobber, but he was in only one match, his debut, late in the year, so I feel like timing was just off for him.

Debut of the Year went to Kal, who wasn’t even on my shortlist, but not because he doesn’t deserve the accolade. I just felt he also showed up pretty late in the year, giving us only a couple of glimpses, which isn’t his fault, but it did make me settle my nominations and vote elsewhere. Mickey Knoxx was, hands down, my pick for this category. I cannnot get enough of him ever since I caught his debut, and he’s kept coming in his rookie year showing something new and intense and fucking SEXY every time out of the gate. Really, same for my second place pick of Zach Ramos. I nominated Tony for this category because I could only nominate three, and I literally flipped a coin between Vinny and Tony for that third spot. Didn’t matter, though, because he didn’t make the slate. But I felt like, again, he just did more and showed more than, say, Ronin or Hayden did. Every one of them, including Tony and Vinny, were a sensational bench of rookies this year, though. No complaints from me, to be honest.

Now with the body part categories, see my comments above about celebrating EVERYONE. Voters picked Kal for best abs. The stunningly pretty boy probably hasn’t had a carb in years to craft that 6-pack, so of course that makes sense. And runner up Rocky… same. I actually voted for Jason/George because his abs just scream to me for someone to pound on them, which opponents almost always do, and his gut is a wall of muscle in a way that doesn’t show up quite like the classic 6-pack. Same for Dio, really… I really want to do a body shot off of his beautiful abs. Hayden and Vinny… totally. Either of them could show up and OWN this house based on the raw material.

The Best Bulge vote is always super personal, right? I didn’t even nominate Dio, but please, do, give him any award, because that Brazilian god is fucking priceless. I’m not even really sure what I’m looking for in a nominee for Best Bulge anymore, without Mr. Joshua or Pete Sharp in the mix. I nominated Brendan and Zach because I’ve fixated on their bulges this year, but neither of them got to the slate. Happy to celebrate runner-up Forrest’s bulge (and ANYTHING else we want to celebrate about him… see my several comments above about him and Dio owning it). And totally, Ash, Ace, Tanner, Kal… nice bulges, hotties! Kal’s peekabo wardrobe malfunction (<–credit there to my buddy AR who I first heard refer to Kal’s balls popping out in Comeback that way) was another sexy moment that made 2023 quite memorable for me. Honestly, though, all bulges are perfect, in my book, when they’re attached to a fierce grappling hunk.

And then there’s the Best Butt category. Winner Monstah Mike was third on my shortlist, so no real complaints there. Him shoving Brendan’s face between those monstrously massive cheeks sort of drove home just what an awesome claim he has on that title. And before I bitch, let me just say I am such a huge fan of all of the other nominees on the list. Now I’ve gotten that out of the way… WHAT… THE… FUCK with the omission of Mickey Knoxx and Forrest Taylor’s DAZZLINGLY sexy glutes!? Honestly, in my mind, I just kept going back to Mickey and Forrest’s match in Undagear 37 to try to decide which ass I crushed on hardest. It was Mickey’s, by the way. But more to the point, neither of these guys even hit the slate!?!? This is not the first time this category has born my wrath. This is one of those moments where I turn into a raving fanatic who CANNOT see how my infatuations (Mickey and Forrest’s asses) objectively were overlooked for this category. Someone’s thumb was on this scale. I call for an official inquiry. I call shenanigans, damn it!!!!!

Now that I’ve gotten that out of my system, I can be more magnanimous with the last of the categories I wanted to send up. Hottest Liplock… see my half a dozen comments above about Dio and Forrest. I actually give my vote to Forrest and Mickey’s angry hot liplock in Undagear 37, but it’s a toss up among so many scorching hot kisses. Personally, I put Zach and Lobo’s HUNGRY face sucking in second place from Florida Fights 11, but it just goes to show how hard it can be to compare different styles and tones of liplocks. All awesome nominees. All hail Dio and Kayden for a well deserved victory!

Any of you hot, hardworking wrestlers that didn’t get a nomination or were nominated, but didn’t win… I see you. You’re fucking sensational, just the way you are. This little awards exercise is all about us and our whims and peculiarities, and marketing, and not about what fucking sensationally sexy, gorgeous, courageous, fierce, and fabulous athletes you are. If you ever need a little validation, hit me up. I will tell it to you straight (well…. you know what I mean), and I can guarantee you, I think you’re a fucking star!

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