Goodbye 2025. Hello 2026. Cue the bell.

Every new year invites reflection, but this one feels especially loud in the best way. Scrolling back through the past year, one thing kept jumping off my feed again and again: stories of generosity. Not corporate press releases or polished campaigns, but genuine, human moments. And time after time, they came from the wrestling community.

Anyone who follows major wrestling brands knows the familiar annual efforts. Connor’s Cure. Breast Cancer Awareness. Make-A-Wish. Individual wrestlers speaking up for causes close to their hearts. Across the wider sports world, charity is almost part of the uniform. Even at the local level, promotions regularly organize benefit shows, sometimes for established organizations, sometimes for a single family or individual who needs help. Sports and charity have always made a strong tag team. Fundraising through events can be challenging, but it creates something powerful: a shared experience that turns spectators into participants with purpose.

What we don’t talk about nearly enough, though, is the other side of the generosity. The fans.

Wrestling fans don’t just cheer. They show up. They rally. They protect their own.

Over the years, I’ve read countless stories that never make headlines. A wrestler hits a rough patch and suddenly their fanbase is pooling money to replace broken gear. A performer gets an opportunity in a bigger city and fans quietly make sure gas money isn’t the reason they miss it. I’ve seen stories of rides offered, couches shared, meals paid for, and shoulders leaned on. Not for clout. Not for recognition. Just because someone cared enough to help keep the dream alive.

That’s what makes this so special.

The generosity of wrestling fans is rooted in respect. Respect for the grind. Respect for the miles driven, the bodies battered, the sacrifices made long before a spotlight ever hits. Fans don’t just want their favorites to win matches. They want them to win at life, to break through the ceiling of their local scene and carry those moments somewhere bigger.

And that respect flows both ways. Talk to local wrestlers and you’ll hear it immediately: gratitude, humility, and a deep appreciation for the people who believe in them when the payoff is far from guaranteed. This mutual respect is the connective tissue that makes professional wrestling different. It’s why the bond between fans and performers feels less like a transaction and more like a shared journey.

I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. The wrestling fan community is one of the best communities you can be part of.

So as we step into 2026, keep being exactly who you are. Keep supporting the people who give everything inside and outside the ring. Keep proving that wrestling isn’t just about what happens between the ropes, but about the people who stand together around it.

The bell has rung. Let’s keep this momentum going.