I remember coming home from school completely drained. Bag thrown aside. Face washed in a hurry. Homework rushed through like it barely mattered. Because WWE was about to begin, and that felt like the most important thing in the world.
The television would flicker. Then his music would hit. Time slowed down. The arena shook. And that voice screamed, AND HIS NAME IS JOHN CENAAAAAA.
He walked out in blue denim three-fourths, sneakers laced tight, a cap pulled low, and a Hustle Loyalty Respect t-shirt. He looked nothing like a superhero, and yet felt exactly like one.
That is how I remember WWE. Not as scripted entertainment, but as something real. The fights felt real. The rivalries felt personal. Cena versus Orton didn’t feel like a storyline. It felt like sides being chosen. The wins and losses felt like they belonged to us, too.
There is a canon moment when every kid grows up and finds out WWE is scripted. But by then it is too late. The belief has already shaped you. The emotion has already done its damage. And now the “bro it’s not real” argument doesn’t affect you anymore.
While other wrestlers felt dark, angry, or dangerous, Cena felt like hope walking into an arena. He felt like Superman entering Metropolis. A reminder that good still wins eventually.
WWE was fighting your sibling in a championship match. It was arguing over who gets to pick Cena on the PS2. It was praying the disc would load. It was hoping you’d get a gold card every time you opened a pack of WWE cards.
Three different generations grew up knowing his name. Cena was not just a wrestler. He was an entertainer. A master on the mic. Someone who could control an entire arena with just his voice, his timing, and his confidence.
Now the man who taught us Never Give Up has finally stepped away from the ring. Even tapping out in his final match feels poetic, honest, and strangely beautiful.
Thank you, John Cena, for Hustle Loyalty Respect. Thank you for the memories. Thank you for a childhood that still feels alive every time your entrance music hits.