We all have our own theories about how the Ultimate Warrior died. Some say his heart exploded after another wild sprint to the ring. Others point to rumors of drug addictions. I prefer to believe my own eyes: When I was seven, the Undertaker locked him in a coffin and left him to die on syndicated television.
At the time, I still was under the impression that wrestling was real, just like those muscles flexed by Hulk Hogan, Hacksaw Jim Duggan and Macho Man Randy Savage. Steroids and wrestling as entertainment were foreign concepts to my elementary-school mind.
So when the Undertaker shut the lid of that monstrosity of a coffin - a coffin he supposedly constructed just for the purposes of doing away with the Ultimate Warrior - I thought one of my favorite wrestlers had, in fact, passed over courtesy of the Lord of Darkness.
Of course, the Undertaker had good reason for wanting to dispose of his rival: the Ultimate Warrior beat him 42 straight times during 1991, even if, as I later learned through fourth-grade rumors on the bus, the outcome was planned beforehand.
This discovery burst the bubble on one of the greatest questions that faced me during my formative years - was wrestling fake? Yes, and while it was still two men (or four or eight or 30), grappling in a ring, wearing boots and mullets and tight spandex, beating the snot out of one another, there was no true competition. It was a soap opera for men.
After learning the truth, I became disenchanted with WWE (n+
17 Archives
Matt LaWell
