Hulkamania — Michael CavaciniMichael Cavacini

The character of Hulk Hogan is the reason I fell in love with professional wrestling. For a lifelong Hulkamaniac like me, the yellow and red isn’t just a color scheme; it’s the visual shorthand for childhood heroism. Over the years, I’ve had the good fortune to meet the man twice—the first time at WrestleMania XXX in New Orleans, where I shook his hand and told him he was my hero, and more recently at WrestleMania 40 right here in my hometown of Philadelphia. During that second meeting, he joked with me about his body falling apart, a reminder of the physical toll the business took on him.

But after watching the Hulk Hogan: Real American documentary series on Netflix, I found myself sitting in the silence of my living room with a heavy heart and a mountain of conflicting feelings.

Continue reading →

If you grew up in the late 80s or early 90s, you didn’t just watch Hulk Hogan—you lived in a world defined by him. Between the vitamins, the prayers, and the neon yellow spandex, the Hulkster was less of a wrestler and more of a living superhero.

But then, 1989 gave us something that defied logic, physics, and perhaps, good taste: No Holds Barred.

Look, I’m not here to tell you this is an Oscar-contending masterpiece. It’s objectively ridiculous. It’s loud, it’s sweaty, and the plot makes a Saturday morning cartoon look like Succession. But despite its campy nature—or maybe because of it—this movie still resonates with me today.