Wrestlemania 36

And now, a brief interlude to the Marvel Cinematic Reviews.

I can't mar peoples' opinions of me much more than I already have, so I'll go ahead and admit that in addition to collecting comics and for most of my life obsessing over Star Wars, I am also a decades-long fan of professional wrestling.

To be fair, most of us were in the 1980s, when Hulk Hogan's Rock 'n' Wrestling shared cartoon airtime and toy shelf space with G.I. Joe and Transformers.

And again in the late 1990s, when the screens of sports bar TVs in college towns featured Stone Cold Steve Austin and The Rock, the nWo and Goldberg, I was part of the "in" crowd.

The difference being: in the time between, I was a high schooler hosting pay-per-view parties with betting pools for vents that featured characters such as Mantaur.

I can tell you the differences between him, The Barbarian, The Warlord, and The Berzerker, and have an opinion on which of them was the better pro wrestling character.

When few were still watching in the mid-2000s, I was geeked to see independent wrestler CM Punk among the pinstriped gangsters that came to the ring with John Cena.

There have been times when interest waned and years that I did not watch at all, but for the better part of the time I have been alive, I've loved rasslin'.

Our 8-year old son Noah has adopted and elevated that fandom. When we cleaned the top level of our home yesterday, it took him about 20 minutes to clear out the custom-built arena and 50-odd figures (a fraction of his collection) that crowded the floor of his bedroom before we could vacuum it. He can tell you, in ascending order, the Top 10 Heaviest Wrestlers Ever. He knows in which year The Rock's cousin Umaga died. He's made and bonded with some of his best friends over their shared love.

Really, pro wresting is just superheroes and supervillains brought to sweaty, spandexed life - with less property destruction, more chair shots, and the battles contained within a squared circle and only the loosest of rules.

Melanie has also gotten into the goofy fun of it, and has strong opinions on the performers and story lines. Ask her about Ricochet and management's handling of him.

So, this past weekend, we watched Wrestlemania 36 together. Not on one night, but two - nominally because it was "the only Wrestlemania too big for one night, but more likely so that World Wrestling Entertainment didn't have to produce an NXT show on Saturday.

Not on pay-per-view, but streaming on the WWE Network. Not with a cash pool attached to our picks of winners, but bragging rights - though I teased Noah that if I had the most points, I would be awarding myself a T-shirt of his most hated wrestler, King Corbin. Not with fellow B.O.-oozing teenage boys, but with a couple rambunctious cats.

But, man, did it stink. Melanie and I agree that the biggest takeaway of it was that the live crowd is a much bigger part of pro wrestling than any of us realized. The athletes can pull off the high-risk, devastating-looking maneuvers as usual, they can deliver impassioned promos and cheer victories and mourn defeats, but without an audience surrounding them and reacting, it falls flat. The crowd is in on it (usually) and plays its part. With all respect to the performers and their talents, I just don't have any desire to watch if they continue the programs as they've been these past few weeks.

An exception: The Boneyard Match between The Undertaker and A.J. Styles. Instant camp classic. We are big fans of "The Fiend" Bray Wyatt in our home, but mixed on The Firefly Funhouse Match. I liked what I saw, but with it coming near the end of Night Two, have to admit to being somewhat tuned out while nearing the end of boarding and bagging a few dozen comics. Maybe I will watch it again more closely instead of any of their new shows this week. We still have to watch R-Truth 24, and I want to see Chronicle-Drew McIntyre.