Alls I know is that I wanna be that funny little Italian guy walking around with a sock puppet...that strikes like a cobra! In the face of any hatorade Gladiator that dares stand in the face of his dreams. Man, that guy must get all the chicks. And, btw, did I tell you about the time I met, completely bumped into and looked up into the towering inferno of bulging disco mass that is Batista?
I said, wait a miniute, "Whoa...hey...?!!!" Just like a kid again, he was getting out of a chauferred courtesy Mercedes, with his traveler's bag, he could've looked like any other tourist, but he wasn't. I asked not for his autograph for a kid that I don't have, but...if I had? There is only very little doubt in me, that he would have given it to me. I don't want to sound, little homeo erotic, but this man was huuuuger than a rock the size of Boulder, Colorado. I mean honestly, there are no muscles that I've seen that can describe just how incredibly broad shouldered this man's shoulders were, and yet he kept a low profile. Was caught off guard, but not surprised by my instantaneous, "Hey...," though I don't watch wrestling like I'm still in the Shawn Michaels Rocker's era anymore...back when people didn't look at you funny when wearing streaking blond mullets to school...and, oh man, was I coool...still rockin' my new old school, New Jersey Gear high tops, y'all...with neon fungus growing out of them, now, (sorry, the leather's all chewed up now, so you know...).
My overwhelming impression was that, you know, we had a moment. We shared the same space and time, and when forced to look down to look up (sorry...my neon green toe fungus is so catchy, perhaps even a little bit smelly, or so, I've sensed for awhile now...), but this time was different. He may been the largest man made terrorizing machine I've ever seen in the flesh, large enough to not need to stand on mountains, to pull-down, preterrydactyl flying terrors that fly from the sky, back in the caveman days, for his little lady, and charming haromonies, "Please, daddy, we feel like eating pre-terrydactyl, terriyaki, sushi birds today." He seemed like a *genuinely* good guy, muscles that block the air, sure...but there's only so much you can tell about a man in a moment.
It was a glimmering moment, for sure. In the legendary hotel, there was a beauty pageant contestant going on at the same time, but he was just another guy checking in. Who kept his eyes to the ground, who looked down on the ground, but not at you. I caught him off guard, then we both nodded off in appreciative acknowledgment...the kind that does not depreciate over time. He knew, he appreciated, that I knew who he was...but did not really care, because I respected him, and saw that he was still just a man...even though his muscles were huge.
This just-in, way to go Google! You've just ruined my reinterpretation of Batista. Before...our eyes crossed paths, I thought he was a big, brute stiff with a heart of gold, when Eddie died unexpectedly, his tears sure looked real to me...but no real charisma of his own. I truly thought that it was his intimidating once in a man-made God physique that had shoved him to the top of the ranks, where he moved stiffly, albeit chiseled, he was not at all like that other Big Guy with similiar enough proportions, just slightly more jiggly, but he moved with *verve.* I'm talking about the ROCK, baby! You know? Now, that's a once in a lifetime, for I saw the VH1 special on his life, and so I know for sure what a genuine down to good earth person he really is. He's the kind of person, who'd eat out of a bucket of fried chicken on a street corner with a homeless bum, just laughing and having a good time, to make you feeel good, a better, more realer version than the real Will Smith.
But, after referencing Google right now, I learned that Batista was not known as a good guy backstage. But people can change, even Shawn Michaels changed. So I continue to believe that Batista is no diva, and that all those hot beauty pageant conventional chicks, who like clockwork, almost soon immediately thereafter, came out to smoke weed in between rounds, on a break, just after an early dinner...were not tempted to sleep with him, the bellman's face all covered up in bellman's clothing, I hardly even noticed..and, he, the star, the sexy man beast star who could still be so much better in life, could still travel, progress not regress so much further, with them. Just because he and they can, and could, and maybe did...hopefully they didn't, before the curtain fell that night.
Were it me, I would have preferred to bump into the Miz that day. Because, I saw him on the Real World, for ALL of those most critical, in between moments, I believe I know the real him. And, he is good, and I am proud of him. Though it does not matter now, but I remember how that constantly singing chic, and no one, really took this somewhat big, but not really ovelry THAT big (I mean he couldn't have been much bigger than the normal, everyday, big man, Jim Courier sized, beer garden/construction worker's ball, big...), and yet he still tried to impress. Only I don't think he was, that was just him, a loveable, bigger than average, big goof, who loves life, loves ALL kinds of people, and truly just LOOOOVEEESSS...wrestling. And such enthusiam for life, no matter the pursuit, no matter what the Jones's think of you, I think makes this guy pretty special.
Honestly, I did not think the Miz would ever have what it takes to be taken seriously, as just another dreamer, wannabe, pro wrestler who thinks he has a larger than life persona...and something to offer the world. But, he did. And, I bet that constantly singing chic all the time, breaking MTV's fine wine glasses around the house, did not ever in a million years think this ordinary buffoon with a Dino sized heart of gold, would go on, one day, to become the greatest, make-believe champion of the whole world...yeah, in a real fight, Andre the Giant, would probably just sit on him for the pin, but still, it's nice to think that big glory can still be achieved by ordinary, Jim Courier sized men.
I think the that Miz is one of the greatest, most improbable, comeback...awesomer, even more awesome when you comeback, just as humble and true, to your dream roots, stories in the world. I can still remember him returning the now emtpy Real World pad, to call it..."And, the MIzz-z-z...is out," but not dead. I don't care about the man's skills, I just think having a man sized heart, in a jaded grown-up world, is what's make you unique, what makes you special. And, the Miz can talk all he wants to fans like me around the world now, because he is the Zimost inspiring, and I just wanted to say thank you to Vince McMahon, for making the Miz not have to lick your CEO's ruthless, alligator boot sheen to make it all happen. I thank, Stephanie McMahon for being the candy apple...frilly, of his father's eyes, to make him feel everyday, like a more grateful, nicer guy than he ever was before. Our tales are not yet undone, I love it when people become who they were always meant to be, believers in good people, still instilling within us, the good and righteous things alone.
For Cena/Rock, I have no clue. The Rock needs to win though, another super-Cena WM win would be lame.
