Monday, November 12, 2012
I wrestled a friend of mine a week or so ago, and we were lying on his bed talking. I asked him to tell me his greatest wrestling fantasy. He described a match between himself and...well, himself.
Do I want to wrestle me?
Well, let's put aside the science-fiction aspects of that question. After all, if you truly met your doppelganger--an alternate other you, would you wrestle it/him?
As a result, I like guys who are my height and weight. Nothing is hotter to me than being able to look a guy dead in the eyes and stand pec-to-pec with him (or cock-to-cock). I like to lock hands and struggle, our muscles bulging and beads of sweat popping out on our foreheads. I like the feel of his strength matched with mine and knowing that if I just find that will within myself, that I can beat him. But will I?
In those cases, I love it when the guy gives me a break. Let's me have the impression that I can beat him. It's all a game, isn't it? An attempt to recreate some primal scene from my dim, partially remembered past. Am I remembering some hot, sweaty summer night long ago when I wrestled a friend? I think I am, actually, and I guess I've spent my whole life looking for that same match.
I'm not done looking.