Reminiscing On KolacheMania

I had never attended a WrestleMania. In fact, I had never even heard of WrestleMania.

My exposure to the sport was limited. Growing up, my friends picked baseball cards over Ringside Collectibles and my family literally said nothing about it, like feelings and diabetes. I went with John Corrigan as he tried to sell some old wrestling memorabilia to a man called The Professor at a unique establishment off South Street in Philadelphia, but I was more interested in the historic pieces. When my cousin married someone from Eastern Europe, we went to a local event to try to bond where Fandango was the biggest name. My experience those days could have shifted my entire outlook, but it did not. I simply didn’t get it, at all. Still, I found myself driving a car from Waco, TX, to Arlington, TX, with John in passenger seat, for the WrestleMania billed as the biggest event ever. We paid the $60 to park by the stadium and immediately began drinking.

At some point, an amateur videographer and his friend came over to ask some questions because we must have looked like a fun group, or just really lonely. For some reason, they turned to me, the only person who did not give a fuck (can we swear in these?), and asked who was going to steal the show. I knew that Fandango was on the list, but I also knew that was definitely not the right answer. As they saw me struggling, they fired another question. Who would win in a match: Pope John Paul II or Pope Francis? It was not that strange of an inquiry seeing that I was wearing a Pope Francis shirt in the style of a Barack Obama “Hope” poster. My mom got it for me on clearance at Boscov’s and, to be honest, it seemed appropriate to wear at the time. I ended up siding with Pope Francis even though PJP would not surprise me by pulling the upset. They left disappointed.

We entered the arena around the middle of the afternoon after finishing our cans and weaving through the enormous fanfare surrounding the complex. John went with his friend to his seats on the first level and took his company credit card with him (bastard). I was left with the others to travel high up several escalators to one of the last rows of the nosebleed seats. I was glued to my seat until the program was over, not because I was enthralled, but because I am scared to death of heights. In addition, the person next to me was wearing a pig mask. I knew him, but I was just beginning to understand what the next eight (EIGHT!) hours would unfold. As the sun went down, the seats started to fill up and more people started to watch the antics on the main stage, although from our vantage point, it was easier to watch the massive screen then make out the tiny specs of wrestlers.

I can’t say that I remember too much from that night, mainly just bizarre little snippets. There was definitely a cereal box with people in it. At one point, there was the genie from the movie Kazaam and I think that he was fighting Van Helsing. There were village people from the American Horror Story: Roanoke season. There was this guy jumping off a cage and breaking his back. I could have fallen asleep and been dreaming all of this, too.

As the lights shined bright once again and all the fans exited the stadium, we grabbed a few group photos. We were at WrestleMania 32 with 100,000 other people and, as much as I had no idea of the storylines or the performers or really anything at all, I could appreciate the rarity and specialness of the moment. All in all, my favorite memory of attending my first WrestleMania was stopping at a Waffle House on our way back to central Texas because no one else wanted lukewarm kolaches. In between bites of bacon, we talked about the events that transpired and the legacies that we will leave our children.

It was a good night and it was because of WrestleMania.