This is what happens when someone in the Business dies.

There are a couple of phone calls. Then the text messages start spidering outwards. In the eyes of fans, the distance between an indy promotion and the WWE Hall of Fame seems like worlds apart. The reality is different. There are probably no more than two or three degrees of separation between the greenest rookie and most WWE or TNA superstars.

In locker rooms or online via Facebook or MySpace pages, workers huddle together and speak in hushed voices: “That’s a damn shame.” “He was a good guy”; I remember this show in Louisville when…” Internet writers post columns. Promoters put on memorial shows.

And life goes on.

As life will. As life SHOULD.

But nothing changes.

Inside the ring or on the television set, no one in wrestling ever dies or is even seriously hurt. Wrestlers leap off the top rope, batter each other with chairs, even club each other with sledgehammers. The characters shake it off with Wile E. Coyote like resiliency, ready for the next pay-per-view.

Outside the ring, it’s a different story. Death and wrestling seem to be inextricably linked. Death has taken people, from my childhood heroes and villains to my friend and broadcast partner Ripper, who did the color commentary for our brief television run before passing away last October a month before his 39th birthday. I’m angry about this pattern of death. I’m angry at the promoters and fans, who shake their heads and say “how sad,” and then go back to business as usual. I’m angry at the media who tsk-tsk judgmentally over a business they know nothing about.

An even greater part of my anger is directed towards the wrestlers, who continue to make bad decisions and/or turn a blind eye to the bad decisions made by their comrades.

But most of all, I’m angry at myself.

I’ve watched wrestlers make bad choices. Many times I’ve made the same choices right alongside them. Even outside the ring, wrestling’s characters are larger than life.

I’ve never spoken out, even when things got out of hand. I’ve never pushed for change, not because I‘m ignorant of the dangers, but because the danger somehow makes it more fun.

No matter what happens, no matter what the cost, I keep coming back to this business, as a fan and as a professional. I love it and I don’t know if I will ever stop loving it no matter what it does to the people involved in it.

I feel guilty about that.

During those times I think of a retired wrestler who helps my former promotion with training, concessions, and ring crew. He’s a happy-go-lucky French-Canadian whose resume includes ECW, WWE, and Japan, including one WrestleMania credit. He’s also stared down a few personal demons of his own. And when things start getting out of hand after the show, he neither approves nor condemns. He just says his goodbyes and quietly slips out the door.

Maybe he has the right idea. We can’t control other people’s choices. To a certain extent, their decisions aren’t even any of our business. As painful and frustrating as it can be, people are going to do what they’re going to do, and sometimes all we can do is watch.

In the end, we are only responsible for ourselves.

I only wish that knowing made it easier.

DAN BRODRIBB is a professional stand-up comic and writer who hosted and provided the play-by-play commentary for independent wrestling promotion Monster Pro Wrestling’s television run. He is still active in the business as a freelance ring announcer and chair-stacker. He currently works for OSCW. Check out his shameless self-promotion at: danbrodribb.blogspot.com