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Pro wrestling, for all its mass appeal, cultural influence, and undeniable profitability, is still dismissed as low-brow fare for the lumpen masses; another guilty pleasure to be shelved next to soap operas and true crime dreck. This elitist dismissal rests on a cartoonish assumption that wrestling fans are rubes, incapable of recognizing the staged spectacle in front of them. In reality, fans understand perfectly well that the fights are preordained. What bothers critics is that working-class audiences knowingly embrace a form of theater more honest than the “serious” news they consume.

Groundhogs predict spring with the same accuracy as flipping a coin. But they’re vital to their ecosystems, feasting through summer to store enough fat to last through their winter hibernation.

On Memorial Day 2018, in the year marking the 100th anniversary of the end of World War I, Michael Parenti contemplates the trenches and the oligarchs who caused so much unnecessary misery.

J.D. Vance aspires to be the captain of the MAGA team when Trump moves on.

Nearly three-quarters of tourism professors are white, a recent analysis found, and nearly half are white men.