The Utility Belt #2

“People get hit by a bus all the time.”
-Vince McMahon (to me!!!) on how things could always be worse.

This week, Sports Illustrated published an article naming eleven WWE wrestlers as having been prescribed steroids of one sort or another, this information based on recent raids in Orlando, FL and Mobile, AL. True story, I once worked for the WWE, as a writer (I quit after a month, but that's another story). I’d tell you what the job entails, but I’m pretty sure I signed something saying I wouldn’t, and anyway, "being broken in half by Hulk Hogan" isn't on my to-do list this year. Suffice to say that if you don’t know why the WWE needs writers, you’re probably not reading this (because you’ve never heard of this “internet”). In any event, I’ve met most of the individuals named in the probe, usually before they pushed me out of the way on their way to do something much beefier than I can possibly imagine. Everyone talks about how huge these guys look on TV, but let me say this in response: You have no clue how HUGE these guys are. Their arms are as thick as most men’s legs, and the average height of these guys has to be around 6’5”. One guy was 7’4”, 420 pounds, and had to duck to get through some doors. Being backstage was like being on the Island of Misfit Toys.

The thing is, we laugh about how big these guys are, but to most guys, size matters. I graduated at six feet tall and weighing about 150 pounds, and I felt like the smallest guy in the world once I got to college. When you’re flirting with a girl and the phrase “wow, my boyfriend can bench press you” comes into the conversation, it’ll do a number on your self-esteem. So I put in a ton of time at the gym, ate unreasonable amounts of protein, took creatine, and managed to bulk up to just under 180 pounds. This is important not only because it shares with my female readers (hi mom!) how jacked I am, but also because when it was all said and done, I still looked around and bigger guys than me and felt small. For all my obsession with size, by the time I’d reached my goal, I still wasn’t satisfied.

If there’s a lesson to be learned from my story, I think it’s that at the end of the day, the real reason we should be scared of people putting this kind of stuff into their bodies is that it gives ordinary people, people like a 150 pound eighteen year old, the idea that there is some easy way to reach an image based “goal” that isn’t really attainable, leading to this endless pursuit of an unrealistic image that doesn’t really offer any satisfaction, a pursuit that could have irrevocable consequences on the lives of countless young men. That, or the lesson is that I am not a real man. Actually, I think that last one is the real life lesson.

Word,

The Utility Man