The passion I have for pro wrestling is unfathomable to many ... okay, most ... of my friends and colleagues. When I suggest that this genre of entertainment can be seen as the equivalent of Shakespearean expression played against the backdrop of modern culture, I'm met with blank stares. If I prattle on about Jung's work regarding archetypal myth-making and the lack of cohesion in our society for shared symbolism and ritual, the blank stares turn into concerned faces.

As a devoted contrarian, I confess to having lusted for these discussions. But when trying to explain the tragi-comedic brilliance of Mankind's world view to someone who just doesn't get how an event that yielded a dislocated shoulder, a bruised kidney, a dislocated jaw and one and a half missing teeth could be described with such awe and admiration, I sometimes wonder: why do I bother?

It's been said that for those who get it, no explanation is necessary and for those who don't, no explanation exists. Too true, too true. Still, I keep trying. Maybe there's a little of Mankind in me. Giving up is not my best skill, but I am a contender for the Queen of the Death Match Debate strap. Mankind gets paid to bleed and he's damn good at it. As a pro speechwriter, I get paid to communicate and I think I'm damn good at it. Maybe it's my pride that keeps me coming back to wrestle with the superficial stereotypes that the uneducated use as a shield for their ignorance. If this sounds bitter, it's just an attitude I'm taking on to warm up for the next match. Sharpening focus, ready to challenge any and all opposing views. Who's Next?

What's going on at any given time in the Wild and Wonderful World of Wrestling determines the degree of difficulty in the debates. In the mid-80s when Hulk Hogan was exhorting the children to take their vitamins, say their prayers and listen to their parents, it was an easier sell. In the days of Killer Kowalski, it was always the ear thing that had to be defended. It was an ACCIDENT, for crying out loud.

I don't get knocked off balance anymore when my opponent says "it's fake" and "it's violent" in the same breath. Well, which is it? Never mind, I'll take them both on. Credibility first. In 1998 we were being polled constantly in this country regarding our collective opinion of President William Jefferson Clinton. One statistic always hovered around 78% as the scenario played out -- consensus said the man was surely lying about something and who cared anyway. So what?

I have to ask: If we don't care whether or not the leader of the free world is reality-based, why do we demand a what-you-see-is-what-you-get standard for wrestling? There's a lot more to pro wrestling than the unschooled eye can see but no attempts are made to foil a more discerning examination. More respect is paid to the intelligence of the average fan than to the average voter because fans are the ones controlling the spin cycle. They control the vertical ascent of the superstars. They control the horizontal direction of the various plots. Fans are far from stupid and the promoters know it ... and they act like they know it. Polls are taken in realtime and when a wrestler or a storyline succeeds, it may reflect the purest form of democracy in action we've got. That's my answer to "fake", and I'm sticking to it.

Next: "Wrestling is violent." Well, depends on what you mean by the word "is." (Concept Courtesy of President Willie) War is violent. The news of the day is often violent. Road rage can lead to violence between strangers. We are a violent species, Goldberg reminded Congress when he testified on behalf of the Humane Society of the United States, bringing attention to the human abuse of other species in "sports" like cockfighting.

Wrestling APPEARS to be violent. But it isn't. An important goal for participants is to protect their ability to earn a living. And to protect their colleagues' ability as well. A match well-executed means no one gets hurt yet everyone's willing to believe they've seen potentially career-ending injuries. The road to professional success can translate as 200-plus matches a year. Some careers span 3 decades. Near the end of his career I would offer Bruno Sammartino as evidence of the True Reality of Pro Wrestling. Was that a body that had been bent, beaten and broken every night for-almost-ever? I don't think so. Finally, let's look at some videotape. Here we have the 6'10, 328 pound Undertaker chokeslamming the 6 foot, 212 pound X-Pac. Notice how the Undertaker is helping the little guy use his shoulders to support most of the weight. As they prepare for the SLAM part of the chokeslam, watch the Undertaker's hands. Here he's helping X-Pac to straighten his back as fully flat as possible to distribute the impact when the body hits the mat. Freeze frame: can you see what his other hand is doing? No longer choking, he's about to cradle his alleged opponent's head to reduce the risk of a neck injury. I offer this evidence to refute any and all charges of violence. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you cannot deny what your eyes have just witnessed. There is a grace, an elegance to the choreography of this physical encounter. I would go so far to say that, in the Undertaker's actions, we can clearly see a little TENDERNESS.

In closing, I offer testimony from the aforementioned Mankind. When asked about Hell in a Cell, the match which resulted in the injuries described previously, he said, "It was the best night of my life." Ladies and gentlemen, I ask you, Do You Get It? Yet? I will rest my case at this time but I reserve the right to appeal for a rematch.