Today was a day of remembering, reflecting, sadness and a cliched opening for my diaryland entry. I had a great opening, but in mid-entry I forgot to save it, and *poof* my machine froze, and the rest is history. Two years ago, all it took was a mishap during a routine event to make a nation of wrestling fans grieve.

The World Wrestling Federation was presenting its' "Over The Edge" Pay-Per-View. G tried to talk me into ordering it, but I had no interest in splitting the $30 price tag with him for a show that I could essentially watch for free on cable telelvision.

"But 'Taker's supposed to win the title."

"Good. Now there's no way I'll order it."

We had a mutual respect for each other's favorite wrestlers. His was The Undertaker. A 6'10" man who in his earlier days wore a black trenchcoat, wide-brimmed hat, and had the agility of a man twice his height.

My favorite was Owen Hart. The youngest brother of the legendary wrestling family the Hart's, Owen could play the heel (bad guy) extrememly well. Plus, he was one of the better technical wrestlers in the federation.

That night, I had a stack of CD's I decided to review, the third of which was Train's self-titled debut. As about 9:50 as "Homesick" begins to play, the phone rings, and it's G.

"Jason."

"What?"

"Owen Hart died."

"No he didn't."

"Well, my cousin was watching the Pay-Per-View and he said that he was practicing for his entrance and he fell." As part of Owen's new gimmick, he brought his earliest character out of retirement, the Blue Blazer, who wore a mask, red white and blue tights and a white feathered cape with a bird done in sequins and on the back. It was goofy, but it seemed right. The Blue Blazer would enter the ring from the ceiling via a harness, and would spread his arms like he was flying on the way down. (thus allowing his "wings" to flap in the wind.)

"Are you lying to me?" I said.

"Jason," (he stretched my name to five times its normal length. "I'm serious. That's what he said."

"Sure he did."

"Just get on the internet to see. This was months before he got his computer."

"OK."

Expecting that this was a terrible practical joke, but thinking that this time he might have been serious, I went to both computer's with internet access and found them busy. The only way I could take my mind off of this would be to watch TV, and to continue to review the CD, still paused in my disc changer. On the page for the review, I wrote, "G called and said Owen 'died' while practicing for his entrance. If that happened..."

On the next song I reviewed, I wrote, "another dumb song I don't feel like listening to. Later he said 'just kidding', but that would be crazy if it happened. They would have mentioned it on 'Heat' (the hour preshow before the PPV).

I was still 50/50 on lie/truth at this point, so I turned on SportsCenter after finishing the CD. Figuring that although this is wrestling, if this were big enough, it'd make the show. I heard the announcement from Dan Patrick. Owen had fallen fifty plus feet from the roof of Kemper Arena. I couldn't believe it. It wasn't a sick joke. But hearing the truth was just as sickening.

Gup called back a few minutes after that.

"Did you check the computer yet?"

"No, but I saw it on Sportscenter."

"What did they say?" I really didn't like the excitement in his voice.

"Just that he fell when he was entering the ring."

He then had the nerve to ask me if I was going to cry in a condesending tone.

I watched the tribute show the next night, a show that scrapped all of it's original plans, and made it a night to remember Owen. In between matches, wrestlers would share their feelings in pre-taped speeches from the locker room. The announcers told stories about traveling with him. It was touching, but as they had done two years earlier, you could tell the federation was exploiting his death for ratings. Making matters worse, the fed continued on with the Pay-Per-View after the incident, which occured less than thirty minutes into a three hour show.

The next week, the show opened with footage of the church where Owen's services were held, and video of people filing out of the church. More exploitation. I watched that episode, and haven't watched since.

The one thing the three of us had in common, and the one thing that we all agreed on was the WWF. I took a stand and boycotted the federation for what they showed. I didn't let them know this though. To this day, they don't know why I quit watching.

Now you know why I have bad feelings for attending the show this Saturday. I feel I'm going back on my original stand. I even feel a little guilty, and I don't get that way very often.

Today on my wall, amongst the yearbook quotes on green cardstock, are five action figures of Owen. They stand united atop my dresser facing my bed beneath a plaque that lists his accomplishments in gold, and shows his picture off to all the world. To borrow a paragraph from his brother Bret, "the next time someone asks you why you watch wrestling 'cause that stuff isn't real -- those guys don't get hurt, do me a favor: Tell them those guys do get hurt -- and sometimes they die out there."

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