This week, the world lost one of professional wrestling’s most iconic figures—Hulk Hogan. And while headlines are already swirling with controversy and criticism, I want to talk about something different. I want to talk about what he meant to a kid growing up in Georgia.

Saturday nights were sacred. I’d stay up late—way past bedtime—to catch wrestling on TV. In the South, we didn’t get much WWF back then, so when it came on, it was a big deal. When Hogan hit the screen in the red and yellow, it wasn’t just a match—it was a moment. He was a hero, a titan, a symbol of strength and hope.

“Train, say your prayers, and eat your vitamins.” We believed it. We believed him.

I grew up on wrestling. Ric Flair, Dusty Rhodes, the Road Warriors—but Hogan was something else entirely. He helped build the bridge between wrestling and pop culture, and whether you loved him or booed him later, you can’t deny—he changed the game.

Yes, he made mistakes. Public ones. Painful ones. But the same man who once stood in front of sold-out crowds also later stood in front of the world, humbly asking for forgiveness. He didn’t make excuses. He owned it, and he leaned into his faith in Jesus for healing, grace, and redemption.

And that’s something I understand deeply.

Because if every word I’ve ever said in anger, frustration, or fear had been recorded—if every misstep was played on repeat for the world—I’d be “canceled” ten times over. But thank God that grace doesn’t depend on whether or not we deserve it. Grace shows up anyway. It always has.

Wrestling, for me, was more than entertainment. It was a weekly escape. A place to dream, to feel, to believe. And Hulk Hogan was a huge part of that.

So no—I won’t remember him for the scandal. I’ll remember him for the legacy. For the memories. For the strength he gave to a kid watching TV in the dark, hoping the good guy would win.

Thank you, Hulkster. Thank you for the years you gave. The sacrifices you made, time lost with family, and the toll it took on your body. For the moments that mattered. For reminding us, even at the end, that redemption is real.

Rest easy, brother.

Grace met you too.

Published by Jeff

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