Professional wrestling is (spoiler alert) not real. It is not, as the Vegas odds makers say, legitimate. I, personally, will not call it fake. Yes the outcomes are predetermined. Yes it is choreographed; but it is not fake, it’s controlled. You can fake punches. You can control the outcome of a suplex or a bodyslam, but you can’t fake falling off a 20ft ladder and landing on another human being. That being said, however, there was once a point in time, in this great and enlightened country, where we believed that everything that happened within the squared circle was one hundred percent real. If that were the case there are a number of frightening things that we consciously or subconsciously took as gospel.

Regular People With Regular Jobs Solve Their Problems With Brutal Physical Combat

In the late '80s to early '90s, a plethora of of wrestler’s gimmicks (their in-ring personas) were based around real life concepts that were easy to identify, costume and merchandise. The Big Boss Man was a Prison Guard—complete with uniform and night stick. Nailz was an escaped convict in orange prison jumpsuit. Irwin R. Schyster (IRS) was a tax lawyer from the government dressed in slacks, suspenders, tie and cut off button up shirt; like an over-agro mormon missionary. Tatanka was a Native American who came to the ring in full headdress (and little else) and tomahawk chopped his way to victory while rain-dancing around the ring. The first point is that pro wrestling in the '80s was very, very weird.

The second point is that these people were not presented as gimmicks or stage names. These were real people, who were the personification of these “real life” characters. This was a real prison guard who decided that his best solution in life was to do nothing more than whip wholesale ass on anyone who challenged his authority. This was a real agent of the government who, having grown tired of the inaction of bureaucracy, took to the ring to enact pain and vengeance for all of those naer do wells who don’t heed to the government boot-heel. This was the world you lived in. A place where anyone, around any corner, could be the next psychopath ready to beat you over the head with a folding chair until your skin is just a sack to hold the blood for even the slightest perceived insult.

The Law Doesn’t Exist

Understand that while law enforcement does, occasionally, show up in the universe of the WWE they are a neutered agency bereft any of real power or authority. The law of jungle is the only law that truly applies. The bigger, the meaner, the nastier you are, the more likely you are to be right. That’s how The Undertaker can lock the Ultimate Warrior in an airtight casket and walk away to let the man die. Jake the Snake Roberts torments and tortures humans on a regular basis with a variety of snakes in a manner that would be a bit too out there for Guantanamo? That’s a Tuesday. Every sneak attack. Every chair shot. Every buried alive match is nothing but flaunting the fact that the law means NOTHING.

If the law existed inside a WWE ring then Stone Cold Steve Austin, one of the biggest stars of The Attitude Era, would be indicted by a grand jury faster than Whitey Bulger. He ran over The Rock’s car. Exploded DX’s bus. Filled Mr. McMahon’s limo with cement. Assaulted his co-workers with a firehose powered beer cannon. And these acts happened REGULARLY. In the world of WWE, if you are unable to solve your problems with pure physical violence you can always go full on domestic terrorist, let your now classic theme music hit, and everyone will forget about it by next week’s broadcast.

Demons Are Real

The supernatural is something that humanity has struggled with since the inception of existential thought. What happens after we die? What strange realms exist beyond our comprehension? What strange powers can an otherworldly being harness in a vainglorious attempt to dominate us mere mortals? Is there a hell and if so, what awaits us? Well guess no longer fearless viewer because the WWE has scoured the four corners of the earth (and the ethereal Parts Unknown) to bring you some of the most truly terrifying creatures to walk the face of the earth. If PT Barnum had a special exhibit in hell it would be stocked with the horrors of the darkside of professional wrestling.

The Undertaker is a dead man, capable of controlling electricity, light and impervious to the physical assaults of his opponents one day a year. Like a satanic Kris Kringle who doesn’t deliver presents but instead pile drives the naughty list into oblivion. Kane is the Devil’s favorite son capable of controlling fire and, like his brother The Undertaker, is possessed of otherworldly physical prowess. The Boogeyman is the literal human embodiment of the creature that stalks our nightmares and ghost stories. Also, he carries a Flava-Flav style clock because time is everyone’s enemy; and Flava-Flav is a terrifying cautionary tale. Pappa Shango was a true VooDoo priest who could call upon the netherworld to infect his enemies. If you thought it was bad enough that your neighbor might put you through a table for borrowing his lawnmower—now you have the supernatural to deal with. And it was all, supposedly, real.

Smart People Are Inherently Evil, Strong People Are Inherently Good

Professional wrestling has been fanning the flames of a culture war for decades without you even knowing it. For years they have presented the fallacy that that the well-educated, well-spoken, intellectual elites of the industry are evil. They act as if they're above the physicality of combat but will result to cheap shots and low blows in order to beat the good guy at his own game. Mr. Perfect, The Genius, Damian Sandow, Bobby "The Brain" Heenan—all of these men were the pro wrestling equivalent of the "smarter than you" stereotypes that have helped to create the mentality that it's bad to be smart. Conversely, the men most eager to "stop of all this fancy talking and get down to the business of whoopin' ass" have always been portrayed as the average Joe standing up to them damn superior smarties. Hacksaw Jim Duggan, John Cena and Brutus "The Barber" Beffcake were never going to be a Rhodes Scholar, let alone spell it, but they would be more than willing to stand up for the little guy with their fists.

In the reality of the WWE Universe your college professor is nothing more than a wannabe super villain who is, undoubtedly, plotting the demise of every student in the class over the pettiest of differences. Your boss, your landlord, those damn PhD toting doctors; they're all out to get you. If you find yourself in need of backup to take on the dickish brainiacs, you can simply walk down to your local gas station, pick up the American flag, and lead a blue collar horde to the halls of face smashing victory! Just don't use none of them smart words.

One Megalomaniac Controls The Lives Of Hundreds Of People

In the world of WWE there is no one more powerful than the McMahon family. They are the owners, operators, lords, masters and all encompassing authority figures of all the wrestlers under contract with the company. While the entire McMahon family is/was involved in the business of watching half naked men fight for fancy belts, no one man holds greater sway than Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr. In a delusional world where professional wrestling is real Vince McMahon is the Sheriff of Nottingham, President Snow and Emperor Palpatine rolled into one.

His word is law and if you cross him he will force you to bow before his might by making you fight inside a steel cage, that's on fire, against a dead man. He will ruin your life, your livelihood, and—if possible—the future of your entire family. Every wrestler who seeks to make their living as a professional spectacle fighter must bow to the whims of the man who turned pro-wrestling from a regional, carnival sideshow into the global juggernaut that it is today. His ego must be fed to the sacrifice of all other things. He must be coddled and and pampered. You will not speak ill of the emperor's new clothes. 

This one is, ahem, a little closer to reality than speculative fiction.