At times we, as wrestling fans, fall victim to our own suspension of disbelief. We develop a rapport with our favorite and most hated grapplers, bonding to their larger-than-life personas and identifying their exaggerated traits with our own. Even though we only spend a few hours a week with our WWE superheroes, still we connect with them in a way that most sports fans cannot.

And so, when a real-life situation affects the lives of our favorite performers we, as wrestling fans, often fail to separate the private, fallible individual from the invincible, public performer. Even further, when a professional wrestler passes away the industry has no choice but to move on, and move on quickly.

When Owen Hart fell to his death during a 1999 pay-per-view event, I felt nothing. "It's just another angle," I said to my brothers, "he'll eventually reappear."

But he didn't. After a few tribute shows, the WWE necessarily went back to business as usual. When Eddie Guerrero passed away in 2005, I hoped against hope that his death was just another angle. Considering the WWE's penchant for promoting tasteless story lines, I could not put faking a death past them... but again, I was wrong.

Fast forward to 2007. Only a few weeks after Vince McMahon's character was involved in a car bombing, my all-time favorite technical wrestler, Chris Benoit, passed away as well. This time, with the bitter taste of McMahon's death angle still ashen in my mouth, I found myself completely unable to accept the fact that the private individual, Chris Benoit, was dead. All circumstances surrounding his death aside, within weeks the television product had essentially forgotten Benoit ever existed.

I tend to believe that part of enjoying professional wrestling is believing, to one's core, that the athletes involved cannot be destroyed. Their characters do not carry themselves like normal people, and they certainly do not fight like normal people. Accepting that they are, in fact, vulnerable like the rest of us, diminishes their appeal.

When a wrestler of note dies, the people mourn longer than the company. With tickets to sell, merchandise to hawk, and pay-per-view buys to appropriate, the WWE has no time to dwell upon the loss. The other performers, management, and all the others involved in the show must go back to business or else risk losing out on the capital that keeps the show going week after week.

With all that said, I believe that maintaining suspension of disbelief - and consquently, our ability to enjoy pro wrestling - means honoring the fallen by striving to promote the health and well being of those who remain. Even if it means giving up the chemically induced bodybuilder physiques, and occasionally allowing our heroes a few weeks off to rest their bodies and mind from the rigors of their ridiculous year-round schedule. We as fans must learn to accept less superhero aspects in order for the business, and our hearts as fans, to heal from the fallout of our dying heroes.

Learn more about this author, Travis Reynolds.
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