Hulk Hogan’s Last Stand

By Rich Bitterman – July 24, 2025

A few days ago, I wrote about Ozzy Osbourne’s death. The article went viral…read by hundreds of thousands, reposted, debated, cursed, and praised. Some accused me of hijacking a man’s death to make a theological point. Others thanked me for writing what they’d never dared say out loud.

But now, another man has died. And this one was baptized.

Terry Gene Bollea, better known as Hulk Hogan, died this morning. And if my words about Ozzy felt like a warning shot, then these words…about Hogan…ought to feel like a bell tower ringing in the fog.

Because the water doesn’t save, but it tells the story of the One who does.

The Wrestler Who Couldn’t Wrestle Time

When I was a teenager, I believed Hulk Hogan could stop time. I watched him tear his shirt down the middle like the Red Sea and hurl giants to the mat with a body slam like it was a declaration: I can’t be broken. He seemed immortal. A yellow-and-red supernova of muscles and sweat and Americana.

But time cannot be suplexed. And death is not impressed by how many pay-per-view titles you’ve won.

This morning, the world’s strongest man became the world’s smallest headline.

Hulk Hogan is dead.

But Hulk Was Baptized

Let’s pause there. Let’s say it again slowly: Hulk Hogan was baptized.

This isn’t hearsay or rumor. Not long ago, footage surfaced of Terry Bollea being baptized in clear water. He emerged from the pool slowly, hands raised, tears behind those sunglasses, a heavy man moving like a child newly born.

He didn’t cut a promo. He didn’t say, “Brother.” He just looked upward.

I don’t know everything that led to that moment. I don’t know what he said in the quiet before or after. But I know what the water means. And I know what kind of God meets a man beneath it.

Not a Celebrity Conversion

Don’t confuse this with those headlines you scroll past: “So-and-so finds faith.” This isn’t about public image.

Baptism is not an aesthetic. It is a funeral.

It is the burial of a past and the beginning of a future that death cannot cancel. It is a man saying: Not my name. Not my story. Not my strength anymore.

It’s a man surrendering.

It’s Terry Bollea, who once stood in front of 90,000 screaming fans, kneeling in front of the only throne that matters.

And that throne doesn’t ask for fame. It demands repentance.

Two Deaths, Two Men, One Christ

Ozzy once called himself the Prince of Darkness. But now, he stands before the true King. Whether he ever bowed, only God knows.

But Hogan’s death? It’s something else.

It’s a reminder that mercy is real.

That the water still holds.

That Jesus still saves men with broken bodies, flawed pasts, and names too big to hide.

Ozzy made a living crying out into darkness. I pray he found the Light before the end.

Hogan, near the end, whispered into eternity.

What Happens When a Giant Dies?

When a man dies, something happens. Not figuratively. Not emotionally. Something happens.

His soul is torn from his body. He does not drift into unconscious stardust. He does not become a memory.

He stands. Awake. Aware. Known.

The Bible says it like this: “It is appointed for man to die once, and after that comes judgment.”

The appointment is kept. The judgment is real. And for the one who has gone through the water and clung to Christ, there is no condemnation left.

Not because he performed well.

But because Christ did.

The Illusion of Strength

Hulk Hogan made a living flexing in front of mirrors and cameras. But mirrors lie. They show you biceps. They hide your soul.

And if you spend your whole life flexing, the first moment of real weakness will feel like drowning.

But if you’ve already died in the water…if you’ve already laid it all down…then death has nothing left to threaten you with.

You’ve already lost everything that doesn’t last.

And you’ve gained everything that can’t be taken.

There Is No Tag Team at the Judgment Seat

You die alone.

Not in spirit, but in accountability.

There will be no ring announcer. No walkout music. No partner to slap into the fight.

Just you.

Just God.

Just the record.

Every secret thought. Every false smile. Every whispered sin. Every word spoken when you thought no one was listening.

And for those who are in Christ, the books will open and every line will read: Paid. In. Full.

Because Jesus didn’t just die for your sins.

He died with your name in mind.

The Man Behind the Muscles

This is what haunts me: we’ve built a world that worships images.

Ozzy became a symbol. Hogan became a costume.

And beneath it all, they were men. Dust and soul. Born. Buried. Breath-takers.

No different than me.

No different than you.

But now, the stage lights are off. The band has packed up. The crowd has gone home.

And both men have stepped into something terrifyingly real.

For one, we don’t know if repentance ever came.

For the other, we saw the water.

And I pray we saw a new birth.

But What About You?

Let’s forget Ozzy.

Let’s forget Hogan.

Let’s talk about you.

Yes, you…the one scrolling this with numb fingers and tired eyes, wondering if it’s too late or if you’re too far.

You’re not.

If breath fills your lungs, mercy still stands open. You don’t need fame. You don’t need clarity. You don’t need a church full of people cheering for your comeback.

You need Christ.

You need to die before you die.

To bow before the throne instead of pretending you are one.

To walk into the water with your pride buried in your fist and come up with His name on your lips.

You don’t need to become religious.

You need to become His.

One More Ring Entrance

I picture Hogan walking into heaven like a man limping from the last match of his life. The crowd he lived for is silent now.

But there’s a new crowd. One that doesn’t cheer flesh.

They bow before a Lamb.

And Hogan, in that final entrance, doesn’t rip his shirt or point to the sky.

He falls to his knees.

Not because he lost.

But because he finally knows what winning really means.