Flying Dropkick Off The Top Rope

I'm not in the mood to read.

I grew up without a TV at home and spent the better part of my childhood curled up on the couch with Encyclopedia Brown, Caddie Woodlawn, and the Baby-sitters' Club.

I loved these books; they were about kids like me, kids with ambition, fear, parents, homework, friendships, and a little bit of spending money. The situations they found themselves in, I could identify with. Okay, so I didn't know anybody named Bugs Meany, but I knew that the noontime sun doesn't cast a shadow, so the banker must be lying about the robber's escape. And I never spent a whole silver dollar at the merchantile on rock candy and hair combs and harmonicas for some little Indian kids, but I did have a bonnet and a secret passageway back to the 1880's through the lilac bushes. And I baby-sat all the time, although thankfully not for Jackie Rodowsky, the Walking Disaster.

That's why I loved reading. Because I could imagine myself in the adventure, on the trail to Oregon. Those kids were my friends, or they would have been, if they would have known me. There was so much to learn from them about creatively overcoming adversity, giving to the less-fortunate, and winning at growing up. I owe those authors a lot.

I still love to read, just not today. Today, I want to watch television. Specifically, professional wrestling tapes from the late 80s. Yes, I am a reading teacher, and have preached many a sermon on the Evils of the Idiot Box, but I'm worn out from my first week in 6th grade, and I just want some WWF.

My uncle used to tape WWF, and we'd watch hours of SummerSlamVII at the farm. Jake the Snake, the Bushwhackers, the Ultimate Warrior, Hulk Hogan, Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake... we knew them all. One of my favorites was Shawn Michaels (either as a Rocker with Marty Jannetty, or when he was the Heartbreak Kid, but not when he was part of Degeneration X...don't worry.)

Here are the Rockers with a Twin Flying Dropkick against somebody in an unfortunate fuschia leotard.

Talk about suspension of disbelief.

I lost interest as professional wrestling became scarier...Kane, Triple H, Batista, Stone Cold Steve Austin, Shawn Michaels now...seem so serious in their intent to inflict pain on one another. Give me a little more face paint, more animals as sidekicks, more tank-top ripping, and a few less matches called "Hell in a Cage."

For a decade, WWF was a terrific combination of gymnastics, fashion, and ego all rolled into one thrilling clash of bulging biceps and acting ability. Sure it was fake, but it was so fun! I think I learned stuff, too, like teamwork and innovation (if your partner is getting double-teamed, don't just get in the ring, bring a steel chair!). I also learned determination and perseverance by watching the weariest wrestlers kick out of a Sleeper Hold, fractions of a second before the 3-count.

Okay. Enough talk, a little more action. Bring it on, Vince McMahon!

p.s. Apologies to my college literature professor. You did your best.