The Long Road to WrestleMania

Welcome Back!

It’s been a while since I posted and a lot has happened:

• Three Vegas Trips 
• A hip replacement
• Becoming Dr. Sal 
• Turning Fifty 

With Vegas 44 just days away, I’m going to prepare a few posts for the next few weeks and months. I’m rolling out a series of posts centered around  WrestleMania 41 which coincidentally (and perfectly) coincided with Vegas 41. 

The WrestleMania Series will include:

• Part 1- The Long Road to WrestleMania 41
• Part 2- Anthony, His mom, and WWE World
• Part 3- The Long Walk Home from WrestleMania 41 to WM 42

And a few reviews and stories:

• Independence Day
• Tape Face says “Go Bills”
• Delilah

Let’s start at the beginning:

Part 1: The Long Walk to WrestleMania 41

I was eight years old when I fell in love with wrestling. It was mine. I didn’t share it with anyone else. My parents, siblings and most of my friends didn’t love the squared circle the way I did. 

It wasn’t just the action. It was the stories:

Hulk Hogan body slamming Andre the Giant. 

Ricky “the Dragon” Steamboat exacting revenge on Macho Man Randy Savage after getting his throat crushed with the ring bell on Saturday’s Main Event. 

And later it was Stone Cold Steve Austin literally flipping off his boss in acts of defiance wearing denim and knee braces. (The glass crashing was part of mine and Anne’s wedding entrance.)

When I wasn’t watching, I was creating. I staged wrestling stories with my GI Joe action figures. Tomax and Xamot, the Crimson Twins were the ultimate heels destroying the one-armed Wet Suit (he lost an arm in and I turned it into a storyline).

 I didn’t attend my first WWF show until after I graduated college. My father took my brother and me to a house show at Platt High School where the Bushwackers faced Nikolai Volkoff and Borris Zhukov. I never watched WrestleMania, Royal Rumble or Summer Slam live. I waited for the VHS release a month later or sometimes or tried to squint through the squiggly scrambled lines (if you know you know). 

Before the internet and social media, I relied on whoever might show up at school with the details from the recent PPV. In 1987, during one of the biggest WrestleMania events, I waited through the local sports broadcast for the results. They never came. I was disappointed, confused and crushed. 

Going to WrestleMania became a  life goal.

In April of 2025, it became reality. 

WrestleMania Saturday began at 10am at Intrigue Nightclub inside the Wynn for the Busted Open WrestleMania Party. 

Dave LaGreca, the Innovator of Violence and ECW Legend, Tommy Dreamer, WWE Hall of Famers Bully Ray (Bubba Ray Dudley) and the World’s Strongest Man, Mark Henry, hosted their annual live show and party for the Busted Open Nation. And somehow, I was there! 

Drinking Bloody Marys at 10am in a Vegas nightclub filled with passionate wrestling fans at 10am felt absurd, surreal and at the same time, absolutely perfect. 

I grabbed a spot in a white leather booth beside fans I’d just met including Terry who I chatted with while we were in line waiting to get into the party. We bought each other drinks. We laughed. Wrestling connects strangers fast. 

As guests rotated through-  D-Lo Brown, Thunder Rosa, The Bella Twins, Dolph Ziegler, Natalya, and even Vanessa Hudgens I had my first quiet realization: 

I am living a good life. 

After a few selfies and handshakes, Terry and I started the long trek to Allegiant Stadium.

Terry had traveled from Virginia for his first WrestleMania. We agreed  to take a slow 3.5 mile walk down the Las Vegas Strip to Allegiant Stadium with hours to go before the gates opened but one thing wasn’t waiting, the sun and unbearable heat. 

We popped into Walgreens by CVS to grab a few waters. 

Along the way, we really talked. 

The sun beat down on us both in black hats, wrestling shirts, and shorts. Crossing the street by Mirage, now gone, my anxiety rose. While I love meeting new people, I’m always bracing for political landmines like an RKO out of nowhere. It turns out I misjudged Terry completely. 

He’s a short white guy with a wide smile who had just turned fifty. He shared his health journey, losing over seventy points while working in the restaurant industry which is no easy feat. He showed me photos from his heaviest days. Barely recognizable. 

We stopped at Caesars Palace for coffee. Terry owns a Thai restaurant and food truck. He talked about rising food costs, the stress of ownership, how he planned to give back to the local community if SNAP benefits were suspended, and his frustration with the current administration. 

Then, his voice shifted for the first time on our walk. 

His wife was in Thailand visiting family. She was flying back in the next few days. He feared she would be detained or, worse yet, not allowed to return even with proper documentation.

We talked about his adopted daughter. About pressure. About worry. 

Everywhere I go, I’m always Sal Rizza. And people, somehow, talk to me. I bought the coffees. We sat. We talked. And then we continued the walk. 

The sidewalks were packed with fans of all ages in John Cena and CM Punk shirts and hats. Kids with major Jey Uso YEET energy. The sparks off of replica belts blinding.  

The walk took a toll on us both and we started to really struggle. The bridge connecting NYNY and Excalibur felt like a furnace. For some reason, that is the hottest spot on the entire strip- every time. We skipped the tram connecting Excalibur to Mandalay Bay. It was chaos. 

Inside Excalibur, Terry said, “Let’s take a cab the rest of the way.”

I warned him that I didn’t think the cab could get us much closer. He insisted. 

He tipped a cab driver twenty dollars and asked him to get us as close to Allegiant Stadium as possible. He drove about 400 yards and dropped us off between Luxor and Mandalay Bay. 

The final stretch was brutal.

No shade. Slight incline. Refillable water stations were available along the way that I visited two or three times. Our breathing got heavy. Words stopped. 

I can’t imagine what that walk is like for July concerts or September football games. 

Then, I saw it. Allegiant Stadium. The black-and-sliver spaceship. WrestleMania banners hanging proudly on “The Death Start.”

I stopped and took photos. I wanted to remember this moment. 

As I was feeling more and more excited, something else had changed. Terry’s smile faded.

“You alright?” I asked after I snapped a selfie.

”These kids with  their dads, it’s getting to me,” he said. “Or maybe it’s just the heat,” 

He told me about his childhood. His father’s alcoholism. Abuse. His family relied on SNAP to put food on the table. His mom worked as hard as she could even though she wasn’t well. His brother who couldn’t take it left the world too early. Wrestling, he said, had been one of the only good things. Sitting together before Dad started a six pack to watch a few matches. Going to some local shows. 

I just listened. Terry started walking slowly, wiping his eyes.

I wasn’t sure what to say so I did my best to tell him what I’d want to hear.

”Terry, you’re at WrestleMania. We were just talking about this being a dream come true. It definitely sounds like this means a lot to you to be here for more reasons than maybe you thought but you’re here now. I can’t tell you exactly how you feel. But, you’ve got a lot going on. Your restaurant. Your wife. Your daughter…”

”Dude, I feel like I’m dragging you down,” Terry interrupted. 

“No way. That’s not me. I’m glad you said something. Honestly. I’m not a counselor or a therapist. But, I know enough to know you definitely should talk about this stuff with someone. You are here. Just like Cody Rhodes, you’ve got to finish your story.”

I’m corny. I don’t care. That line got to him. He understood. A year earlier, Cody Rhodes achieved his dream of being WWE champion, something his father never did,  and doing so at one of the greatest WrestleMania’s in history. 

Terry stuck his hand out and I grasped it firmly. It was as if we knew each other well enough for a strong handshake but not a hug in the Allegiant Stadium parking lot wouldn’t have felt right. 

“Sal, thank you.. Let’s fucking enjoy this.” 

The road to WrestleMania was a lot longer than 3.5 miles. For Terry, it stretched much farther than the Las Vegas Strip. 

As I made my way towards the gate, I breathed it all in. 

The stories. 

Fathers and sons. 

Fans from across the globe. 

Kids ready to explode when their favorite superstar’s music hits. 

I was grateful. 

Vegas gave me another moment. A memory that I’ll appreciate now, forever and always.