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Board game

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Postcards

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Dear Hitman,

Like all parents, my parents wanted me to be good. But growing up in a lower-middle-class household in an old neighbourhood in Lucknow, India, it was hard to justify being good: our leaders were corrupt; our cricket team wasn't winning much; my good parents had to toil every day while scumbags did well; and in day-to-day interactions the seemingly successful people were rude, dishonest, and greedy. It was hard growing up believing: be good and you'll win.

There was one person, though, who was good and also the champion of the world: Bret "The Hitman" Hart.

You never cursed (priorities!). You never cheated. You wore pants. You never lied. You respected other wrestlers. You were graceful in that rare defeat. (I was crushed by your 1992 Summerslam defeat, by the way. I dislike the British Bulldog to this day.)

You loved your fans, high-fiving them all the way from the titantron to the ring. And you gave a kid your sunglasses before every fight. Boy, I can't tell you how many day dreams I have had of  getting a pair of Hitman sunglasses from you. I owned a plastic+rubber band knockoff of them too.

A good percentage of my pocket money went into Hitman memorabilia. (All unlicensed - copyright wasn't really a big thing in India. Sorry!)

In second grade final exams, when I was asked to write an essay about the person I admired most, I wrote about you. I knew all the stats - your rank, fights fought, fights won, biceps, chest, weight, height. I still remember ending the essay with: "He is the best there is, the best there was, and the best there ever will be." I don't remember what my English teacher's reaction was.

Eventually (later than most, apparently), I learned that wrestling isn't "real". The Undertaker doesn't actually have links to the supernatural. Kane isn't his step brother. The fight outcomes are pre-determined.

But it doesn't matter. My childhood was better because of The Hitman. I wanted to be good because you were good. Every child needs a hero.  Thank you for being MY hero.

Now, I hear that you have cancer. Well, cancer doesn't know it is messing with the wrong guy. As Mr MacMahon would say, cancer has NO CHANCE IN HELL. It's about to be Sharpshooted into a painful submission. Cuz you are ...

... the best there is. The best there was. The best there'll ever will be.

Love, laughter
Nitesh

p.s. some items from my Hitman collection below. True story: apparently a lot of my stuff was destroyed by termites (because, Lucknow) but my Hitman collection was unscathed. When termites can't harm your paper postcards, stupid cancer certainly can't do anything to you.

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School supplies

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More postcards

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Vandalism