Who the heck is Batista?

Let’s all reminisce for a little bit. Think back to the days when going to the video rental store meant getting the latest WWF pay-per-view event on videocassette.

I’ll one-up myself. Think back to the day when the WWF was on only two days a week, Saturday and Sunday and only every once in a while was there a pay-per-view match, and the weekend performances were on Fox.

The way I remember it you had Wrestling Superstars on Saturday morning and Wrestling Challenge on Sunday morning. Then there were four pay-per-views, and they consisted of Survivor Series, Summer Slam, The Royal Rumble and, of course, Wrestlemania, not particularly in that order.

Man how the WWF has changed. First of all it’s not even called the WWF. It’s now the WWE, and it’s on television all the time now (at least that’s how it seems to me).

I know Mr. Perfect has slapped his last piece of gum, “Ravishing” Rick Rude has done his last shimmy, the “Texas Tornado” is more like just a funnel cloud now and Andre “The Giant” is laying in a very big box under the ground, but what about all those other guys?

Whatever happened to Paul Bearer or Brother Love? How’s the Earthquake doing? What drug is Jake “The Snake” Roberts into these days? Does he still have Damien or Lucifer or has he finally adopted Satan?

Where’s Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake cutting hair and for how much?

What class is Bobby “The Brain” Heenan teaching?

Is “The Big Boss Man” doing hard time?

Where has “Koko B. Ware” flown off to?

Is “Sergeant Slaughter” still doing G.I. Joe cartoons?

Is “Nickoli Volkovf” aware that the U.S.S.R. is no more?

Where is Rick Martell spritzing his arrogance spray?

Does “Mr. Fuji” have any salt left to sprinkle on his French fries?

Has the “Macho Man” Randy Savage finally busted that last vein on his neck?

What happened to the “Ultimate Warrior?”

I probably could easily find the answer to all of these questions by traveling back in time to freshman year and spending a day on the third floor of Carman Hall where wrestling theme songs seem to be the music of choice. Or I could go on the Internet and look up what all these former wrestling super stars are up to, but I don’t want to.

I don’t want to because that’s the way I remember wrestling and those are the names I associate it with.

I wonder if Jimmy “Super Fly” Snuka is still running around the Fiji Islands.

I am writing this because yesterday in the Rec Center, someone mentioned to me that Hulk Hogan was making a comeback. I couldn’t believe it. The guy has to be pushing 60 now, right? Anyway, I went on the WWE website and, sure enough, there he was, big-bootin’ and leg-droppin’ all over the joint.

When he was done beating on some no-name jobbers, “The Real American” blared on the sound system and the Hulkster ripped the shirt off and flexed the largest arms in the world, and the crowd went wild just like in the old days.

But something was missing, and that something was a big black piece of leather clattered with gold. That’s right, wresting fans; the Hulkster is not the WWE champion, Batista is. Well, sorry Batista, but there’s only one champ in my mind.