I’ve been out of the loop on professional wrestling for what seems like forever now. I don’t know the major players; I don’t know the companies, and from the few drop-ins I’ve done over the years, you can basically have it. But I have the fondest memories, as a very small boy, of the syndicated Big Time Wrestling show, out of the National Wrestling Alliance‘s Detroit territory, which could always be counted on to keep an hour of boredom at bay on a rainy Saturday afternoon (“And Pampero Firpo coco-butts The Sheik! He’s killed him! He’s killed him! No, no wait!  He’s getting up!”). And the early days of Vince McMahon’s WWF, when I was a teenager, were some of the best “TV theatre” around, with the hypnotic, hysterically funny “Rowdy” Roddy Piper a true artist at his craft.