Hulk Hogan is dead. But in my mind, he died a long time ago. Every new scandal, every dumb ass thing that came out of his mouth(Metallica’s bass player? Really?) was just another shovel of dirt on a history that he just kept burying and burying.

It’s been a rough few years, especially for people my age. The people I thought were heroes have been turning out to be assholes of the highest grade. If it wasn’t Hogan’s racism, it was Rodman kissing North Korean booty. If it wasn’t Louie CK turning out to be a perv, it was Neil Gaiman turning into a sexual predator.

It’s the kind of thing that makes you think about the people we lionize. Maybe we shouldn’t lionize them. Maybe we build a trust in them, that we believe them to be good. And maybe that’s too high a standard.

When they did the ten bell salute for Hogan, I choked up a little, despite all the horrendous shit he’s done, both in front of the cameras and behind the scenes. I wondered what exactly I was mourning. Was it the version I loved as a child? My own lost innocence? I still don’t know.

My girlfriend Jasmine and I were having a discussion last night about spirituality, It got to the topic of belief. She reminded me of Chris Rock’s character in the movie Dogma. That Jesus liked ideas rather than beliefs. Ideas are easy to change, belief is much trickier.

So maybe I don’t idolize people. Maybe I just like their itenadeas. Maybe I take Rodman’s tenacity and individuality. Maybe I take Gaiman’s love of history, myth and the written word. Maybe I take the idea that a real American fights for his fellow man. And I use them to forge my path, to create my own story, and be the hero of it. Good night.