|A pic of wrestler Randy Orton, otherwise known as the Viper...rough and ready for action here|
Just like those gladiators of yore, men fighting each other to prove the ultimate dominance has always been hot, and demanding an audience.
It's just I wasn't one of them, until recently.
I had watched wrestling years before when it was on television--at other people's houses. I had some mild interest--I was even able to name some of the top wrestlers of the time. This has become altogether different, where I am snatching the converter out of my hubby's hand as the clock inches forward to eight o'clock to see the best of testosterone fueled rage being pummeled out of various opponents.
It all started innocently enough. My poor hubby has all but given up getting me into hockey. Canadian men and their hockey addiction cannot be easily dismissed, but for me, watching men skate around chasing a puck never peaked my interest. In fact, I couldn't name one single sport I cared about. Even the Olympics produced a yawn out of me, which is damn unpatriotic of me I know.
It started as a bit of a joke, when my husband started flicking on WWE a few months ago. "Look, there's your countryman. I bet you like him." The countryman, was in fact an Irish man sharing my heritage, who I learned held the current WWE Heavy Weight title. With flaming red hair and blue eyes, this big brute of a man had a complexion so pale his hard sculpted muscles could have been carved in marble. Unusual looking, yes. Even striking. I nodded vaguely at the tv screen.
|Red hair, blue eyes and fierce Celtic pride...a bit of alright!|
This teasing continued as the weeks went on, with my husband watching and joking about my 'crush' that he had designated me with. I found myself staring at this man, who I learned was called Sheamus and billed as the Celtic Warrior, and starting to notice his thighs are like massive tree trunks. In fact, his muscular body is so proportional it's like Michaelangelo designed him. He obliterates his opponents with sheer brutality and fierce strength. God, is that sexy. However politically incorrect it could be considered, seeing a man who could protect you is a deep seated primal need that no woman should have to explain. Seeing his chest heaving with exertion, his body coated with sweat as he wins yet another match, puts my heart all aflutter. I mean, this is the call of my Celtic ancestors stirring my blood I am sure. How can I be expected to fight it? Add these soap opera inspired WWE stories, and I am suddenly hooked.
|Sheamus, WWE Heavy Weight Champion and his aforementioned awesome thighs|
But suddenly my husband isn't laughing anymore. Seeing my eyes riveted to a pro-athlete is no longer funny to him. He glowers as he tells me he will challenge Sheamus to a fight over me, even if he loses. I look over at my husband, admiring his own broad shoulders. Sure my husband doesn't fight for a living, but there is no one with more testosterone than he--especially if I was threatened. This is the man who chased a man down who disrepected me, and swore to him he 'would break every bone in his body' if he did it again.
So would he fight Sheamus? Yes he would. And that is even sexier. Having my own alpha at home.
I still like wrestling. A lot. It reminds me of the things I like about men, particularly my own.