If you grew up in the 1970s or 80s and watched professional wrestling you definitely know the name, Ric Flair.
Mind you, you might know who he is even if you weren’t a fan of the larger-than-life men who entertained millions of people in the squared-circle.
Nicknamed the “Nature Boy,” Flair is widely regarded as the greatest pro wrestler of all-time. Think what Wayne Gretzky, Babe Ruth and Michael Jordan mean to hockey, baseball and basketball. That’s what Flair means to rasslin’.
The 68-year-old self-proclaimed “limousine ridin’, jet flyin’, kiss stealin’, wheelin’ dealin’, son of a gun is a legend. This is a man who was struck by lightning, twice, and broke his back in three places after he was involved in a plane crash in 1975.
So when I heard that the Hall of Famer was in a medically induced coma on Monday, my heart sank. When one of your childhood idol’s mortality comes into question you take stock of your own, you reflect on your memories, and — at least in my case — you crack a smile.
Then again, this is Rick Flair we’re talking about here. Never mind a smile, he deserves a “Woooooooo!”