While I still picture him in a cap that made him a clone of the other eight kids in the outfield, my oldest boy is no longer a slave to any sport involving a ball (except on television). He beats people up for sport and exercise now. Sort of. His hooplas are becoming gradually less shocking each week as I become more desensitized and better at guessing exactly how many Aleve gelcaps to pop.
Now that he's switched wrestling organizations, I may attempt a documentary on these guys and gals and how they train, their athleticism versus theatrics, etc. His last organization was less than cooperative. They were afraid I'd tell people it was all fake. Here's the thing - define fake. The gymnastics are real. The workouts are real. The muscles and bruises and injuries are real. My anxiety that somebody will screw up and break my kid's neck? That, too, is real.
Yeah. Good material here for a documentary - especially when those luchadores wrestle!
