SLAM! WRESTLING: Guest Columnist

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Monday, April 12, 1999

SLAM! Wrestling Guest Column

Anatomy of an Addict

By KAT CELATA -- For SLAM! Wrestling

So, I admit I'm hooked. And I certainly didn't expect it. When I turned 40 this year I expected an epiphany of some sort. I didn't expect it would be Pro Wrestling....

You see, the problem is I try to be a diligent Mom. Ok, sometimes we lean too heavily on the Mac 'n Cheese, or whatever takeout menu is closest to the phone, but hey, it's the 90's. The workday is long and I am lazy.

So my boy wants to watch Pro Wrestling. I'm a pretty out there Mom, but this really wasn't part of the curriculum growing up. Sure, I know who Hulk, oops, Hollywood Hogan is, and am pretty amazed to see him looking not much changed. And I just assumed everyone knows who the Hitman is. But this is my baby, taking those first awkward steps to man-child: the steps which determine who controls the remote.

So I watch, or at least listen from the other room. We strike a compromise- he hustles off to bed at 9:30, Mom tapes the show. I sit at my computer within ear shot, ready to pounce, and I have to admit I flamed once or twice on the Godfather. We strike another compromise- the Godfather and his "ho's" get blanked off the tape, and Mom gets a few soapbox minutes to explain why this is completely un-PC, yada, yada, yada. Later I start to wonder if the real truth is, Mom wants to watch the tape the next day and doesn't want some lame jabronie messing up the events. Strange words are creeping into my vocabulary. I promise the dog she's going to pay a visit to the Smackdown Hotel. I find a tendency to respond to my colleagues with a heartfelt "Hell, Yeah!" They are perplexed.

Week 4. Mom working hard on computer. Show comes on. Can't work- too busy yelling out: "Who's on? What's he doing now? Is that the real cute one with the braids?" Next comes my right-of-passage, our first Pay per View. God, I love cable. I realize I know everybody's names.

Life gets better- our first live event. I am wearing a Socko puppet. We are in Springfield Ma, a smaller venue than most, for an untelevised Road Rage. We arrive early but miss Sable signing autographs by a few minutes. Major distress. For Mom, not son. I really would like to BE Sable when I grow up. My fellow fans are great. They are friendly, warm and an exceptionally cool 12 yr old and I compare every known fact about the Hart family. We can list every brother-in-law. Best of all, Mom got FLOOR SEATS. Bliss. If I catch them I can keep them, right? (well, it works at ballparks!) I yell enthusiastically to have Billy Gunn tossed my way. Edge waves to my son. My boy leads his row in slightly risque chants, bold stuff for an 8-yr old.... The guys and gals are playing to the kids, relaxed, no TV cameras to nerve them out. We know every word to the Oddities song.

We eat at Roy Rogers and drive the 100 miles home. We have T-shirts. We are very happy.

Kat Celata is from Dedham, MA, and can be emailed at

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