I grew up during arguably the greatest era of professional wrestling, the 1980s. I, along with all the other kids in my neighborhood, watched Mid-South Wrestling every weekend and occasionally attended the live events when they passed through town.

Now of course I liked the action in the ring — who didn’t cheer when Kabuki temporarily blinded his opponents by blowing smoke into their eyes or when Hacksaw Jim Duggan would clear the ring of bad guys with his trademark 2×4 — but my favorite part of wrestling was the promos.

Each week between the matches, wrestlers would deliver promos: short interviews or skits performed in character and designed to advance wrestling plots. In the golden days of wrestling it was enough to simply have a perfect physique or possess spectacular ring skills, but over time those with unique personalities began to rise to the top. There were a lot of talented wrestlers that performed well inside the ring, but the ones that became mega-heroes and super villains were the ones most outlandish in front of the camera.

We didn’t know it back then, but those promos, no matter how electrifying or energetic, had nothing to do with the outcome of the matches. The endings of the bouts were determined before wrestlers ever climbed into the ring.

Boxing, martial arts, and mixed martial arts (MMA) all took something from this. Sure, there have always been fighters with charismatic personalities like Muhammad Ali, George Foreman and Conor McGregor, but for every athlete that stuck out from the crowd there have been hundreds of nameless faces climbing into and out of the ring.

And while they’re not always memorable, there’s something to be said for a fighter who walks into the ring, says nothing, and simply destroys his opponent. I like that. I like guys who refrain from all the pre-fight shouting and name calling. I mean sure, that stuff’s fun to watch, and I’m sure every time two fighters publicly announce how much they really hate each other both ratings and ticket sales soar, but I don’t know — there’s just something I enjoy about a guy showing you he’s a bad ass instead of telling you he is.

I’ve always fantasized that if I were a professional fighter who managed to knock out my opponent, I would simply turn and leave the ring with no pomp or circumstance. Perhaps it’s bad form to leave before they raise your hand in victory (and woe to the bloody fighter who doesn’t follow protocol!), but I’d like to see that. Just once I’d love to see a fighter knock a guy to the ground, shrug his shoulders, and then leave. No post-fight interview where the victor quickly throws on a hat and t-shirt blanketed with advertising logos while he thanks God for helping him beat someone else to a pulp. Nope. Just POW, flop, and adios.

Is he going to talk about writing? Please tell me he’s going to eventually talk about writing!

As you may know, I recently enrolled in a college writing course and I’ve been attending class for four or five weeks now. My professor is super knowledgeable and super experienced, having published more than 40 novels. I sit in the back row and write down everything she says in class. I don’t really know anyone else in class — they’re all nice, but I’m roughly 20 years older than all of them. To them, I can only presume, I’m the old fat weirdo sitting in the back of class.

And there’s that moment before you get into the ring and turn in your first homework assignment where you have to decide, are you going to cut a promo? Are you going to stand in front of a camera flexing your muscles and publicly announce that, despite never having sold a single work of fiction, you think you’re a pretty good writer? In a room full of fifteen other writers, do you show your hand before climbing into the ring or do you simply walk in swinging and hope for the best?

I did the latter, and we got our first short stories back this week. POW. Flop. Adios.

That’s not to say the paper wasn’t filled with plenty of red marks (it was) or was perfect (it wasn’t), but it served its purpose. I plan to start my journey through the Masters of Professional Writing program in the spring and I really wanted someone there to know that I belong in that class. (I suppose I also wanted to reassure myself that I belong there, too.)

I tell my kids all the time, “Actions speak louder than words.” Don’t just tell people you’re a decent human being: act like a decent human being. And don’t simply tell people you’re good at things: show them you’re good at things. And most of all, don’t waste your time flexing your muscles and telling everybody you’re awesome: just be awesome.

Inside the ring and out.