Hulk Holland's midweek meltdown: The hustle, loyalty, erect edition

How do you know when you've made it big? When people start to care who you're sleeping with.

That's something WWE Superstar John Cena found out earlier this week when his name, and allegedly his penis, were attached to adult industry film star Kendra Lust.

I was a little disappointed in myself that I didn't know who that was, but Google tells me she's a bona fide pro, working under the Wicked label, as well as Bang Bros. and Naughty America, among others.

She's legit. But is the story? Wouldn't (and shouldn't) matter if it is.

People ask me how I can be so loyal to Hulk Hogan when it has been proven that he was one of the dirtiest players in the game. From alleged drug use (and abuse), to backstage politics, to creepy father/daughter relations and various other nefarious schemes, Hulkster is apparently pro wrestling's anti-christ.

Doesn't faze me.

That kind of stuff doesn't rattle my cage, because I'm not supposed to know about it. Why? It's none of my business. I was asked, through no uncertain booking, to become a fan of Hulk Hogan, not Terry Bollea. I never met Terry and I don't have any reason to say anything bad about him as a man.

What did he ever do to me?

Sure, he's made a lot of bad choices in his life -- as well as his career -- but what is it, exactly, that I want him to do? We're talking about a man who comes out to the ring, calls me "brother" and rips off his shirt to hit a few poses. Since when did you need to be the patron saint of children to qualify for that job?

There are priests and teachers all over this country blowing lines -- as well as kids -- and I'm supposed to take a stand against Hulk Hogan because he didn't think Bret Hart would make a good heavyweight champion? Or because he took steroids to stay huge?

He never told me to take steroids. Instead, he told me to train hard, say my prayers and eat my vitamins. And I did, because I wanted to be like Hulk Hogan, not Terry Bollea.

The same holds true for John Cena, who swapped training for hustling, prayers for loyalty and vitamins for respect.

My kid has been driving me up the wall this month about those goddamn Fruity Pebbles. I dread going to the supermarket on Sundays because we have to race over to the cereal aisle and dig through boxes looking for one with his animated mug on the front.

"Honey, they aren't out yet."

"WHY NOT?!?!?!?!"

My kid loves John Cena for the same reason that I loved Hulk Hogan. No matter how many times you try to take his spot beat him, he comes back fresh as a daisy to overcome adversity and STAND TALL. It makes her feel like she can STAND TALL too, when the chips are down.

Does having sex with a porn star diminish that?

No, because I'm not hooked up to the Cena reality cam, where I follow him out of the building and grade his every move. Once the cameras turn off and he leaves the arena, he's John Cena the man, not John Cena the wrestler. His job is to entertain the "Universe," and he's held up his end of the bargain.

Now it's time we, as fans, hold up ours.