In a month where I have already lifted the FA Cup, tonight I realise another ambition of mine: that of going to see the WWE live. Taking Mapoo with me, I’m off to the NEC to see leotard-clad wearing men get it on.
I’m out of touch with the storylines at the moment, who’s a heel and who’s a face. Our old Production Manager used to be my supplier of pay-per-views, but since he moved teams and my VCR packed in a string of new wrestlers have appeared on the scene leaving me hoping that the Triple-H t-shirt I’ll be wearing tonight is still valid.
Out of all the possibilies available I hope to the deities on high that there will be a ladder match but given that this isn’t a taping I’m not counting my Cluckles.