Hulk Hogan Should Be Remembered for Piledriving Gawker Media into the Ground

Terry Bollea, better known to the world as Hulk Hogan, passed away the other day from a heart attack at his home in Clearwater, Fla., at the age of 71. He’d have been pleased that our culture’s last memory of him will be at the rostrum of the Republican National Convention in July 2024 as he ripped off his shirt to announce the return of “Trumpamania.”

And this won’t be a proper obituary for the man, because I’m the wrong person for such an assignment. Although Hulkamania and pro wrestling was everywhere during my ’80s and ’90s youth, I was never much of a fan. What I know about the world of wrestling is similar to what I know about the world of Harry Potter: knowledge acquired via cultural osmosis rather than direct experience. (My one crystal-clear wrestling memory from the ’90s was gathering in a friend’s basement to watch NBA players Karl Malone and Dennis Rodman face off against one another in a pay-per-view match, and being disappointed at the lack of brutality — one night where the Mailman failed to deliver.)

JB

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.

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Terry Bollea, better known to the world as Hulk Hogan, passed away the other day from a heart attack at his home in Clearwater, Fla., at the age of 71. He’d have been pleased that our culture’s last memory of him will be at the rostrum of the Republican National Convention in July 2024 as he ripped off his shirt to announce the return of “Trumpamania.”

And this won’t be a proper obituary for the man, because I’m the wrong person for such an assignment. Although Hulkamania and pro wrestling was everywhere during my ’80s and ’90s youth, I was never much of a fan. What I know about the world of wrestling is similar to what I know about the world of Harry Potter: knowledge acquired via cultural osmosis rather than direct experience. (My one crystal-clear wrestling memory from the ’90s was gathering in a friend’s basement to watch NBA players Karl Malone and Dennis Rodman face off against one another in a pay-per-view match, and being disappointed at the lack of brutality — one night where the Mailman failed to deliver.)

JB

About the Author

Jeffrey Blehar

Jeffrey Blehar is a National Review staff writer living in Chicago. He is also the co-host of National Review’s Political Beats podcast, which explores the great music of the modern era with guests from the political world happy to find something non-political to talk about.