Anthony, his Mom, and WWE World

Part II: Anthony, His Mom, and WWE World

April 2025
Published April 2026

Before WrestleMania gave me spectacle, pyro, and nostalgia, it gave me Anthony and his mom on the Las Vegas Monorail.

I started WrestleMania weekend the way I hadn’t in five years- riding the monorail to WWE World at the Las Vegas Convention Center. While standing on the Paris Station platform, Vegas did what it always does when you let your guard down: it handed you people.

“Excuse me,” a woman named Denise asked. “Do you know if this takes us to the Convention Center?”

“Mom! I told you this was the way!” her son snapped.

“Yup,” I said. “Where are y’all from?”

That was it. That was the start.

Anthony and his mom, Denise, were from New Jersey, in Vegas for the first time to see John Cena’s last WrestleMania. They both worked as servers at an Italian restaurant. As the train crawled in, Denise proudly shared that she regularly waited on Anthony Rizzo’s aunt—and WWE wrestler Sheamus.

“You know, it’s true what they say about Irish people. They can drink. Steven (Sheamus’ real name) can really throw ’em back. He told me to let him know when I get here. I gotta text him.”

Now, I wish this ended with Sheamus meeting us at WWE World and giving us front‑row seats to WrestleMania. But this isn’t fiction.

Denise quickly clocked my Italian roots and, without any filter, started asking about my lineage, stopping just short of deciding we were related. With her gravelly voice, steady smoker’s cough, and weathered skin, she went over the schedule with Anthony again. At every stop, he asked if this was the one.

Her plan was to find somewhere quiet while Anthony did WWE World. I suggested the Westgate.

Anthony, recently 21, wore a faded Rhea Ripley shirt and basketball shorts sliding off his thin frame. Between the two of them, I broke down the entire two‑night Mania card with Anthony and mapped out how to get from The Horseshoe to Allegiant Stadium on Sunday. They were only going one night and planned to find somewhere to watch Saturday.

A few stops out, Denise’s anxiety thickened the air. It became clear Anthony didn’t live independently.

“How much are the tickets for this thing?” she asked.

“Like fifty bucks,” he said.

“Maybe I should just go in with you. I’ll probably lose that on the slots anyway.”

“Ma, I told you! I’ll be fine!”

Sometimes, I really hate being me.

I told them I’d help Anthony find his way around, but only for a few hours. Denise let out a cough‑punctuated sigh of relief and reminded him to text when he was ready to leave so she could meet him outside.

We stepped off the monorail. Denise immediately lit a Marlboro Menthol and limped with Anthony and me toward the Convention Center before peeling off toward the Westgate but only after confirming he had his wallet (Velcro) and phone (30 percent charged).

The Convention Center towered over us, WrestleMania banners hanging like sacred text. Anthony and I checked in and followed the signs into WWE World. Music blasted as we entered the South Hall, passing massive replica championship belts.

The place was packed.

A huge crowd gathered around the main stage for a live broadcast of The Pat McAfee Show. Anthony bought an autograph from Dakota Kai which was one of the most affordable Superstars, and we squeezed our way forward to catch McAfee interviewing Triple H before I helped Anthony find the correct line for his autograph session. Every Superstar had their own long queue, with photos and autographs running anywhere from $40 to well over $200.

Once he understood the process, I wandered.

I toured the displays- replica belts, the Triple H exhibit honoring his 2025 Hall of Fame induction, and the full entrance stage where fans, kids especially, recreated their favorite Superstar walkouts, complete with music and video. Watching kids nail Rhea Ripley’s entire entrance, stomp included, to “THIS IS MY BRUTALITY,” or stride out to “Head of the Table” with fingers raised as the crowd chanted “OTC,” was genuinely awesome. 

After a soft pretzel and water, I grabbed a front‑row spot for a live broadcast of Busted Open, a show I listen to almost daily. When I’d had enough, I wrapped up my time at WWE World in the Superstore, grabbing a shirt and a hat.

As I exited, I found Denise just outside the gate, in full panic. Anthony’s phone was dead, and she couldn’t reach him.

I told her I’d find him. I didn’t have to go far.

He was in line at the store. I reconnected them just in time for a heated debate about merch spending. They negotiated. He agreed to pay her back for the hoodie and T‑shirt. She agreed.

We headed back to the monorail. And yes, Denise lost more on the slots at the Westgate than the ticket to WWE World would’ve cost.

Anthony excitedly replayed meeting Dakota Kai.

“She’s so pretty. I couldn’t even talk!”

I can only imagine his heartbreak when she was released shortly after WrestleMania.

The ride back turned into another round of arguments, with me somehow cast as referee for discussions about money, Anthony’s future, and what this trip was really costing them. Like I said, sometimes I hate being Sal Rizza. I wanted a quiet ride. I didn’t want to worry about how they’d get to Allegiant Stadium or think about their struggles as Denise wanted to sleep and Anthony wanted to keep going.

I offered perspective. I talked about balance, listening to your mother, affordable options around town. Denise nodded and said, “See? Even he listens to his mother, and he’s almost my age.” (Not even close.)

Eventually, Anthony drifted back to thinking about John Cena’s last match and agreed to watch SmackDown and the Hall of Fame ceremony in the hotel room with pizza. We argued Jersey pizza versus New Haven pizza, which isn’t much of a debate if you’ve had both.

When we parted, Denise gave me a big hug. Anthony followed it with an enthusiastic fist bump.

I walked back to Vdara alone. Glad I helped, grateful for the hug and the fist bump, but quietly wishing for a moment where I didn’t have to be Sal Rizza: problem solver, guide, referee, emotional support human.

That feeling didn’t last.

The very next day, Terry happened. Different person, same pull. Another unexpected connection on the road to WrestleMania. (See The Long Road to WrestleMania.) If it sounds familiar, it should.

That’s the thing about WrestleMania weekend and Vegas itself is you don’t just come for the matches. You come for the moments you didn’t script. A monorail ride. A nervous mom. A kid meeting his crush.. A reminder that for all the belts, fireworks, and million‑dollar entrances, professional wrestling works best when it’s human.

The next night, after the walking and the talking and the noise finally quieted, I sat down to watch my first WrestleMania. I was alone—but not really. Anthony, Denise, Terry, and the many moments of my childhood- they all rode shotgun in my thoughts.

Sometimes the best match isn’t on the card.
Sometimes it’s just getting from one stop to the next together.