Those of you who like to read about “real” sports might want to skip this one. I’m going to take a break this week and talk about a fake one.

You see, I have a confession to make. My name is Ernest, and I’m a professional wrestling fan.

Oh, it’s true. It’s true.

Over the past 30 years or so I’ve been afflicted with Macho Madness, become a Jerichoholic, and even joined the Yes! Movement for a spell. Hulkamania never really ran wild over me, though. Even as a kid I got tired of cheering for someone who never lost.

I’ve seen Pier 6 brawls — why Piers 1 through 5 were so tranquil, I’ll never know — slobberknockers and Pearl Harbor jobs (that’s old school wrestling lingo for a huge fight, a hard-hitting match, and a sneak attack, respectively).

I’ve only ridden in a limousine once, and the only time I’m a kiss stealin’ son of a gun is with my wife. I do, however, give myself a Barry Horowitz-style self pat on the back when I do something good at work (Horowitz was a “jobber” — a guy who always loses matches — from the 1980s who would pull that move just before he got demolished by someone).

Ever since I was 4 years old watching WWF champion Bob Backlund climb on the ropes to put the 6-foot-10 Big John Studd in his crossface chicken wing finisher, wrestling has been part of my life.

My passion for it has waxed and waned, of course, just like any hobby, but it’s always been in the background like soothing elevator music. Always there. Always comforting. Always waiting to take me back to a time and place where the rules of real life don’t apply.

Wrestling is silly, goofy fun. It’s a surreal world where someone beats the snot out of a rival, or hits them with a car, and their comeuppance is a revenge match and not serious jail time.

As I’ve gotten older, too, I’ve come to appreciate the skill it takes to be a professional wrestler — or sports entertainer, as they’re sometimes called these days — at the highest levels.

The best are part comedian, part serious actor, part stuntman. Working in front of a live crowd, and often on live television, they get one take to deliver a line or pull off an extremely difficult athletic maneuver, both of which are only as good as the guy they’re working with.

Today’s wrestling fans are highly educated about the business and are harsh critics. A few flubbed lines and botched moves will bring out the catcalls and send a bad performer back to the minors in a hurry.

I think that’s the real magic of outfits like WWE, TNA and Ring of Honor, the three biggest promotions in the country right now. When their performances are mundane, they’re as comforting to have on in the background as a random baseball game on a summer afternoon. When they’re good, it’s silly escapist fun like a good soap opera or TV show.

And when they’re great? When the dramatic turns work and the matches are feats of athletic brilliance?

That’s when it’s magic, and that’s what’ll probably keep me watching for the next 30 years.

Thanks for letting me get that off my chest. Back to the real sports now.

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Ernest Bowker is a sports writer. He can be reached at 601-636-4545, Ext. 145, or by email at ernest.bowker@vicksburgpost.com