The state of Georgia has a bunch of authorities that regulate everything from toll roads to technology.

We actually had a State Boxing Commission, but it has been rebranded the State Athletic and Entertainment Commission and now regulates boxing, martial arts and ticket brokers.

One of the commission members wants to see the panel regulate professional wrestling.

With the potential of that happening, I am devoting the remainder of this column to why I, your columnist, should become the next state commissioner of professional wrestling.

When I was in the sixth grade, a boy named David came to school with a wrestling mask, the kind that Mr. Wrestling wore. It had a little drawstring, like you would find on a hooded jacket.

While the teacher was out of the room, we convinced David to put it on. He slipped it over his head and somehow the knot on the drawstring got stuck inside the mask and it wouldn’t come off.

The teacher returned and demanded angrily that David remove the mask. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t come off. The teacher pulled out some scissors and was going to cut off the mask.

Tears started coming out of the eye holes on the mask as David began to whimper.

“The mask is my daddy’s,” he said.

Telling the teacher that the mask was his dad’s was a sure sign that David was, as he claimed, the son of the aforementioned Mr. Wrestling. At this point, in an epiphany of my future as a wrestling commissioner, I stepped in to help.

I suggested that if we went to the school nurse and used the tweezers, we could manipulate the knot back to the open position and not deface the coveted wrestling mask.

Sure enough, my idea worked and I began laying the groundwork for my ascension to the pinnacle of wrestling regulation in Georgia. Later that year, on parent’s night, we saw David’s dad and he was a little wiry guy that clearly was not Mr. Wrestling.

OK, I’m keenly aware that professional wrestling is fake. I realized this when I saw two arch enemies of the ring leave a match together in the same car.

My friend Bimbo Brewer once wrestled a chimp at a carnival near Gainesville. Bimbo didn’t win and he seems to remember that the chimp drove him home.

The members of this wrestling, boxing and ticket scalping commission are appointed by the governor of this state, who from time-to-time reads this very column.

Governor, you’ve got enough to worry about with the drought, not to mention the day-to-day operation of state government. I’m here to alleviate one thing from your long list of worries by taking on the regulation of professional wrestling.

I’ll make sure that every professional wrestler in our state is proficient in chair throwing, turnbuckle jumping, making veiled threats on TV and all the stuff that goes along with professional wrestling.

As for this steroid stuff, we won’t allow any puffed-up dopers anywhere near our state-regulated wrestling rings.

It’s time to return wrestling to the great days of Dusty Rhodes, Jake “The Snake” Roberts and Ronnie “Hands of Stone” Garvin.

And as state wrestling commissioner, I will make our state proud. Heck, I’ll even buy my own wrestling belt. I’ll be waiting on your call, governor.

Harris Blackwood is community editor of The Times. His columns appear Wednesdays in the print edition only and Sundays.