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Scott "Bam Bam" Bigelow is dead.

He was found a couple of days ago by his girlfriend.

For the record, here is a picture of the man.



There are things that speak to us all. Women dig romantic movies and suchlike, men are drawn to kinetic energy. There are two things about the cartoon fake violence that is professional wrestling that touches a nerve deep down.... the first is the idea of man as pillar of strength, of superhero. Of prowess and might, conquering and dragon-slaying. The two positive images that speak to this are the protective Terminator of T2, and the men going out to defend the women and children against the barbarian hordes in the 13th Warrior. The second is just every primate's dream, deep down, to solve shit with a well placed boot and just throw the fuck down when someone's being a douchebag.

Scott was a big boy. Three hundred and fifty pounds of tattooed brawn who could throw grown men around. A live superhero in the flesh, an imposing physical character.

And he lived large, too. Made a pile of cash, travelled the world. met Lawrence Taylor in front of tens of thousands of screaming fans.

And then he was gone.

And then so was his lifestyle. The divorce (the road takes a toll on all relationships) took what he owned. She took the kids and his material wealth. The injuries started to sap what he had left. A close friend of his, a fellow pro wrestler, noted that he and Bigelow were fortysomething and they'd both attended more than thirty funerals for their friends in the past year.

"Look after yourself" was the only and last advice this pro wrestler gave. And now the guy he gave it to he'll be burying today or tomorrow.

Scott was found by his girlfriend. He didn't really have much. He was living on Social Security disability cheques, having given his entire youth, strength, career and family to paying and baying fans. From strong enough to throw a two hundred and fifty plus pound man through the air to unable to make a living in any capacity... dead at 45, as used up and broken possibly as a man twice that age.

We men get to see a lot of the good side. We get brawny role models. We see problems resoved with folding chairs, men bashing each other fighting for honour and chivalry. We see them spend the riches they earn.

But we never see how they handle becoming older. Becoming injured. Becoming hurt. Abandoned. Kicked out. Rejected by loved ones and seeing their life's gains repossessed. Becoming numb after countless senseless and early deaths from a lifestyle that promises much and costs even more.

Replace pro wrestler with soldier. Miner. Assembly line worker. It still fits.

I never met Scott Bigelow. Never saw him perform live. Not really a fan of his chosen line of work.

But I'm sad that he's dead.

I'm sad that invincibility doesn't really exist. That strength is fleeting and even the strongest of heroes that we cheer for can fall.

I'm sad that he lived life on the road, lonely as it is, and then probably at the end of it, found most of his friends absent, dying, or gone.

I'm also sad that he died the way he did, living on what was practically a handout, robbed of his dignity and what he'd sacrificed his health to build.

My brother was a single digit aged Hulkamaniac. I wonder how he feels now, watching his aging superhero unable to walk properly, letting his friend (on crutches) stay at one of his houses. I never told him I saw the Hustler in which he ogled and groped young nude women.

We chew so many people up and spit them out. This applies to far more people than it should, not just those in entertainment.

I'm just sad.