“JK Rowling,” he said.

I’d definitely have paid money to see that.

He meant, of course, AJ Styles, one of the biggest names in this massive sports-entertainment juggernaut.

To be honest, until Friday night, I hadn’t heard of those who took to the squared circle either, having left wrestling behind when the likes of Ultimate Warrior, Bret Hart and Jake the Snake were at their height.

I once ‘wrestled’ Princess Paula while a cub reporter, but that’s another story.

In essence, the format hasn’t changed much in the intervening years.

Sure big jumbo screens announcing the combatants and laser light shows are now part and parcel of the set-up, but it remains a rock’em, sock’em fight fest.

There are all manner of criticisms you could level at WWE, and they’ve been repeated to death, so I’m not going to go into them here.

But at its heart it remains an entertainment show and I doubt there were many in the packed Arena who were not royally entertained at the end of the three-hour performance.

From the half-a-dozen seven-year-olds next to us, stripped to the waist and chanting their heroes’ names, to the middle-aged blokes in denial that this was all scripted, to the woman in her 50s who rushed the ring at the end of every contest, WWE provided for a knockout night.