“Looks like it.” He takes a sip of his cranberry juice club soda, watching the big guys and their terribly choreographed moves as they threw themselves and each other around the ring. “Really? I thought he’d done time for busting up a limousine with his bare hands.” How old were these guys, anyway? His eyes narrow at the screen, “Yeah, isn’t there a cut-off for anyone who isn’t Ric Flair? Sorry guys, you’re too much of a liability now, we’ll just make toys of you for parents to buy their kids and reminisce about when you weren’t old?”