In Which I Go All Homo for Hades
Even if I were not already gay, I would probably go homo for Jason Hades. He's got the haircut--short, dapper, and tough. He's got that battering-ram forehead, cheekbones, and nose, offset by perpetually smirking eyes. Thin, deadly serious lips. Solid convex belly, with a navel that's proof his mother's obstetrician was thinking "sexy" when the cord was cut. And then there are those shoulders and that back you could play racquetball off of.
Recently, when prompted to name my favorite independent wrestler, I replied, without hesitation, "Hades." It's not just his Germanic good looks, though. I like many ethnicities, builds, and styles of men--but perhaps there is something in my German roots that draws me repeatedly to guys who look like extras in a remake of Beowulf. Perhaps, it's my lifelong yearning for a tough competitive brother, alluded to recently, that makes it seem as though my blood calls for a clan or tribal rival to fight in some ancient rite of passage.
Beyond the Prussian pulchritude, there's also the guy's fight. Agile, quick, and merciless in the ring, Hades may not win every fight, and may not always be the crowd's favorite (he's turned heel for Dreamwave Wrestling this past year), but he's got style, that much is sure, and a juggernaut pugnacity that is the very definition of "butch" in my book.
Also--and this part is harder to put words to--something about him suggests intelligence and good sense. He's not easily ruffled. His focus in the ring is amazing--and daunting. His demeanor bespeaks a man of discipline and strong will. I don't mean to say he's some kind of sophisticate, pedant, or intellectual poser. But it takes nothing from the man's fire to say there's something icily dispassionate about him.
Here is a wrestler who can and will figure you out, find your weak spots, wear you down, and then dismantle you bit by bit. He can break your mind, your ego, your will, and your bones. He's a thinking man's wrestler, and I am, if nothing else, a thinking man.
Recently, when prompted to name my favorite independent wrestler, I replied, without hesitation, "Hades." It's not just his Germanic good looks, though. I like many ethnicities, builds, and styles of men--but perhaps there is something in my German roots that draws me repeatedly to guys who look like extras in a remake of Beowulf. Perhaps, it's my lifelong yearning for a tough competitive brother, alluded to recently, that makes it seem as though my blood calls for a clan or tribal rival to fight in some ancient rite of passage.
Beyond the Prussian pulchritude, there's also the guy's fight. Agile, quick, and merciless in the ring, Hades may not win every fight, and may not always be the crowd's favorite (he's turned heel for Dreamwave Wrestling this past year), but he's got style, that much is sure, and a juggernaut pugnacity that is the very definition of "butch" in my book.
Also--and this part is harder to put words to--something about him suggests intelligence and good sense. He's not easily ruffled. His focus in the ring is amazing--and daunting. His demeanor bespeaks a man of discipline and strong will. I don't mean to say he's some kind of sophisticate, pedant, or intellectual poser. But it takes nothing from the man's fire to say there's something icily dispassionate about him.
Here is a wrestler who can and will figure you out, find your weak spots, wear you down, and then dismantle you bit by bit. He can break your mind, your ego, your will, and your bones. He's a thinking man's wrestler, and I am, if nothing else, a thinking man.
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