Daily Brew 8/22

I was going to do a lengthy Daily Brew today, recaping the weekend in sports and Summer Slam, but instead I won't. As you probably heard, 49er offensive lineman Thomas Herrion collapsed and died in the locker room yesterday. Herrion was 23 years old, and was in relatively good health for a man his size. A graduate of the University of Utah, Herrion had aspirations to go back to school and recieve his masters degree and work with underprivilaged youths when his football days were over. Herrion was beloved by all of his teammates and fellow 49er employees, which tells you exactly what kind of a person he was considering he had only been with the team for eight months. He was a man who on the surface lived life the right way, was a good person, and one who had his entire life ahead of him, and a good one at that. My thoughts and prayers are with his family and teammates at this time of mourning.











Last night was the pay-per-view event Summer Slam. For the majority of my adolescent years, I was a pretty big wrestling fanatic. A group of friends and I would order every monthly event and throw a party for it.

We would go to grocery stores and meet wrestlers, and we even made our way to a few events. Then came college and for whatever reason, I retired from the sport.

What brought me back you ask? A closet case of Hulkamania. What could top Hogan versus Michaels? The Hulster versus the Heartbreak Kid, the Legend versus the Icon, the showstopper versus the Red and Yellow. Nothing. So I gave in and ordered the event.

Was it a good show? I honestly don't know, I don't even know who half of the guys on the card were or what stories they were trying to work. The angles were the same outrageous plotlines I remember (a love triangle and a battle for the custody of a child) and yet I found myself once again liking it.

I was virtually lost for two and a half hours until the main event. At 9:35 when "Real American" played and the Hulkster hit the isle wearing the yellow and red boots, tights, glasses and bowas (and to the backdrop of the largest American flag I've ever seen) I got goose bumps. What is it about that song and that image that just screams Americana?

No words could ever describe the feeling you get seeing the Hulkster hit the ring, or do the finger waggle, rip his shirt, Hulk Up, hit the big boot and atomic legdrop, or see him pose in the center of the ring.

You know he's going to win every match he's in, and how he's going to win and yet I still have to see it happen.

So why do I enjoy wrestling? Thats why. It's definitely up there on list of greatest feelings or sights you can get from sports.