THE BOY WHO GOT DECEIVED

I was born when televisions were black and white and TV stations were government owned. You can count those on the fingers of a palm. This was the era when stations don't open for transmission before 1600hrs and they shut down immediately that old grand Pa clock on the wall strikes midnight with its long swingin’ dick *clears throat*, I meant, bell.

I remember those columns of colors and that annoying piercing sound that precedes the national anthem whenever the station’s ‘bout to start transmission.

These were the days when President, JVC, Akai and ‘em were the kings of the electronic hill. Television were owned by very few and the rest of us would usually be caught hangin’ in someone’s window jus’ to catch a glimpse of what’s goin’ on.

I had fond memories of me and some of my goons (K’roy and ‘em), religiously goin’ to a neighbor’s crib every Sunday to watch Indian movies. If you were allowed to hang in the window (the room is usually packed to the rafters with Ol’ Gs), you’d feel like some V.I.P! Know why? ‘Cause the next day at school, you’d be among the precious few who’d be the centre of attention, spinning yarns to your classmates ‘bout the adventures of Amitab Bacchant and that fine ass heroine!

Damn those Indian films, lying to us and shit. Imagine the hero as a boy on a horse, tryna flee from the Boss (the Boss…that was what we used to call the villain and oh, the hero was the “actor”) and the next thing you know, bam, the hero is grown... on that same horse!

Anyways, what brought those childhood memories back is a friend of mine up on facebook. Always goin’ on and on about John Cena. Putting up updates bout how she wouldn’t hesitate takin’ one in for Mr. Cena. I love to get up on her grill with my usual rhetoric ’bout how my nigger The Rock and Team Bring It is the truest! We would go back and forth on who the best is and stuff. But y’all know what the funny thing is? I don’t watch wrestling... well, not anymore.

I lost faith in wrestling a long time ago. I felt cheated and used… My second favorite sport on TV was a fuckin’ big joke. The whole dam thing was scripted! I mean, what’d you expect from a lil’ boy who one day found out that the whole shebag was a big production, some hoax put together by some folks to deceive the lil’ boy I was.

The day my Uncle hit me with the truth, I couldn’t sleep... my world crashed (ok, that was an exaggeration *winks*). Watchin’ wrestlin’ on TV was an event for me back then. I would dream about that shit every time, I would close my eyes and generate visions of Mighty Igor choke-holding Sergeant Slaughter, Mascara body-slammin’ the undertaker. I would patiently wait for Sunday when a new episode would air.

My Dad loves watchin’ the shit, by the way. Always tryna get me to kick it with him whenever it came on and I was around. The convo is always the same...

Pops would say, "the big man, wrestling is on come join me".
"Nah", I'd reply, smiling.
"You know, this is no different from the movies, all scripted".
"I know", shaking my head and smiling even harder.

Wrestling deceived me... I've forgiven the deceit but I’ll never forget.