Hulk Hogan didn't just headline WrestleMania—he was WrestleMania

Time of India

2 days ago

Hulk Hogan
He turned professional wrestling into a red-blooded American ritual, somewhere between football and Fourth of July fireworks.
His death at 71 isn't just the passing of a man, but the end of a whole theatrical-patriotic idea of what it meant to be a hero in America.
He once endorsed Donald Trump—but Hogan's cultural footprint long outlived the politics he flirted with.
The Man, The Myth, The Mustache
In an era when American masculinity was getting an MTV makeover,
Hulk Hogan
arrived with biceps the size of melons, skin the colour of buttered popcorn, and a voice that sounded like gravel had taken up chain smoking.
He didn't act. He declared. Every promo was a sermon delivered straight to the camera: about belief, strength, morality, and the dangers of not saying your prayers or eating your vitamins.
Hogan wasn't just wrestling—he was ideology in spandex.
And America bought it. Hook. Line. Suplex.
WrestleMania
and the Birth of Modern Spectacle
Before Hogan, wrestling was a regional curiosity—the sort of thing you'd catch on a static-filled TV at your uncle's house. After Hogan, it was WrestleMania.
WrestleMania I in 1985—headlined by Hogan and Mr. T against Roddy Piper and Paul Orndorff—was a gamble that became a template. It combined pop music, Hollywood, and cartoonish morality in one Pay-Per-View package.
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Hogan wasn't just the main event. He was the symbol. The American everyman, only 6'7", 300 pounds, and perpetually oiled.
Hogan as Pop Culture Machinery
He didn't stop at wrestling. He had a Saturday morning cartoon. A line of action figures. A song called Real American that is still more emotionally stirring than half the national anthems on Earth.
He showed up in Rocky III, played a nanny in Mr. Nanny, and wrestled a giant man named Zeus in No Holds Barred—because why not.
Hogan was a one-man IP generator before the term existed.
When the Berlin Wall fell, Hogan didn't get credit—but he probably should have. He body-slammed Soviet villain Nikolai Volkoff nightly on television long before the CIA got their act together.
Hogan the Political
Yes, in later years, he endorsed Donald Trump. He wore the MAGA hat, did the handshake-photo routine. But unlike other celebrity endorsements, this one barely moved the needle.
Because by then, Hogan had transcended politics.
He wasn't a Republican or Democrat. He was a Hoganist—a believer in power poses, righteousness, and a world where good always won by the third act. His America was a wrestling ring. The crowd booed the heels, cheered the faces, and everything made sense.
The Rise, Fall, and Re-run
Hogan's life wasn't without scandal. There were lawsuits. There was a sex tape. There were racist comments. For a moment, it looked like Hulkamania might finally tap out.
But like all great wrestling storylines, there was a comeback. A semi-redemption arc. A Hall of Fame return. Nostalgia is a powerful finisher—and Hogan, for better or worse, was always the face of a very specific American nostalgia.
What Dies With Hogan
With Hogan's passing, something deeper ends. The kayfabe myth of the perfect hero. The idea that muscle and morality could walk hand-in-hand into Madison Square Garden to the tune of Real American.
Wrestling has long since evolved. It's slicker, more choreographed, less morally clear. Roman Reigns might be the new tribal chief, but Hogan was the tribal myth. The campfire story. The reason millions of kids ripped their shirts and legdropped pillows in suburban living rooms.
The Final Bell
Hulk Hogan didn't just make wrestling popular—he made it American. He turned a regional sideshow into a cultural mainstay. He gave children heroes, gave villains someone to lose to, and gave a divided nation something to scream in unison about.
He wasn't subtle. He wasn't always right. But for more than a decade, he was the loudest, most ridiculous embodiment of hope in American tights.
And in the end, that might be the most honest gimmick of all.
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