Lately I have had to face an uncomfortable truth about myself: vulnerability arouses me, specifically a handsome young man in an impossibly hard place, reduced to tears. I find myself wavering between conflicting emotions, on one hand, a desire to coddle, and, on the other, an urge to throttle--two opposite senses of "to take care of." Worse, I experience the two feelings simultaneously. For the time being, let's call this my "sado-maternal" instinct.
In pro wrestling, some guys satisfy this hybrid sensation better than others. Whereas some guys, trapped in an expert heel's grip, manage only pained expressions, which they wear stiffly like masks, and some hardly persuade me that they are even mildly vexed, faces placid as cows, others sob like their hearts are bursting, uninhibited, abject, piteous sorrow. It's Oscar time ... and boner city. Further, their sobs ring loud and true, not one false note in their songs of woe.
Blonds, as a rule, are the most gifted, more in touch with their feelings, perhaps. But skilled cry babies come in all colors, sizes, and shapes. Earlier this evening I posed myself the question of who bawls best, limiting my picks to only BG East's current roster. I came up with the following: Lucky Loko, Cameron Mathews, Kid Karisma, Eli Black, Bobby Horton, and Dylon Roberts, in no particular order. These guys sell their opponents' holds with quivering realism, wrenching the heart and stiffening the rod.
But I am just one man. I haven't seen everything, and my memory is short. So tell me, did I forget anybody essential?
|Lucky agonizes over Dev Michaels|
|Cameron suffers for Kid Vicious|
|Kid K languishes in the grip of Z-Man|
|Eli gets racked by Morgan Cruise|
|Bobby feels the wrath of Jonny Firestorm|
|Dylon squeals for Jonny|