“CM Punk! CM Punk! CM Punk!”
“Don’t you know it isn’t real?”
The real children in attendance were mostly there to watch Cena, the WWE’s most kid-friendly star. His trademark “U Can’t See Me” hats and wristbands were rampant in youth sizes all throughout the arena, and when the oldsters began to chant “John Cena sucks,” the kids’ shrill “Let’s go Cena!” response was almost as loud. It’s a hostile environment, in retrospect.
Punk single-handedly created Allstate Arena’s anarchist culture. We hate Cena because we think Punk hated him. We hate WWE Corporate because they continually pushed Punk to the brink of quitting. We love guys who praise him, and we hate guys who try to sweep his stunted career under the rug. Chicagoans show up to wrestling events with the attitude that their local superstar had: ready to pounce on any little thing we don’t like.
A few proud whoops.
“Cesaro! Cesaro! Cesaro!”
