Apart from a fading memory of the scantily-clad Von Erich family on a UHF channel, I know absolutely nothing about WWE or UFC or MMA or any of the other 3-letter organizations that endorse foot-to-face combat [this fact alone probably bumps me into a better-than-average IQ category]. I find the sophisticated strategy and post-match interviews to be too much for me to process in one sitting. And I agree with Tim Gunn, the speedo-like shorts and the lace up boots are a hideous combination.
When I get in the immediate presence of the Bagg boy quartet, though, a wrestling match always seems to breakout. After a large meal typically [which presents its own challenges], we’ll end up sparring on the floor or the couch or the nearest random spectator. It’s usually an all-of-them vs. me throw down that produces more girly screams and cackles than landed punches. But it has become a fun tradition that rivals Nana’s mac and cheese and Grandma’s sweet potato casserole.
Alex just took a heel to the temple!
Luke pauses during this move for a quick pic…still not sure where the rest of Landry is!
Found him!
The joy of pain!
