What happened to the magic?

Out of reach. It always just seemed out of reach. Granted, I was a sheltered teenager, with no "real world experience," no car, no travel sense, no money. I just wanted to go. Needed to go.

Quite frankly, it was an obsession. It IS an obsession.

Professional wrestling was a huge part of my childhood. I went through Ghostbusters, Ninja Turtles, and Power Rangers like bowling pins. Had a good time, and knocked 'em down. And that was it, it was over. But Hulk Hogan? Macho Man? Ultimate Warrior? Man...I could never tire of them. Never.

And I didn't. Well, sorta. As I got older, when the love for Egon and Michaelangelo and the Red Ranger died off, my love of professional wrestling was still there. Still here, now. Sure, Hogan got older, and Warrior went crazy (both of them ;) )...but professional wrestling was always able to reinvent itself, in ways other forms of entertainment cannot. Hulk Hogan became Shawn Michaels. Randy Savage became Bret Hart. And then Michaels became Steve Austin, Hart became The Rock. Austin and Rock? They became John Cena and Batista.

It's an evolution, and despite the trials and tribulations that professional wrestling suffers from...and despite the fact that being a fan and supporting the product makes me a terrible person by virtue...I still love it. I'm almost 27 years old, for godssakes. But I can't help it. It's spell-binding, mesmerizing, and completely ageless. I loved it when I was 7. I'll love it when I'm 77.

It was WrestleMania XIV. "Tyson and Austin! Tyson and Austin!" A complete spectacle. I was 14 and we ordered it on pay-per-view. I had watched pay-per-views before. I know I had done what countless other wrestling fans had done, and I tuned into channel 98, where I could hear the audio and maybe catch a glimpse of a picture. I'm not certain, but I also imagine I had seen a WrestleMania on pay-per-view before. But 14? Shawn Michaels' last match for four-and-a-half years? Steve Austin's first world title win? Mike Tyson?

It was my turning point. There was no going back. I was an addict forever.

I've probably blogged this story at least once or twice before, but it needs to be written again. I told myself after WrestleMania XIV, when I was 14, that I would go to a WrestleMania. Well, scratch that...not just any WrestleMania. I had planned on going to the next WrestleMania.

I was 15, and it was WrestleMania XV. And I remember, right up until I was listening to the audio on channel 98 -- at home, in Des Moines -- right up until that moment, maybe a few matches in even, I honestly thought I could've somehow ended up there. In Philadelphia. The evening wore on, I probably got a little angry. Or disappointed. Both. Next year, I thought.

The next year, I was 16, and it was WrestleMania XVI. Well, technically, it was WrestleMania 2000 (in the year 2000, quite obviously). You see, WrestleMania and I grew up together. I was 1, when the first one took place. 2 when the second happened, and so on. I'll always be the same "age" as WrestleMania, forever. We're linked. In 2000, it was in Anaheim, California. And I wasn't.

And then it was WrestleMania X-Seven. And I was X-Seven years old. It was in Houston, I was in Des Moines. I watched this one from Billy Joe's Pitcher Show, a movie theater/restaurant, that played wrestling pay-per-views on the big screen. There was food, there was a host, there were games and prizes. There was smoke. Lots of smoke. And WrestleMania X-Seven was (and still is) widely regarded as the greatest WrestleMania, top-to-bottom, of all-time.

And I missed it, too.

In 2002, I was finally 18, an adult. WrestleMania X8 took place in Toronto, Canada, and I lusted after WrestleMania with a renewed vigor that I hadn't had in previous attempts. There were tickets online. Expensive e-scalper tickets. But I had the money. I had MapQuest directions. It would've taken 13+ hours.

I just needed to convince Jeff and Frankie to do it. For one, I needed Frankie's car. And for two, it would've been epic. I never considered where we would stay once we got there. I never considered how to handle crossing international borders. None of it mattered, I just wanted...needed...WrestleMania.

I could've been there for Rock vs. Hogan. That's all that consumed me for some time after the event took place...I could've been there. But I wasn't.

From there, while I was adamant that I still needed to attend a WrestleMania before I died, I resigned myself to the fact that I had no transportation of my own, no support, no sense, and a measly amount of money. I resigned myself to the fact that -- with WrestleMania in Seattle, New York City, and Los Angeles -- WrestleMania, for me, wasn't meant to be. Yet.

(As you can probably tell, WrestleMania was basically the only entry on my "bucket list" for a long, long time. There really isn't anything else I've ever considered important enough to me that it would belong on such a list. Maybe "go to my high school prom," which I did; afterwards, I realized that my life would've been perfectly fine without it. "See Motley Crue in concert" and "see Michael Jordan play basketball" are probably the only other two entries, one of which I accomplished -- Motley Crue, I believe five times over now -- and the other of which is basically impossible at this juncture in life.

Sure, there are other important things to me, like getting married and having a child, but those are also things I can't force the issue with, or do on my own. If they happened, they happened. If they didn't, my life would go on...no need to put them on a list. And anything else that could possibly make its way onto another person's list -- skydiving, meet a U.S. President, crash a party at the Playboy Mansion -- aren't important to me. Would they be interesting things? Sure. But they are things I can live without.

I couldn't live without WrestleMania.)

In 2005, WrestleMania 21 was in LA. I was 21 years old, and I wasn't much different than when I was 14, pining to go to this amazing event: I was broke, I had no car, I still lived at home, and I still had absolutely no sense. But things changed that night when, during the pay-per-view, they played a video revealing the location of WrestleMania 22:

Chicago, Illinois.

I was overwhelmed with joy. Finally, I thought, finally a location that is legitimately within reach. Chicago is only a five or six hour drive from Des Moines, it would be an easy road trip. Greg and his friends wouldn't have much farther to go, either, coming from the St. Louis area. This was my chance. My chance to not only see WrestleMania, but to visit Chicago, to meet my new friends, to try to change the course of my life (more on that later).

My friends got their tickets. I got mine. Three, actually. Mine, Walt's, and my uncle's. My uncle was key to this entire plan, because he was my transportation. He was getting me to Chicago, around Chicago, and home from Chicago. And he'd be able to get us a hotel room, and it would be a great time. WrestleMania, new friends, my uncle, and booze. Of course there'd be booze, it was going to be a party!

As previously discussed on this very blog (and many other places, I'm sure), the lead-up to this road trip was a disaster. I hit rock bottom. No pun intended. I was dumped by a girl named Megan (the second Megan to dump me in my lifetime), my uncle pulled out of our trip, and I lost my job. None of those things were fun. At all.

Now I had a WrestleMania ticket, and absolutely no way of getting there. Still didn't own a car of my own, no credit card for a hotel room, barely any money and no job to make money. Was I destined to never attend this event?

I had to turn to my mom for help. 22 years old, and my mother is still bailing me out. I felt so pathetic. But, she played her part, and she helped me out (and stayed out of my hair). My brother, Scott, took over my uncle's ticket. We went to Chicago, we stayed at a nice hotel, we rented an extra car so Scott and I could do our thing while my mom and John did theirs. I had Chicago-style pizza. I met some good friends, most notably Greg Jovi. I attended my first Ring Of Honor event, and I attended my first WrestleMania...

Finally.

WrestleMania 22. It also marked the first time (to my own knowledge and recollection) I had ever seen Shawn Michaels, my all-time favorite, wrestle in a match. I saw Rey Mysterio capture his first (and so far, only) world title. I saw a great hardcore match between Edge and Mick Foley. And I saw the "unofficial" WrestleMania debut of CM Punk.

To steal from one of this year's theme songs, I made it.

I can't say much for certain, but I truly believe that WrestleMania 22 weekend in Chicago, Illinois in 2006 changed my life. And for that, I am forever indebted to the WWE, to the city of Chicago, and to the friends I made that weekend.

The rest of 2006 was spent righting the wrongs of my life...finding a job, quitting drinking, getting a credit card. When WrestleMania 23 came the following year, I was still living at home (for another month or so, anyway), but life was much better. I had two part-time jobs. I had a credit card. I was eight months sober. And generally speaking, I was happy. Much happier than I had been the previous few years.

Our group of friends expanded in 2007 and so did our road trip. Chicago had been five or six hours the year before, this time, Detroit was five or six hours...from Chicago. Ten hours on the road, we left at midnight on a Thursday night and arrived in the Motor City at noon on Friday.

The shenanigans. They also got bigger, more daring, more fun. We went to two ROH shows, we were let down by Mick Foley's bitch ass, and we witnessed CM Punk's "official" WrestleMania debut. We also saw Vince McMahon have his head shaved bald, and we witnessed a Shawn Michaels WrestleMania main event. All the laughter, all the fun, all the wrestling...everything from the year before, we experienced again. And it was better the second time around.

When they announced during WrestleMania that the following year, they'd emanate from Orlando, there was no hesitation. I texted Greg, Greg texted me, there were texts all around (we all sat in different seats) -- "Orlando?! We are SO there!"

2008. WrestleMania 24. Orlando, Florida. That's a 23 hour drive from Des Moines, Iowa and just like our WrestleMania 23 trip built off WrestleMania 22, we followed suit for WrestleMania 24 and went bigger than we had ever gone before. We took Frankie's mom's van down to St. Louis, where we picked up Greg and Patrick, and the five of us (me, Frankie, Scott, Greg, and Pat) continued our journey through the night.

We left Des Moines at 6pm Tuesday evening. We arrived in Orlando at 6pm Wednesday evening. Straight through, little (or no) sleep. Orlando or bust. We met CM Punk at an autograph signing. That was the first thing we did. We didn't shower, or take a nap, or even find our townhouse...we went straight to Wal-Mart, and met CM Punk.

Then we found our townhouse. Our glorious, amazing, spectacular, stupendous, awesome, great townhouse. Nicest place I've ever stayed in, for anything, ever. Gorgeous. Comfortable. Again, we had to go big, so not only did we all (well, sans Soneel and Walt) travel down together, but all seven of us stayed together at this magnificent place. We also made sure to get seats together for WrestleMania 24, another new experience for us. The past two times we went, we bought our own tickets, and ended up seated in various sections of the enormous crowd.

We (I) blew a tire. We played mini-golf in the amazing Florida weather. We went to Daytona Beach. We went to two Ring Of Honor shows. We marked out huge for CM Punk's first WrestleMania win. We saw Ric Flair's retirement match. It is still my personal favorite trip we've ever taken. It was perfect, in every way.

Finally, WrestleMania 25. 2009. I was 25, and whereas the previous year was perfect and a celebration of that perfection, this one felt like...the end of an era. We didn't want to believe it at the time, but I think by the end of this blog, you'll understand that it was. It was a celebration of all that was, not all that will be.

We went big again, one last time. All seven of us rode down together in a massive passenger van, something like 26 hours straight through from Des Moines to Galveston, Texas (WrestleMania was in Houston last year). We ate at JR's Family Barbecue (twice). We stayed in another great townhouse, a stone's throw from the beach and Gulf of Mexico. We played flag football on the beach, we stayed for RAW on Monday. We marked out for CM Punk winning his second straight Money In The Bank match. We also marked out for Ricky "The Dragon" Steamboat.

We witnessed the greatest match of all-time.

This year, we're all disappointed. There will be no WrestleMania XXVI, live, for us. No beautiful Phoenix weather. No crazy stories, hilarious jokes, and great wrestling. No Colt Cabana/Mick Foley stand-up comedy. No ROH, no Dragon Gate USA. No random meet-and-greets, no Axxess, no gorgeous desert backdrop to our shenanigans. No Armando Estrada's Baby's Steaks and Lemonade Restaurant (lmao). We won't be there for Bret Hart's first WWE match in 12+ years. We won't be there for what is likely to be Shawn Michaels' last match.

We're an army. We have soldiered through shit you couldn't imagine. I don't think Walt has been mentally or physically "well" since we first met him over WrestleMania 22 weekend. He has fought for everything he is worth to get better, so that he can fully enjoy the experiences we've had (and will continue to have). Patrick is currently dealing with the impending loss of his job. Greg and I have both dealt with the loss of a grandparent, and the finality that a close death brings to a person. It's done, it's over. There's no going back.

We've dealt with the loss of what we considered a good friend, to his own trivial bullshit. He took, and he took, and he took...and he never gave back. He never offered to help anyone else. He just needed to get by, pull one over on somebody else, use them up until he could find somebody new to leech off of.

My family is fractured, broken. There's no fixing it. Even the parts I want to fix, I can't. I can only soldier on. Just like Greg. And Patrick. And Walt. And Scott.

We're soldiers. We're an army, a gang, a [cult].

The money wasn't there this year, for any of us. We didn't want to fly, it kind of takes away part of the experience. We didn't have the necessary vacation time either. Between my wedding, Patrick's job loss, and the need for approximately seven days off...just hard to make it happen.

And driving? Even if we could, driving would be near-impossible. We went from a five-hour jaunt (Chicago) to a ten-hour grind (Detroit), to a 23-hour marathon (Orlando), to a 26-hour epic journey (Houston/Galveston). Phoenix, driving? With a pass through St. Louis, it would've been in the neighborhood of 30+ hours. One way.

We are a rag-tag band of soldiers. We've fought hard, valiant, and most of us have come home intact. But we've reached a point where we need to regroup, not fight. It's not a decision we like, or even want, to make. But we can't do it. We won't be in Phoenix. We aren't in Phoenix.

It has been fun. Brilliant and exciting. Relaxing, refreshing. Awe-inspiring, imagination-capturing. It has been one great ride. We've logged an impossible amount of hours on the road, seen loads of amazing matches, met an assortment of characters.

My life is great. I wanted to attend one WrestleMania. If I never go again, I can always say that I went to four. Four straight. That's mine, and it can't be taken away.

It's an obsession. An addiction. The past several months, yeah, it's been nice not having to go through the tedious process of planning a trip of that magnitude...but I've had the itch, constantly. Right up until about early Sunday evening, I'll scheme of ways to still make this happen. Plane tickets. WrestleMania tickets. RAW tickets. A nice place to stay. Come home next Wednesday. Yeah, we'll have missed all the excitement of "WrestleMania week," but we'll still have a few days together. And the big show.

When the opening bell hits (about the time I bow out of my 5:30 newscast), I'll have to resign myself to knowing I won't be there. But if there's one thing I've learned since this journey began, way back at WrestleMania XIV ("Tyson and Austin! Tyson and Austin!")...

It's that there's always next year. ;)

The magic, the spectacle, the wonder...it may have had to take a hiatus this year, but WrestleMania 27 is only 360-some odd days away. And it's in Atlanta, which we passed through on our way to Orlando...I think...finally reeling in the distance a little bit since all this insanity began.

So, sure, we might miss out on Bret vs. Vince. And Shawn's last match. But what could next year bring? John Cena's attempt to break the UnderTaker's streak? Goldberg vs. Batista? Okay...that'd probably be pretty bad, lol. CM Punk in the honest-to-goodness main event?

We're only four years out from another WrestleMania at Madison Square Garden, too. Need to keep that in mind. The [cult]: takin' a bite out the Big Apple.

And we still ain't roped Chris Rucker into attending one yet!

Four years ago, I was a nobody. At the bottom. Miserable, angry, had no direction. No sense. I was a broken fool.

Now, I'm none of those things. Well, some may still believe I'm a nobody. And I probably still don't have any sense. But I'm happy, I have direction, and I've patched up quite well. I fully intend on being in Atlanta next year, so I hope my fellow road doggs are ready.

We've got a trip to plan, and an addiction to feed.

"Life is beautiful."
-N.SIXX-