10 Things You Only Learn Attending WWE WrestleMania Live
3. ...So You Make Your Own Fun
You don't go to WrestleMania to piss and moan, you go to WrestleMania to realise a dream - and this comes with it a determination to have fun, even if that fun is incidental to the intended presentation.
You bond with your section. As The Miz and Shane McMahon exchanged brutal shoot fists in their affront to the work/preposterously entertaining Falls Count Anywhere banter banger, my section, 304, chanted "304! 304! 304!" in an attempt to beckon the brawlers to the Gods.
We couldn't see a f*cking thing, with that stadium oddly shrouded in darkness, so instead of silently watching the action on the screen, we instead dared the Money to blacken Miz's eyes in front of our own. It was never going to happen, obviously, but this ironic detachment is part of the experience, a word, incidentally, WWE has ruined forevermore as of Monday night.
Can you imagine, I thought, allowing myself to believe in the impossible for a moment. Can you imagine just how much oxygen Shane McMahon would have to suck, were he to actually climb this distance? He'd have taken more air out of the stadium than Triple H Vs. Batista.
You fill the gaps intended solely for the cameras with daft, imaginary scenarios. Why is the Hardy Boyz theme playing for nine straight minutes? Did one of the André participants pull a Papa Shango?
Would Vince have even noticed?