The following is a personal story from my childhood that is wrestling related in the most unusual way imaginable. In hindsight, if you look at it from the perspective of a black nine-year-old who grew up in an all-white neighborhood, it’s quite funny.
I come from a musically-inclined family; however, the maker left me out of that equation, which I’ve come to terms with. Besides, being an enthusiast of this artistic medium is more my speed anyway.
There are days where I enjoy nothing more than throw on the headphones and lose myself to the sweet melodies of some good music. The one thing that can send all of that to a screeching halt is to expect something amazing, only to get something awful in return. Continue reading “The Plague of Unauthorized Wrestling Albums”