I can still remember that day as if it was yesterday. August 26, 1991.
I was strolling around the plush surroundings of Midtown Manhattan in a daze. A wonderful, mesmerising daze. I’d never experienced such euphoria.
In fact, the only thing that came close was my 19th birthday when I made love to a stranger on a tyre swing in a park in Dudley. My sexual partner and I were surrounded by a gaggle of frothing local perverts, clapping and chanting, whooping and hissing, as they watched two lithe combatants, entangled in the shadowy majesty of alfresco intercourse.
So, yeah, I had similar feelings of dizzy splendour that balmy night in New York City. A night that will live with me forever. The night I attended the WWE’s SummerSlam event at Madison Square Garden with my dear friend Woody Allen, and a shy little girl by the name of Soon-Yi.
As an aside, Woody introduced Soon-Yi to me as his wife’s daughter that night. He had his hand on her ass as he introduced her as his wife’s daughter, but that wasn’t any of my business then, and it’s none of my business now. All I know is the three of us had the greatest night of our fucking lives.
When the show was over, we skipped down 8th Avenue with impish glee, reliving every moment of this momentous occasion. “Did you see when Bret Hart Sharpshootered the balls off Mr Perfect?!” I roared, with the unabashed enthusiasm of a poof reading Popbitch.
“What about when The Big Boss Man defeated The Mountie and then he, like, put his hand-cuffs on The Mountie and The Mountie got arrested and taken to jail!” retorted Woody, breathlessly. “Is that what happens to criminals, Sam, he added confusingly. “Is it?” I smiled and pretended I hadn’t heard him.
We were soon sat outside a cute little French bistro, eating delicious crepes and hilariously re-enacting the stunning in-ring ceremony that saw the Macho Man Randy Savage and Miss Elizabeth become man and wife. Woody pretended to be Savage – all gruff voice and manic eyes. Soon Yi was the lovely Elizabeth, both ladies sharing a charming coyness that masked some inner demons.
“When will we marry, Woody? asked Soon Yi, strangely. “Jeez, I don’t know, soon maybe,” replied Woody, even more fucking strangely.
I was having a wonderful time but there wasn’t a fucking chance in hell I was accepting their invitation for coffee back at their house that night.
As our laughter reverberated around the packed city streets, a clearly drunk Tom Berenger walked past and – noticing my Legion of Doom shoulder-pads – called me a “right fucking queer”. Before I could even contemplate a verbal comeback, Woody leapt at him like a coiled Chihuahua with rabies. Before Tom can even think, Woody is power-bombing him through a nearby table and finishing him off with a double axe-handle from a chair.
As he stood over the almost-slain star of Platoon, Woody smiled at me, took Soon-Yi by the hand and whispered: “Let’s go have sex before she gets back.” Once again, I ignored this remark and simply stood in awe at his work. The mastery. The power. The sheer devastation.
I fell in love with pay per view wrestling that night. It has remained one of the single most enduring loves of my life. This Sunday, the US Airways Arena in Phoenix, Arizona plays host to the WWE Money in the Bank event. Perhaps you too can sit down and watch some of your favourite wrestlers pretend to kick umpteen shades of shite out each other. Perhaps you too can fall in love.
And the football doesn’t start again for another month, so what fucking else are you going to do?
Not Big Sam is a parody account on Twitter which can be found here. It is in no way related to Sam Neill, Sam Adams, Sam Allardyce or Sam Fox.