These guys may never be my friends. They may be too tough and prickly to cuddle. Their muscle is not for show. They are not the Greek god types--or, if they are, the god is Ares, god of war (Romans called him Mars). Ares was the epitome of the Greek idea of aggressive energy. Not one to gloss over the ugly effects of war and violence, Homer characterized Ares as "devastating Ares," "baleful Ares," and "brazen Ares." (All references to The Iliad, a book-length poem about war and rage--yeah, I've been working on lesson plans.) Not the easiest men to live with, warriors nevertheless exude a certain irksome appeal, chronicled from Gilgamesh to Iron Man 3. These guys, big and small, are wrecking balls. They destroy.
Today's theme is wrestlers whose hotness factor is 90% or more based on pugnacity. These are the guys you want in your corner in a fight, but not necessarily guys you invite to a pajama-party-slash-all-night-Streisand-marathon. You hire them as bodyguards to clear a path through crowds for you if you are rich enough, or in my 007 fantasies of arch-villainy, they're my henchmen. (I like pretty, too, by the way, and charming, and funny, smart, cute, sensual, and adventurous, just so you know my tastes in men have several facets, even though my blog posts tend to fixate--analytically, perhaps obsessively--with one or only a few at a time.) In pro wrestling, Dory Funk Jr., "Stone Cold" Steve Austin, and Bill Goldberg personify rage and the power to destroy. In movies, Harry Callahan, John Rambo, and John McClane. I collected my examples here from BG East's pay-site The Arena, because BGE still has, indisputably, the choicest hellraisers. These are the guys, when at last I'm set to forge my evil empire, I want to surround me in tight Armani suits. (The rest of you, be at my place at ten--we're starting with Funny Girl.)