Next May, I’ll be celebrating the 15-year anniversary of starting this blog (someone remind me to celebrate). Just FYI, it’s the crystal anniversary, in case you’re searching for a gift. In those early days, I was figuring out what this blog was about and working to find my voice. There was more pop culture, more hunky journalists, more attempt at incisive critique, and a LOT less use of the word fuck.
Fuck, we’ve come a long way. So much has changed, but some things haven’t. Like, back when I was trying to decide if I’m a homoerotic wrestling “critic,” I posted a lot more about things I didn’t like than I do now. These days, if a wrestler or a match or a gimmick or a company isn’t a pleasure, I don’t take time to try to execute some take down about what doesn’t work for me. But more than a decade ago, I posted the occasional bitch and rant about a particular wrestler who’s overexposed, or a wrestler who (however pretty he might be) irritates me because he sucks so bad as a wrestler.
In hindsight, it makes sense to me that I got pushback, heat even, and sometimes brutal attempts at taking me or my tastes down. Like, I’d bitch about Rio Garza looking soooo pretty, but being overexposed and a poor sell, and one fierce Rio fan would come to his defense with a flame thrower. I complained about Z-Man being a ham and self-consciously over the top, and Z-Man devotees would insult my character and disparage my intelligence. In those early days, I sort of thought that “call ’em like I see ’em” approach to lobbing complaints into the ether lent me credibility, but it set a tone that I honestly regretted, pretty quickly.
I really started trying to right the ship when commenters began leaving scathing, intentionally cruel insults about wrestlers that I praised. There have been a few moments when I’ve debated just turning off all comments, but I’ve generally leaned toward just disallowing particular comments that become personal attacks on specific people. Particularly after I began to interact with these wrestlers, it seemed in poor taste to allow anonymous commenters to talk shit about them, probably mostly just to irritate me for some opinion that they didn’t like. I’ve intercepted or deleted some seriously messed up shit that commenters have put out there, insulting wrestlers’ looks, their bodies, their intelligence, all lobbed facelessly from proxy email addresses in an attempt to torch someone, apparently just for sport.
Again, I realize I contributed to that dynamic early on, but holy fuck, some homoerotic wrestling fans just want to burn some shit down! And it’s as if we all want to “win” the homoeroticism Olympics, or something. Like, there are readers who seem to NEED to convince me that I MUST become infatuated with what they are infatuated by. It includes the superfans who get irritated with me for not writing more about their favorite wrestlers, but it also includes the kinks and niches of homoeroticism that I may, or may not, necessarily get into. There was a superfan of foot worship who came on SO fucking strong for a while, like some sort of televangelist implying eternal hell and damnation if I didn’t spontaneously ejaculate over a sexy pair of bare feet. I mean, honestly, I was curious and explored the intense world of erotic foot worship when he started commenting about it, to really give it a chance. It’s not exactly my thing, I concluded. I mean, fuck, sexy feet are sexy feet, and there’s some value added to the rare toe suck in a homoerotic wrestling match for me. But I’m not exactly a convert, and it isn’t at the heart of what turns me on hard enough to take the time to write about here.
Gut punchers sometimes come on super strong that way too, like they must convince me to obsess over gut punching and only gut punching or else they must destroy me. Again, enthusiastic gut punchers (front of the line, of course, is Ash DeLeon) have definitely got me to watch a lot more gut punching-themed content than I might have otherwise, so the enthusiasm is NOT wasted on me, I swear. And fuck, some solid punching to a chiseled set of rock hard abs is like exclamation points to the sexiest beat poetry ever. I certainly get what watching gut punching is giving me, which is a little espresso shot of adrenaline around the time my heart is already pounding in my chest, my cock already in hand, and I’m riding the wave for as long as it’ll take me. Watching gut punching by itself, though, doesn’t get me off. It’s a super nice element in the overall drama of a homoerotic battle, but I don’t experience it quite the same way you hardcore gut punching fanatics do. It’s not my thing in quite the way it is for some.
And I’m totally cool with that. Actually, I really love that! Homoerotic wrestling is a whole lot more delightfully nuanced than anyone outside of our community realizes, I’m sure. My tastes and triggers have been shaped by the enthusiasm of others, and I think that’s an amazingly awesome outcome to blogging for 14+ years and commenting with readers and exchanging emails and interacting on social media. I don’t need everyone to agree with me that what turns me on hardest has to turn them on hardest, as well, though. If you don’t fucking swoon over the sight of Scott Williams slightly dropping his jaw open a bit as he twists his hips and injects pulses of power into his headscissors in a match, that’s okay with me. I mean, I find it bewildering, but I accept it. As I’ve told Scott often and recently, I defy him to find someone to challenge my self-appointed status as his #1 fan and president of his fan club. If your crotch didn’t instantly twitch with excitement when you first heard Lon Dumont’s baritone voice dispassionately demanding that Eddy Rey flex on-demand for him, I can still sleep at night, because my thing doesn’t have to be your thing for me to be incredibly pleased that it’s my thing.
This is a rambling post, I realize, but here’s the point: the homoerotic wrestling community is big enough for us to celebrate our diverse passions, and not have to try to burn each other to the ground if we don’t hang our hats on the same pegs. I realize I’m sounding like someone’s grandpa here, but it feels to me like there’s so much slash and burn happening in public discourse in general, and sometimes, it feels to me like it’s got a strong foothold in homoeroticism and wrestling kink circles. I won’t allow comments here on the blog that insult wrestlers, that trash the people who have the balls to strip down to nothing/next to nothing and grapple with one another for our pleasure. I’m relatively thick-skinned in terms of critiques of me and my tastes, but honestly, I’m not interested in being converted by anyone. I enjoy the passionate fan, the commenter eager to make sure I’ve seen a wrestler or a match that particularly turns them on. That’s what this blog has become for me for most of its life, really. Me sharing what’s turning me on, in the hopes it may promote the things that I find so hot, and occasionally me getting the benefit of a few hundred other sets of eyes and tastes of similarly (if not identically) minded fans of homoerotic wrestling. But no one wins if anyone’s enthusiasm succeeds only in shaming and scolding someone else away from doing what they love or enjoying what turns them on.
For any wrestlers who I’ve offended in the past with misguided attempts to deliver harsh love in the form of brutal critique here on the pages of this blog, I apologize. I like to think that I’m more mature and wiser these days, so I hope that hasn’t happened in a while. And, those of you you slayed in the spirit televangelists out there that want to threaten me or anyone else with hell and damnation if we don’t see things the way you do can keep doing your thing. I certainly can’t stop you, even though I can, and occasionally do, prevent you from trying to set fires in the comments here on this blog. I honor your thing, and am happy for you that it gets you off. But it’s okay with me if my thing isn’t your thing, and if your thing isn’t my thing.