Last night was absolutely freaking insane. We made it with plenty of time to spare to wander around, buy fries and a t-shirt (but not a beer - eight bucks is a bit steep for a bottle of Bud, especially if you happen to think Bud tastes like booty sweat), and scope out the space. Then my nephew, myself, and 80,101 (according to the news this morning) of our closest friends settled in to watch an amazing display of pageantry, gymnastics, and pyrotechnics. The music was loud enough to stun my ears, and the light shows were stunning as well, in a different way. Flames, fireworks, spotlights, you name it.
It was also fun to see some of the names from my childhood, some of whom, heaven help them, are still wrestling. And to see some new folks, who have their own excellent personas. An example, pictured here holding aloft his new championship belt, is the undertaker, who has a truly entertaining entrance show involving dozens of acolytes carrying giant flaming braziers to the sound of Gregorian chanting. As you do.