Maybe We Live In Vince McMahon’s America
I was a huge, and I mean huge, wrestling fan as a kid. One day in probably 1992, I begged my dad to take me to Madison Square Garden that night for a crappy house show headlined by Nailz vs. The Undertaker. He obliged (thanks, dad!) and it was a pretty cool night. I also ordered about six pay-per-views as a kid, with the permission of my parents. I lost wrestling during college and afterwards, then had phases where I checked back in with it. I finally, over the holidays, got around to watching that Netflix show Mr. McMahon, filmed while he was still running things but debuting after all the Janel Grant lawsuit allegations, and just last night I watched the first RAW episode on Netflix. So I guess I am halfway back into the fan scene? Not sure.
Anyway, for a long time I thought the story of McMahon was cool from afar. He grew up literally dirt poor and didn’t know his dad until 12. Maybe you could argue he was kinda sorta “born on second base” because his dad did do wrestling promotion, and his dad let him be on-air talent at a young age, but in other ways you can look at McMahon and think, “Whoa, American dream right here.” He took over from his dad and did rapid territory purchasing, building a global brand, made the (at the time) correct decision to lean on Hulk Hogan for a number of…
