Just like the roster of
WWE All Stars, my love affair with the WWF/WWE has been generational. Growing up in the '80s, I was exposed to wrestling at its prime when Hogan, The Million Dollar Man and The Ultimate Warrior were part of every kid's bedroom decor care of
Pillow Buddies. I’m even proud to say I spent entire summer vacations using my Macho Man Randy Savage
action figure to dominate any figure thrown against me by my neighborhood cronies. Of course, the best part about these royal rumbles was that all the matches took place in a homemade ring, crudely assembled with rubber bands, nails and plywood because no one had enough allowance money to buy the actual ring.
A few years later, after my childhood idols had left the ring in favor of making movies like
Suburban Commando, my love for wrestling had somewhat faded. Much of my early teen years were spent repressing the memories of The Rockers tag team title, and the time Jake the Snake teamed up with the Undertaker to pull the ultimate double cross on the Ultimate Warrior. I had almost completely purged my love for wrestling up until one fateful Monday night when I mistakenly turned on my television and witnessed something that was nothing short of spectacular.
The year was 1996, and the WWF had unleashed a brand new attitude. With Stone Cold Steve Austin and The Rock leading the charge, this new WWF was all about rude raunchy drama that was a 15 year old's dream come true. This was no longer the “kiddy” WWF that I grew up with. At that moment I was completely hooked all over again, and I watched religiously through 2002 when the brand lost many of its top-tier personalities and much of its “oomph” in my opinion.
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