1 - The Chest (June 27, 2016) / by Khristen Wilson


I tell a lot of people that was watching professional wrestling in the womb. A lot of them call bullshit, how could you watch and indulge in something if you’re not even born yet? My brother is 13 years older than me, and as a teenage boy in the nineties he was as enamored with professional wrestling as most people. Monday Night RAWs and Nitros were a family affair in my house; so if my brother was watching wrestling, so was my mother. My mother sat with me in her womb watching characters like Sting, Stone Cold Steve Austin, and the Rock. Once I was born I was stuck in that room with my brother indulging in wrestling most days of the week, even if not fully conscious of what was going on that TV screen. As I grew up, in the same room as my father and my brother, wrestling became my life. In those days, I created the personas of Khris X, a smack talking bad guy that would do whatever it took to win; Kid Krazy, a fan favorite highflyer; and the City Slicker, a cheating Nevadan who carries around a case full of poker chips and cards. Somehow, I managed to wrestle with a3 foot plush Spider-Man, occasionally switching characters mid-fight for matches to play out the way I wanted. My love for wrestling led to me collecting various memorabilia like action figures, t-shirts, and of course belts. I’d give myself belts based on different storylines that I created for wrestlers. Some wrestlers won the hardcore championship, some won the intercontinental, and only the prestigious won the world heavyweight championship. I held all these belts in a blue chest, among my props for my matches: pillows for chairs, poster tubes for Singapore canes and folded blankets for tables. Wrestling was my life and it was all I cared about and that chest held everything near and dear to me. Whenever I had a problem, whatever problem a child could have at the time, I’d dig into the chest and escape into an entire new world that I created and had control over. Over the years that chest deteriorated, it became ridden with cracks and cuts to the point that I couldn’t open it without stabbing myself. Eventually as I grew into my teenage years, I found out it’s not exactly normal to wrestle around with your Spider-man action figure in your boxer briefs. That chest transformed into a clear storage box and I moved it into the basement. However, my love and passion for professional wrestling remains as present as ever. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll have a real belt.