This was a complete fucking delight. I've been an on-again-off-again wrestling fan since I was a little kid at the height of Hulkamania. I was enamored of these living cartoons and the kayfabe of it all.

I'm writing this review while wearing a Roots of Right Iron Sheik 1983 World Champion t-shirt. But I'm one of those bandwagon jumpers who didn't fall in love with the Iron Sheik until well into adulthood because of his twitter account (I am aware that the account was/is run by others). Sheiky Baby's death was especially hard on my sense of nostalgia.

And this is where I get to this book. Even when I'm not watching wrestling, I devour any wrestling book that comes out. I especially love histories and retrospectives. I've never moved on from my love of larger than life characters solving all the world's problems in the squared circle and I never plan to. When reality is too hard to bear, kayfabe will always be there.

This book is about kayfabe and childhood and growing up. It's also about Tony Atlas and Tito Santana and Sargent Slaughter and Ax and Marcelino Rivera and Hulk Hogan (yo, the RNC just happened so the Hulk chapter of this book was weird to read). But all of this is told through the filter of the life of Khosrow Vaziri, the Iron Sheik. Brad bubba, you've finally written his biography!

I learned new things in this book. I went down nostalgia lane. I legit shed a tear during the epilogue. I was completely delighted at the references to Josie Riesman's book Ringmaster in the Vince McMahon chapter. I loved this book.