I'm telling you, there have been some great finishers in the

The words of Stone Cold Steve Austin ring with both reverence and nostalgia: “I’m telling you, there have been some great finishers in the world of pro wrestling or sports entertainment. Whatever you want to call it. Man, I enjoyed the Iron Claw back in the day. I believed it was real.” Behind these words lies more than a fond memory of wrestling holds; there is a meditation on belief, spectacle, and the power of human imagination to transform sport into myth. For Austin speaks not only of moves and matches, but of how the heart is stirred by stories that blur the line between illusion and reality.

He begins with the celebration of great finishers, those final, decisive moves that define contests and bring closure to the struggle of the ring. In wrestling, the finisher is not only an act of force—it is a symbol, a signature, the distilled essence of the wrestler’s identity. The Iron Claw, clamped upon the skull of an opponent, was more than a maneuver; it was an image of dominance, of inescapable fate, of one man’s will crushing another’s. To a young Austin, it was not performance, but power made flesh. He believed it was real.

This belief speaks to a deeper truth: human beings hunger for stories where strength, courage, and identity are embodied in physical form. Just as ancient Greeks once filled arenas to see Hercules-like athletes compete in the Olympic Games, so too do modern audiences gather to watch wrestlers transform conflict into theater. The reality is secondary; what matters is the conviction it inspires. To believe in the Iron Claw is to believe that justice, dominance, or destiny can be enacted before one’s eyes, if only for a moment.

History gives us parallels. In the arenas of ancient Rome, gladiators fought with weapons and shields, and though many bouts were staged or controlled, the people believed deeply in the spectacle. Each strike was a story of valor or treachery, and each finish a symbol of triumph or tragedy. The crowd did not ask whether every act was authentic; they asked instead for catharsis, for the feeling that in the dust and blood, the eternal struggles of life were made visible. So it is with wrestling: what matters is not the literal truth, but the truth of the heart.

Austin’s words also carry humility. He does not insist upon the technicalities of whether wrestling is “pro wrestling” or “sports entertainment.” He recognizes that names and labels are less important than the feeling it awakens. What endures is the joy, the awe, the belief. For belief itself is the true finisher—it pins doubt to the mat and makes the spectacle real in the soul of the believer.

The lesson for us is clear: never despise what inspires belief, even if it is born of performance or illusion. The power of stories, rituals, and spectacles is not in their literal truth, but in the conviction they plant within us. Whether it is the Iron Claw, the tale of Achilles, or the chants of a stadium, what matters is the strength we draw from them, the courage they awaken, the unity they inspire.

Therefore, children of tomorrow, remember this teaching: the line between real and unreal is not always the line between strength and weakness. If a story, a game, or a spectacle makes your heart race and your spirit rise, then it has already become real in the realm that matters most. Believe in the symbols that give you strength, but also carry that strength into the world of action. For what begins as play can prepare the soul for life’s greatest battles.

Thus, Stone Cold’s words endure as wisdom: cherish the power of belief, for even the staged can awaken truths that are eternal. The Iron Claw may have been a hold in a ring, but for a boy who believed, it was a symbol of might—and that belief would one day fuel a legend who himself became an icon of strength.