🟨 Poem: “When the Real American Fell”
When the real American fell,
It felt like the sky cracked open—
Not just a man,
But a myth made muscle,
A red-and-yellow sun
That once bodyslammed despair.
I saw him in the ring—
WrestleMania One—
Where giants walked like gods,
And time bent around
The cheers of children
And the flashbulbs of awe.
Andre, Orndorff, Piper,
Mr. T and Bobby Heenan,
The Heart Foundation and dreams—
It was all magic,
Thicker than the ropes,
Louder than the roar.
He wasn’t just flexing,
He was becoming.
Hulkamania wasn’t a gimmick,
It was gospel.
It was the last time we believed
That heroes wore bandanas
And pointed fingers before justice.
And as time passed,
The beard blackened,
The tan deepened,
But the myth never dulled—
Just shimmered in the digital echoes
Of TikToks and YouTube clips,
Still hulking up, still rising.
I watched him…
Just before the end.
A strange feeling—like fate
Tapping my shoulder,
Whispering: Look one last time.
And now he’s gone.
And somehow,
America feels a little hollower—
Like a star spangled cape
Folded and forgotten
In the corner of a locker room
That no one opens anymore.
RIP, Big Man.
The ring is empty now.
But your theme still plays—
And we still stand.
Real Americans,
Remembering.
---
🟨 Essay: “The Day the Real American Died”
It’s hard to explain to anyone who didn’t live through it what Hulk Hogan meant. He wasn’t just a wrestler. He wasn’t even just a celebrity. Hulk Hogan was America—louder, stronger, cornier, brighter. He was a walking Fourth of July, flexing on evil with 24-inch pythons and an unstoppable belief in justice, brotherhood, and tearing your shirt off when duty called.
I remember watching the first WrestleMania. It was a carnival, a colosseum, and a circus all wrapped into one, but with real mythic energy. You weren’t just watching men fight—you were watching giants, avatars, demigods. There was Roddy Piper’s rage, Mr. T’s presence, Andre’s immensity, and Bobby Heenan’s schemes. But in the middle of it all stood Hogan, electric. Exhilarating. As soon as “Real American” hit, the crowd became one pulsing force. There was no irony, no cynicism. It was magic.
People laugh about wrestling now, or meme it, or dissect it. But back then? It was real—not because the punches landed, but because the dreams did. Hogan was the hero who stood for the good guy inside all of us. He gave permission to believe, even if just for a moment.
That’s why this hits so hard. Hulk Hogan dying isn’t just the passing of a man—it’s like Superman fell from the sky and stayed down. And strangely enough, I’d been thinking about him just before the news. Seeing old clips, noticing the dyed black beard again. Thinking how age catches up even to legends. It felt like something was winding down. And then—boom. Gone.
And with him, something else died. Maybe it’s a piece of America that believed in heroes. Maybe it’s the last ember of a time when things were big, bold, and unapologetically good vs evil. When we could cheer with full lungs and open hearts.
But you know what?
His theme still slaps. Still means something.
And I think that’s what we hold onto.
So RIP Hulk Hogan. You were larger than life.
And when you fell, it shook the whole world.
Let the lights stay bright in that great ring in the sky.
Because the main event just gained a real one.
No comments:
Post a Comment