April 2025 and April 2026
Published April 2026
Intro
I’m writing this while flying home from Vegas after my second WrestleMania. More than anything, I feel grateful.
Yesterday, while standing in a restroom line, a man with Omega brands on both calves looked down at his phone, rolled his eyes, and muttered, “Are you f’n kidding me?” before handing the phone to his buddy behind me.
“Look what Maya just said,” he complained. “She was cool with me coming to Mania… until now. She really couldn’t wait one more day before ruining my good time?”
His buddy rolled his eyes, “Did you give her a hard time when she went to LA?”
“Hell nah.”
I’m grateful for many reasons but maybe most of all because my wife supports my insane fandoms, including the Bills and professional wrestling.
Interestingly, the buddy was a Sigma from Pittsburgh. We gripped, greeted, and GOMAB’d (IYKYK).
The Stadium
Heading back to Section 117, Row 32, Seat 1, I was immediately grateful for an aisle seat. At WM41, I sat in a better row (14) but in Seat 2. I’m a big guy. I know this.
Last year, I squeezed in next to two men wider than me. We looked at each other and smirked with the mutual recognition of an uncomfortable situation already unfolding.
My new friend to my right, Nick from North Carolina, said, “We gonna make this work.”
I introduced myself with, “We’re about to get to know each other real well.”
Justin, from Ohio, to my left chimed in, “Could be worse. We could be watching at home.”
For two nights, we squeezed our way through many thrilling moments, some horrible matches, and literal ups and downs, with our row seemingly needing a bathroom break every 90 seconds.
Allegiant Stadium is stunning, draped completely in Raider black and silver. The Raider logo is baked into every gray seat. The concourses, however, are nowhere near wide enough, creating constant bottlenecks near food stands and restrooms. Prices were worse than Yankee Stadium- $9 for a 20-ounce bottle of Raider water, $10 for Smartwater, $17 for a mediocre MorningStar Spicy Black Bean Burger (I know the product), and $15 for a 12-ounce Modelo. I didn’t eat or drink much.
The Magic of Peaceful Violence
Some of my greatest stadium experiences include:
- Multiple Pearl Jam shows at MSG
- Game 5 of the 2024 Yankees World Series
- 2022 Bills Wild Card vs. the Patriots
- The first-ever Vegas Golden Knights playoff game in 2018
WrestleMania energy is just different. Not better. Not worse. Just different.
Wrestling offers anticipation, suspense, and thrill without the anxiety of playoff sports where one moment can define or end an entire season. Micah Hyde’s first-quarter interception in the Bills’ perfect game against New England remains my favorite live sports moment. Aaron Judge’s dropped ball in the fifth inning, my lowest. Very little feels more cathartic than belting out Pearl Jam’s “Given to Fly” with thousands at MSG, standing shoulder to shoulder with my brother.
Mania is different.
The elaborate entrances. Fifty thousand fans singing theme songs. Deafening chants of “CM Punk,” “OTC,” and this year, maybe the loudest sound I’ve ever heard- “OOOOOBBBAAAA.” The explosive reactions to surprise appearances. The collective gasps at terrifying ladder spots. The drama.
Professional wrestling is live-action art. Many don’t appreciate it, or don’t want to. They see “men in underwear fake fighting over tacky belts.” They miss the the ring psychology, the raw athleticism, and- when done well- the masterful storytelling conveyed without announcers or scripts. Just performers taking tens of thousands of people on a journey through the story of a match told through movement, timing, and theatrics.
I stopped apologizing for being a wrestling fan. I stopped being ashamed. Embrace your passions proudly.
You love Disney? Wear those Mickey ears.
Star Wars? May the Force Be With You.
Anime? Cosplay your heart out.
UFC? Go full rabid.
MAGA rallies? Not you. Gross and delusional. There is a line.
Wrestling fans are the most diverse fan base in the world, and I’ll stand by that. Over the past two years, I’ve met fans from Canada, England, Ireland, Mexico, Australia, Japan, and every corner of the U.S. Wrestling events are inclusive microcosms of society even if the current corporation is doing their best to price some of their fans out of the building. Families in all their forms. Grandparents “Yeeting”with their grandkids. Boomers, Gen Xers, and Millennials debating their Mount Rushmore.
Despite the constant troubles of our world, for a few hours, people escape. At places like WrestleMania, they gather in a community of peaceful violence.
I am grateful for peaceful violence in a world that seems unnecessarily violent in its pursuit of peace.
A Little Peace
This year, I found peace in an aisle seat next to seven-year-old Pedro and his older brother, Ricky.
As I returned to my seat on Night Two with only the main event remaining, Pedro, wearing a Roman Reigns shirt he would eventually grow into, was demolishing a double cheeseburger– two brand-new replica belts resting proudly on his lap.
“Wow, look at you?” I said.
He turned toward me, mouth full, and just smiled.
Ricky, maybe 17 or 18, was incredible all weekend. He calmed Pedro when matches upset him, explained moments a seven-year-old struggled to process, made sure he ate, drank, and took breaks. On our way out, I said, “You’re a really good brother. Way better than me.”
He patted Pedro on the head and simply said, “Thank you.”
Lessons Learned
Leaving Allegiant Stadium is anything but peaceful. Fifty thousand people exiting at once is chaos. What should be a 15-minute walk to Mandalay Bay turned into an hour-plus sweat-soaked zombie shuffle.
In 2025, I made the fatal mistake of waiting, hoping something magical would happen after the show went off the air. It didn’t.
I shuffled. First toward Mandalay Bay. Then behind the Luxor, hoping for a shortcut. Turns out, that road belongs to the drunk and disorderly. Grown adults nearly came to blows over John Cena. Polarizing. (IYKYK.)
I dangerously crossed toward Excalibur, thinking I was finally free only to reach my least favorite bridge leading to NYNY. Add another reason to hate that bridge. The crowd came to a standstill. Traffic flowed both ways. Tourists collided with WrestleMania attendees. The bridge swayed.
Impatient idiots ran up the down escalator as chants and cheers reigned from above, leftovers from Mania. Those who made it got massive pops. Those who failed earned thunderous heat. And like WWE referees, the police showed up, booed mercilessly for daring to end the only entertainment left. I may have been the only person to root for the “heel” police.
It took over an hour to reach Park MGM, where I finally found comfort in Eataly one night and Best Friend the next.
This year, I learned.
As soon as the final bell rang, I bolted and busted it to Mandalay Bay. Both nights, I grabbed a coffee, played a few slots, waited out the rush, then walked back peacefully. Saturday night, I checked out Natural Born Killers at HyperX Arena. Never too much wrestling.
Sunday night, I did the same route and made it back to Park MGM in under 30 minutes.
Grateful for an early night.
Amen
My final moment of gratitude came on my final walk through Park MGM on the way to Vdara.
Since January, I’ve been working hard to learn Spanish, a long-time goal. Outside Bavette’s Steakhouse, where Anne and I had enjoyed a wonderful (and expensive) meal days earlier, a short man with weathered skin, wearing a blue hat and tattered jeans, tapped me on the shoulder.
“Hablo español,” he said.
“Un poco.”
He spoke fast. I struggled to understand.
I interrupted, “Estoy aprendiendo. Si hablo despacio, te entiendo.”
I’ve practiced that sentence countless times for students and for families hoping to use it at Southern.
He slowed.
“No tengo familia. No tengo trabajo. Tengo hambre.”
I have no family. I have no work. I’m hungry.
He said more. I struggled to understand but there was a story about his family, his job, and his life. I understood some of his words but truly sensed his genuine pain.
I gave him some cash. I wished it was more.
He put his hands together, tears in his eyes, bowed his head, and said, “Gracias. Amén.”
In all the hours I’ve practiced Spanish with my mom, students, colleagues and friends, I never imagined the first meaningful use would come on the walk home from WrestleMania.
Each Vegas journey means something. Fun. Joy. Peace. Violence. Rest. Sun. Prayers.
And always, gratitude.
Then. Now. Forever.
Conquering Vegas begins with Salvegas24. 