Another one of my childhood heroes bites the dust. One of the most badass and legendary wrestlers, Brock Lesnar, whom I grew up watching, who literally spanned my entire childhood, and who is the only reason I still watch WWE to this day, has finally hung up his boots. It feels as if, one by one, someone or something is taking away all my playthings, plucking the wings of my nostalgia and rendering me flightless. That being said, it’s sad to realise that WWE won’t be the same.

I still remember the day when he showed up in wrestling, etched into my memory a thousand times over, perhaps thanks to YouTube shorts, but I was immediately in awe. The Next Big Thing, they called him, and to me, he already was. Can’t believe I went on to support him throughout his run, even when he turned heel so many times (it suited his Beast persona the most). I remember as a child, supporting him when one of my friends argued that he was so mean and bad. All I said was, “I don’t care!”

Back when there were more backstage stories, I remember watching in awe the feats he would achieve, like lifting an impossible cylinder, curling a friggin’ steel stage truss, or even comically F-5ing a toy shark. His matchups against a heel Kurt Angle, who did everything possible to bring him down, were unforgettable. Lesnar’s shooting star press remains one of the most iconic things he has ever done, even though it nearly broke his neck. The first time I saw the entire ring break was when Brock superplexed Big Show. Not to mention his belly-to-belly suplex, which remains unmatched to this day.

Even when I knew the secret of WWE, of how it’s basically entertainment, like a movie, with rehearsed sequences, and predetermined outcomes, the show they put on still felt real. And who made it feel more real? It was Brock himself. He had a way of aggrandizing everything he did, of super-selling every move to elevate his opponent, of putting others before himself, always doing what was best for the business.

I was heartbroken to see him go after his match with Goldberg back then, when Vince McMahon, couldn’t decide who he hated most for leaving, though I later understood the reasons behind it. I followed him through his UFC days as well, and boy, was I thrilled to see him absolutely dominate there too. To me, he was this absolute beast of an athlete, someone who could do anything, and he proved it time and again. When he returned to WWE, I was jumping with excitement, as he tore through everyone, beating them black and blue. With Vince, making all the right decisions for him, his legacy was etched through countless memorable matches, which The Beast Incarnate delivered to perfection.

Then his appearances became sporadic, whether due to contract issues or his preference to be with his family, farming, etc. But I was always on the lookout. Whenever he returned, it was electric. As a Paul Heyman guy, hearing his name announced in that unmistakable way was always exhilarating. I think no one else could have done him justice. Even when other superstars began retiring, Brock returned to deliver something that no one had ever seen.

I would often search ‘Brock Lesnar latest’ on YouTube, to see if there was something new that he was up to. In later years, even when I wasn’t fully invested in WWE, I would tune in just for him. Watching all his promos, all his matches, not missing a single thing about him. It all became clear that he was focused on putting others over. With Roman Reigns and Cody Rhodes, it felt like a passing of the torch, and somewhere deep down, I knew that his reign was nearing its end. With his iconic return once again, this year with a beefed-up physique, defeating John Cena with ease, it felt as if he was here for more. But alas! he was only getting prepared to leave.

Putting Oba Femi over was so apparent, yet a small part of me held on to the hope that he might win, just like he did against Omos. But with the rising popularity of Oba, it felt like a distant dream. When I saw Brock go down so easily, and stay down, I got chills. And when he let the music die, before getting back up, I already knew it was over.

Watching him cry was the most painful thing to watch, and I cried alongside him, loudly, like a child trapped in a man’s body. With every moment, his every gesture, I cried even more, feeling his anguish, clinging to the faint hope that maybe some miracle would stop his exit from happening. As he embraced Paul Heyman, I wept watching these two grown men weep, knowing how long they had been together, finally realizing that he wouldn’t be back.

Brock has always been like that. He has never been a people person his entire life. Only in his later years did we see him open up, become more gracious and expressive, and it was a welcome change. But deep down, he has always been an introvert. I knew he wouldn’t do a farewell tour like Cena. I knew his goodbye would be silent, just walking away, never to return.

I think my problem lies in the ‘never coming back’ part.

I have seen so many great athletes from my childhood retire, and I know that they haven’t died or anything, but they are no longer competing, no longer being who they once were. It just kills me, just like it killed me watching Sachin Tendulkar retire or Rafael Nadal bow out. All my heroes, one by one disappearing, into the mist, away from the spotlight. It’s like a series of quiet breakups, my childhood being snatched away from me piece by piece, as if suddenly someone has barged into my room and said, “You can no longer play with this superhero toy, or this dinosaur. It has become irrelevant now.”

Age is such a privilege and a curse, I realize as I walk down these sinuous roads of life. It’s a wild ride, for sure, but it is the game-over part that hurts the most. The knowledge that everyone is going to disappear into thin air, everyone is going to wane, and that there’s nothing you can do about it, are the thoughts that hide with me, quietly, beneath my tear-soaked pillow.