Last night at 8pm ET, WWE's Hall of Fame 2018 commenced.
Approximately ten years later, fans re-emerged from their living rooms like Alan Parrish doppelgangers, as the show finally reached its conclusion.
It was long. Speaking in less polite company, it was f*cking long. Some giant jellyfish would consider its length a tad excessive, were they not composed almost entirely of water and devoid of any real comprehension of time.
Sadly, fans are not, and the sense of our short time on Earth slowly wasting away in the midst of a six-day long Hillbilly Jim treatise was acutely felt.
Celebrations are not supposed to be boring: even the Philately Society's AGM ends in a boisterous knees-up (by all accounts leading to some sticky business). This one was - and it followed the trend which is gradually seeing one of the worthiest days in the WWE calendar become an unendurable slog.
Did anything glitter as we frittered the hours away in an off-hand way? Not specifically, but a certain pink suit did manage to catch the eye...
Benjamin was born in 1987, and is still not dead. He variously enjoys classical music, old-school adventure games (they're not dead), and walks on the beach (albeit short - asthma, you know).
He's currently trying to compile a comprehensive history of video game music, yet denies accusations that he purposefully targets niche audiences. He's often wrong about these things.